Maher looked stunned for a moment, then smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”
“I mean…thank you…. But I did have the situation in hand.”
“I know you had that cat in your sights, and I know I missed. I wasn’t trying to save you.”
“What?”
“I was saving the cat.”
“…The cat?”
Walking toward her, Cormier at his side, Maher said, “The cat’s a North American lynx. Endangered species.”
“Lynx?”
“Lynx canadenis to be precise,” Maher explained, a few yards away now. “You seldom see them this far south…. ”
Cormier butted in. “Not unheard of either. Seen my share of ’em in my day. You can get in trouble shootin’ ’em, Ms. Sidle.”
Sara swung the Maglite to Cormier and said, “Maybe I should’ve let him chow down on our corpse—or offer him one of my legs to chew on.”
“I just wanted to scare it off before anything happened,” Maher said, squinting at the light.
Finally realizing she was blinding the men, she pointed the flash at a more downward angle. “Sorry, guys…didn’t mean to lose it.”
“No problem, eh?” Maher said.
“If I’d been any more scared,” she admitted, “I don’t mind telling you, I’da wet myself.”
“Wouldn’t worry none,” Cormier said. “It woulda froze up right quick.”
Sara arched a half-frozen eyebrow at the hotel manager. “You know, if you get any folksier, the next time I aim, it might not be at a lynx.”
Cormier grinned, and so did Maher. “Let’s get you back down to the hotel, little lady.”
She looked at Maher. “Did he just call me ‘little lady’?”
“I believe he did,” an amused Maher said.
“Herm,” she said to the hotel man, “I’m taller than you are, okay?”
“You are at that…but you don’t mind if I lead the way?”
Every bone in her body felt leaden and every muscle ached, even burned, and now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, she thought her legs might betray her. Taking a deep breath, she moved around a little, hoping to encourage some blood flow to her extremities.
“Ready?” Cormier asked.
“Ready,” she said. Then turning to Maher, she asked, “Anything I can do down at the hotel? It’s only what…ten-thirty?”
Maher shook his head. “Just get some rest, ’cause we’ll be keeping up the rotation. Snow seems to be letting up, some. Maybe by first light we’ll finally be able to go to work.”
Sara exhaled breath that hung there like a small cloud. “I am ready to do more than sit.”
“Just sit and scare off bobcats, you mean?”
Sara grinned. “Constable, that was a lynx. I thought you knew your stuff out here, in the woods.”
With tight smiles and nods, they bid their goodbyes. Maher returned to the cubbyhole he’d dug, thermos of coffee and Remington rifle both handy, while Sara took off after Cormier. The movement, rather than wake her up, only made clear to Sara just how exhausted she was, and any thought of interviewing Amy Barlow, or anyone else for that matter, evaporated from her mind. Making their way slowly down the rocky slope in the darkness, aided by flashlight beams, they trudged down toward civilization.
Which right now Sara Sidle defined as a warm bed.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully.
On that cloud of a bed, Sara fell deeply asleep, and when the wake-up call came, she arose groggy, really dragging; she had slept in her clothes and bundled into her coat, stocking cap, muffler and all, she sleepwalked down to the lobby and fell in with Herm Cormier.
Once outside, the cold air snapped her back to bitter reality. And at the crime scene, she never once drifted off to sleep—it was if anything colder than before, though the snow was half-hearted and, by the end of her watch, all but stopped.
She returned to the hotel for three hours of deep, blissful sleep; this time she beat her wake-up call. She felt refreshed, and—after a shower—invigorated, ready to make her way up that mountain and relieve Grissom.
Just after seven-thirty, she stepped off the elevator into a lobby deserted but for Mrs. Cormier behind the front desk. The older woman gave her a wave and Sara waved back, and was about to ask where Pearl’s husband was when Herm Cormier materialized at her side.
“Rarin’ to get at it?” he asked.
“Actually, yes. Last night was so odd, it’s almost like looking back on a dream, or maybe a nightmare.”
