by Robin Spano
Martha blinked a few times. She should have stopped with one drink. Or two. Because now she couldn’t tell if Daisy was lying.
“Remember the summer before Sacha graduated? You had a meeting at your brownstone. Sacha overheard something that made her damn mad. Sacha and Jules.” Daisy smiled a private little smile. “After that, Sacha knew you didn’t give a shit about the public good. It was your career here.” Daisy held up a hand above her head. “And the public good here.” She held a second hand at chest level.
Martha closed her eyes and felt her lids flutter against her eyeballs. It was an odd thing to concentrate on, but it was better than listening to Daisy.
“Let’s leave this one alone, Daisy,” Fraser said. “Martha’s had a long day and I’m sure the same is true for tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t leave this alone. Martha should know that she drove her daughter to her snowy grave.”
“Daisy!” Fraser’s voice was sharper than Martha had ever heard it.
Martha said, “I want to hear.”
Daisy tittered. “Jules was a camera. A video camera. With sound. Sacha left him in your office often.”
Too much Scotch — the room was spinning. When would Martha remember that more than three drinks made her stomach turn over? “What did Jules see?”
“A very intelligent Mexican man giving you advice about narcotics. And you dismissing him saying, I could never implement this. Well, I could, but I’d be out of a job at the next election. Shame, because I think it could work.” Daisy shook her head and smiled sadly. “I can’t believe anyone would contemplate electing you president. You can’t even raise your own daughter successfully.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
CLARE
Clare tugged the blanket up around her chin and nestled deeper into the couch cushion. The stew Chopper was stirring smelled amazing — meaty and spicy and not remotely vegan. Though it was probably organic, or at least hormone- and antibiotic-free, which she oddly now felt glad about. But ultimately she shouldn’t be here — not at all.
“Are you taking me back to the village soon?” Clare asked. “Or should I get someone to pick me up?”
Chopper was on the phone. He took it from his ear for a moment and said to Clare, “I’ll take you after you eat something. Your hands need to warm up; you should get some hot food in you, too.”
Clare looked at her hands and saw that she was wearing red fleece mittens — female. Another girl must have left these at the cabin. She was annoyed to find herself jealous of the girl — some ski bunny or rad snowboarding chick who was probably insanely hot. Something was definitely wrong with Clare — she never felt jealous, and recently the feeling was creeping around inside her like it was the new normal. It was one thing to feel it with Noah, but her relationship with Chopper was fake, so why would she care?
Chopper got off his phone and said to Clare. “They got him.”
“Got who?”
“Norris. I still can’t believe he’s the killer. He was my best friend, all through school.”
Clare flexed her fingers inside the gloves. Still painful. “Thanks for saving me from him. I’m so sorry I put you in that position, me against your friend.”
“Saving you? Shit, I feel bad I left you up here all alone. You ready to eat?”
Clare joined Chopper at the wooden table where he had set down two steaming bowls. “This looks amazing.”
“Should warm you up.”
Clare spooned the thick broth into her mouth. Nothing could warm her hands, but with every chunk of beef, Clare felt her strength return.
“How come you came back without Jana?” Clare had wondered a few times but her brain wasn’t at its quickest.
“Couldn’t wait. When your boyfriend came into Avalanche and told me what was up —”
“He what?” The thought of Noah going to her rescue warmed Clare even faster than the stew.
“He said you left your phone on — that Norris had broken into my place and was trying to attack you. He really digs you. You should give him a chance, when you go back to New York.”
Clare looked up and saw Chopper smiling at her.
“Norris told me. He texted me, actually — when I was waiting for Jana to get her damn glasses. Said you’re the undercover.”
“And you told Norris where to find me?” Clare felt her blood pump faster.
Chopper nodded.
“So why did you come rushing to my rescue?” Clare let one hand slide below the table, where she pressed two buttons from outside her jeans. She hoped she’d guessed their location correctly to speed-dial Noah. She just might need saving again.
“I didn’t know Norris was the killer until your boyfriend came into the bar, told me what you and Norris were talking about. I was pissed at you, I’ll admit that, but I couldn’t leave you up here to die.”
Clare set down her spoon, which suddenly felt heavy in her hand. “Why am I feeling weird? Did you drug me?”
“Yeah,” Chopper said.
“Why?” Clare wondered why she didn’t feel much more than vague panic.
“I need a head start, babe.”
“For what? Is this the same drug Richie and Sacha were on when they died?”
“Don’t know.” Chopper grinned. “Didn’t kill them.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I know. Sorry. Anyway, if you can give me the memory stick from Jules, I’ll be leaving now.”
“I don’t have it. Norris found the stick before I did.” Clare’s brain was still working, but her body felt like mush. She got up from the table and staggered to the couch, where she lay down.
“Shit,” Chopper said. “That stick is going to bust me.”
“Doubt it. Norris dropped it into the snow when he was chasing me. I seriously doubt, if the memory stick is ever found, that the bear cam footage will be readable on any device.”
Chopper tapped his spoon lightly against a piece of beef before rising to join Clare in the living room. “Where on the mountain was it?”
“Not far from the logging road. If I was guessing I’d say, like, three trees away. You seriously going to try to find it?”
“The evidence would get me locked up for years. I can’t risk someone else resurrecting the data.”
Clare couldn’t get Norris’ accusation out of her head, about Chopper being the only one left standing, the only possible candidate for the killer. Not that she could do much about it, half-comatose on his couch. “Am I going to die?”
“Yes. But hopefully not for many years. If I guessed your weight right — around one-ten? — you won’t even lose consciousness. Your body will be numb for the next several hours. You better give me your phone just in case, though.”
Clare started to object but realized there was no point. She lifted her arm to her jeans and it flopped back down to her side.
“Good,” Chopper said, moving toward Clare. “The drug’s working. Where’s the phone?”
“Why would I tell you? How come I can talk fine even though I can’t move?”
“The drug stones your body, not your brain.” Chopper patted Clare down, then reached under her and fished the phone from her back pocket. His touch still felt nice. “There’s food in the fridge for when you wake up. No sedatives in anything, don’t worry. But maybe don’t help yourself to more stew.”
Chopper let his hand linger under Clare. She was shocked that he still turned her on, but when he pulled up his hand — with the phone and the memory stick together — she knew he hadn’t been feeling around affectionately.
“You’re a good liar. I believed you about Norris and the snow. You know your phone’s on.” He lifted it to his ear. “Hello? Hm. They must have hung up.”
Clare felt her eyes grow wide with fear.
Chopper smirked. “I’m not going to kill you. Nor
ris would have, so you made a good call, to your boyfriend. Even knowing you were a cop, I rushed back here to save your life.”
Clare watched Chopper pack a knapsack. He did this mechanically, like he’d mapped out his escape long ago, just in case.
“Oh, and if this helps: Norris said his contact — the one who gave him your name — is someone in Governor Kearnes’ office. Who for some reason is claiming to be DEA.”
Chopper picked up the keys to both snowmobiles and waved at Clare as he shut the cabin door behind him.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
MARTHA
It’s over,” Ted’s voice screeched through the phone.
Martha rubbed her eyes. She should have taken an Advil — or twelve — before bed. “What’s over?”
“Sacha’s killer has been caught. It was Inspector Norris, Whistler RCMP.”
Sobriety hit fast. But her headache remained. “Why are you talking like your voice got caught in a bicycle chain?”
Ted laughed. “Are you drunk?”
“No. Asleep. Thanks for calling, Ted.”
“My pleasure. And have you seen the ratings? Kearnes is falling fast. You were right to leave out the part about his being a newlywed at the time of your affair. The press has done the math themselves and they’re loving every minute of this story.”
“Forgive me if I’m not feeling quite as celebratory as you are just now.”
“Oh, sorry. Of course . . . what this arrest means . . . can I help in any way?”
Martha shook her head — both a wasted gesture and a painful one. The clock on her bedside table read one a.m. She must have only been out for a couple hours after coming home from Fraser’s and rolling onto the bed. “You’re doing a great job, Ted. Just give me the night to sleep on the news. I’ll be gung ho to keep fighting in the morning.”