Cormier pointed a mildly scolding finger. “I wish you folks woulda let me take a turn or two out there.”
She shook her head. “Really needed to be one of us, at all times. That’ll be much better when this case eventually gets to court.”
He grunted a laugh. “No bad guy yet, and already you’re thinking about court?”
She nodded, grinned. “That’s really where all of the work we do ends up. Where is everybody?”
“Things usually are a little livelier around here,” he said, glancing around. “We’re a big haunted house this weekend—they say Stephen King wrote that book about this place.”
“The Shining?”
“I guess,” he said, with a shrug. “What guests we have are probably takin’ breakfast. Amy, Tony, Mrs. Duncan, and Bobby Chester are working the kitchen, naturally.”
“Where’s Constable Maher?”
“He’s in the dining room, too. That’s why I was out here, on the lookout for you. Mr. Maher asked, when you come down, I request you join him. And me, too. He says we all need to eat—it’s going to be a long day.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Soon they were entering the vast dining room where ten people, mostly couples, were seated centrally, having breakfast. Stares and whispers followed Sara.
“I guess word’s out,” she said, as Cormier led her past gawking guests toward a table where Maher waited.
“Well, you know how it is—in an environment this small, news travels fast. Especially with the four of us running in and out every couple of hours.”
She nodded. “In other words, you told your wife.”
He nodded. “Told my wife.”
Maher stood as Sara approached and they exchanged good mornings. He’d been smoking a cigarette—this was the smoking section—but he stabbed it out as Sara neared. His eyes were as red-rimmed as hers, but he too seemed energized.
“I think you’re going to enjoy today much more than yesterday, Ms. Sidle.”
“Call me Sara, please,” she said, sitting.
“All right,” Maher said, taking his seat, Cormier doing the same, “if you’ll call me Gordon…or even Gordy.”
“Gordon, if you can make that crime scene shake off the snow and talk to us, I’ll call you a genius.”
The other diners were slowly returning to their food, if occasionally glancing over at the detectives in their midst.
The menu was a small single page, with only a handful of items—basically, a choice of ham, bacon, or sausage and various combinations of eggs and cakes—and she was still studying it, as if looking for hidden meaning, when a loud crash made her—and everyone else in the dining room—jump half out of their chairs. She whirled to see the waiter, Tony Dominguez, kneeling over a tray on the floor, half a dozen plates upended, food scattered.
“First time that ballet dancer ever got clumsy,” Cormier muttered, and hustled over to help the waiter clean up the mess.
The pair worked fast, starting with carefully piling the broken pieces of dishes and glasses onto the serving tray. Sara caught sight of a pink stain on the left arm of the waiter’s white shirt—from juice maybe; the stain looked dry, so it hadn’t come from nicking himself due to this spill. Cormier went off to the kitchen for more cleaning utensils.
Turning back to her table, Sara leaned forward resting an elbow, touching a hand to her face. So much for waking up refreshed—the crash and clatter of china and silverware had almost m
ade her leap out of her skin, and she realized how frazzled she still felt. So much for a peaceful getaway with Gil Grissom….
“Brace up, eh?” Maher said. “We’ll be getting to work before you know it—and I have a hunch you’re the kind who’s never happier than at a crime scene.”
He seemed to be describing Grissom more than her, but Sara nonetheless brightened at the prospect. “I guess you planned on having more than just two students.”
“With ‘students’ like you and Dr. Grissom, it’s a master’s thesis class. Limited enrollment.”
A haggard Amy Barlow trod up to their table, little of yesterday’s spring in her step. Her hair, though tied back in a loose ponytail, looked haphazardly combed, dozens of stray strands seeking escape; and she wore no makeup. She had on the same black slacks and white shirt but no bow tie, the crisp pressed look of last night’s uniform absent. The only thing she seemed to have changed was the bandage on her left hand.
“You’re one of those crime lab people, aren’t you?” Amy asked Sara. “In for the conference that got canceled.”
“That’s right,” Sara said, rather startled by the question.
“Then maybe you’ll know—I asked Herm but he just said stay about your business.”
“Know what, Amy?”
“Is it true?” She glanced in the direction of the mountainside. “That there’s a body out there somewhere?”
Sara glanced at Maher, who nodded.
“I’m afraid so,” Sara said. “The police can’t make it up here in the snow, so we’re doing what we can.”
“What can you do?” Amy frowned curiously. “What happened?”
“A man was killed,” Sara said.
“ ’Nother skiing accident? Exposure…?”
“No. It was intentional. Homicide.”
Amy frowned. “…Murder?”
“Yes.”
Somehow Sara had wound up on the wrong end of the Amy Barlow interrogation. Taking back the initiative, the CSI asked, “Can you tell us anything about the cars you saw on the road yesterday?”
Amy frowned again, in thought this time. “Would that have something to do with this?”
“Might. What did you see? What do you remember seeing, on your way in to work?”
The waitress shook her head, as if her response would be negative, then said, “One was an SUV, that much I can tell you…a Bronco, or Blazer? They all kinda look alike to me.”
“That’s a good start, Amy,” Maher said. “What about color?”
Amy’s eyes tightened as she searched her memory. “Dark red, like a maroon?”
That had been more a question than an answer, but it was something, anyway. “You’re doing fine,” Sara said. “What about a license plate? If not the number, were they New York State plates? Out of state…?”
Amy drew in a breath, exhaled through her nose, shook her head, ponytail flouncing. “Didn’t notice.”
“And there was another car?” Maher pressed.
That had been the waitress’s implication.
“Yes,” she said. Then, proud of herself, she gave the following detailed description: “Something big and black.”
Sara hid her frustration, while Maher kept at it, asking, “New or old?”
“On the newer side,” Amy said. “Like a Toyota or a Honda—I don’t know cars very well. That’s Jimmy’s thing.”
“Jimmy?”
“My guy,” she said, with a shrug. “Can I give you a piece of advice, hon?”
“Sure,” Sara said.
“Never date a guy younger than you. Young boyfriend, they’ll drive you crazy. You feel like you’re raisin’ a kid, sometimes.”
Sara had been in that position once or twice, and smiled in recognition.
Back from mopping the floor, Cormier was sitting down with them again, and had caught the tail end of that. “James Moss,” he said, filling in information. “Jimmy. He’s a waiter here too.” He looked up at Amy. “Wasn’t Jimmy supposed to work yesterday too?”
She nodded. “Didn’t make it in, in time. With the phones down, I ain’t even talked to him.”
“You two usually ride in together,” Cormier said.
Another nod. “Not yesterday—Jimmy said he had some errands to run. Somebody he had to see, he said.”
“That new restaurant in New Paltz is hiring,” Cormier said. “Kid asked for a raise last week and I turned him down.”
Maher kept his attention on the hotel man. “Did Jimmy call in?”
“I’d have to ask Pearl, but I don’t believe so. But lots of the help didn’t call in, and of course it wasn’t long before the phones were down. Listen, in this part of the world, with this kind of weather, we’re used to the help not calling when they can’t make it in.”
Amy smirked. “Probably holed up playing with his damned Game Cube, praying for snow all weekend…. Folks ready to order?”
They did, and Amy went away.
“Well, the snow has stopped,” Maher said. “Any word from the outside?”
“Phones’re still down,” said Cormier. “I do have a ham radio, though.”
“And?”
“Guy I talked to in Mexico hears we had a hell of a storm.”
Sara laughed; so, after a moment, did Maher.
Cormier was continuing, “The county guys were probably up all night, with that damned chain reaction accident out on the interstate. If they get out here today at all, it probably won’t be till afternoon.”
Maher turned to Sara. “Cell phone?”
“Oh, I haven’t tried it yet this morning.” She took it from her purse, punched in Catherine’s work number—it was what, 3:30 A.M. back there? She got nothing, not even the robotic voice.
Sara shook her head glumly, returned the cell to her purse.
“Snow might have screwed up the tower,” Cormier said, with a twitch of a humorless half-smile. “Happened before.”
The waitress returned with coffee for the men and tea for Sara. “Breakfast’ll be up in a few shakes,” she said.
“So,” Maher said, sighing, “we’re still on our own.”
“Looks that way,” said Cormier.
“If I’m not out of line,” Sara said to the constable, “you don’t seem horribly disappointed.”
A smile flickered on the Canadian’s lips. “I like a challenge.”
“Me, too. So we’re getting to work?”
Maher nodded curtly. “Mr. Cormier’s going to help us gather some gear, and I’ve got some things in my room I brought for lecture purposes. Breakfast first.”
Sara sipped her tea. “You’re the boss…. Just don’t tell Grissom I said that.”
He chuckled. “We’ve got a lot to haul—any problem with that?”
She grinned. “The bellboys went home, so I’m ready. Bring it on.”
He nodded to her. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Amy brought their food and, as they ate, Maher outlined the morning’s plan, then turned to Cormier. “I’m going to need a medium-speed snow dispersal device.”
Scratching his chin, Cormier gave the Canadian a cockeyed look. “I don’t believe I’ve got one of those, much less heard of one, before.”
“Are you sure, Herm?” Maher grinned. “Aka, a leaf blower?”
“Well, hell! Sure, I got a beauty—gas-powered too. Which is a good thing, ’cause I’m not sure there’s enough extension cords in the whole hotel to reach up the side of that mountain.”
After breakfast, they went off respectively for their outdoor apparel, collecting their various equipment, and reconvened outside the rear entrance, for one last check. Sara had both her case of equipment and Grissom’s (Pearl at the desk had loaned her Gil’s spare room key), her camera and tripod. Maher also had two cases, one of which held his metal detector. Cormier looked as though he’d cleaned out the toolshed—scattered around the edge of the parking lot were a leaf blower, two shovels, a push broom, a kitchen broom, a whisk broom, a roll of garbage bags,
and a toboggan.
“That’s your wish list,” the hotel manager said to Maher.
“Good job, Herm,” Maher said. “Leaf blower gassed up?”
Cormier said, “You could disperse snow from here to New Paltz with that sucker.”
“And the toboggan’s a fine idea.”
“Thanks.”
Sara asked, “Too steep for snowmobiles?”
“Yeah, too steep and too many trees up there, too easy to wind up twisted around one of ’em. Rocky, too. Toboggan’s safer.”
They loaded their equipment aboard the sled, then Cormier and Maher lashed everything down. Though clouds still covered the sun, daylight filtered through, and the reflective shimmer of ice crystals on the snow was breathtaking. That the snow had stopped was a blessing. A good foot of white had fallen since Sara and Grissom had come upon the burning corpse, and despite the Canadian constable’s confidence, she wondered if there would truly be any evidence left to collect.
“At least it was a wet snow,” Maher said.
He and Cormier still looked like Eskimos to her, in their parkas.
“Is that good?” she asked.
“Real good, for us—limited drifting.”
“Won’t that make snow dispersal harder?”
“It’ll be harder to blow; but as long as it doesn’t go slushy on us, it’ll hold together better, and give us good detail.” Nodding to himself, he added, “If there’s such a thing as an ideal winter crime scene, this should come close.”
Then they marched up the hill, Maher and Cormier taking turns leading the way, and pulling the sled; Sara offered to take her turn dragging the heavy toboggan, but somehow it never happened. Instead, she wound up bringing up the rear, to one side of the thing, making sure nothing tumbled off, due to hitting a rocky patch.
The walk to the crime scene—which before had taken just short of half an hour, in the deep snow—took nearly an hour as the load constantly shifted, causing them to stop again and again, and check it and reset everything.
After the fourth time this happened, Sara said, “I thought this was the twenty-first century.”
“Back at the lodge it is, just barely,” Cormier said. “Out here, time isn’t just relative, it’s pret’ near nonexistent.”
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