SEVENTY-NINE
CLARE
Clare opened her eyes, though her lids wanted to stay shut. She saw the pastel walls, the steaming plastic mug on the tray beside her bed, the fir trees out the window, where the sky was dark.
With effort, she turned her head to see Noah sitting on the other side of the bed, closest to the door.
“Are we still in the hospital?” Clare asked.
“It’s a clinic. But yeah. How are you feeling?”
“What time is it? Is it still Saturday?”
Noah nodded. “Ten-thirty. Are you groggy, or do you feel okay?”
Clare remembered the sound of the helicopter landing just outside Chopper’s house. In her fugue, she had even laughed out loud at the play on words — a chopper to save her from Chopper. She remembered paramedics rushing through the front door, followed by Noah close behind. And the ride down from the mountain to the village health care center.
“I’ve always wanted to ride in a helicopter,” Clare said. “Actually, I’d like to fly one, but I guess I should take lessons first. Why is this tube in my wrist? I don’t remember them putting that in.” Clare pushed at the edge of the tape that was holding her IV tube in place. She would have peeled it off, but her hands were covered in bandages.
Noah pulled her hand away gently. “The nurses will pull it out when it’s time. Does your head hurt? Or feel weird?”
Clare sighed. “My head’s fine. I could use a coffee, though. Why are my hands covered with gauze?”
“Frostbite,” Noah said. “God, I feel terrible. I should have come with Chopper up the hill to rescue you. I wanted to, but he pointed out it would be awkward if he had to put you on his sled and drop me halfway up the mountain.”
“I’m fine.” Clare looked at her hands. They felt tingly, but not painful. “What you did was great. Coffee?”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll ask the nurse. Clare, I would have walked the other halfway up — I didn’t care about that. I only stayed down so I could confront Norris, make sure his boys didn’t conveniently let him slip arrest. Fuck, I hate them both so much right now.” Noah shook his head. “Look what they did to you.”
Clare lifted her arms — they moved slower than she told them to, but she was regaining control fairly steadily. “I’m really fine. And can I not have hospital coffee? It’s so weak, it’s like tea, but more awful.”
Noah stood up and walked toward the window. Clare liked the sight of his ass in his dark denim jeans. Toned and cute. He leaned a shoulder against the sill and gazed out for a moment before turning back to Clare. He said, “You need to learn to take action, not just let stuff happen to you. You got Norris by fluke — you wouldn’t have known he was the killer if he hadn’t been trying to kill you.”
Clare’s impulse was to tell Noah to fuck off and do his own job. But she could see he was worried about her. “I can see why it looks like a fluke to someone who doesn’t get my strategy.”
Noah shook his head. “Strategy involves planning. What you do involves . . . waiting for something to happen. It’s dangerous. You nearly died tonight. Twice.”
Clare sighed. “Look, I’m not knocking your style, even if I do find it way too forced sometimes.”
“Forced?”
“You go in with a plan,” Clare said. “You don’t give yourself room to roll with things.”
“Roll with things? No, you’re right, I do prefer a plan. It’s why I get results.”
“I get results, too,” Clare said. “Norris is in jail, yes?”
“You only got lucky that he came after you.” Noah smacked his forehead. “Sorry, maybe lucky was the wrong word.”
Since Noah didn’t seem to be moving to get her that coffee, Clare moved to reach for the tea beside her bed. She tried to move her shoulder, though, and couldn’t. “God, this is annoying. I can’t wait until I can move again. Do they know what Chopper drugged me with?”
“No.”
“Is it the same drug Sacha and Richie were on when they were killed?”
“No, pretty sure that was Ambien. Norris’ wife has a heavy prescription.”
Clare frowned. “I still don’t like Norris as the killer.”
“No? I don’t like the Ambien and pocketknife Norris had when we arrested him. He was going after you to kill you.”
Clare swallowed hard. “Someone in Kearnes’ camp was egging him on. And pretending to be DEA. Or something. I don’t have the whole story.”
Noah laughed. “Strong drugs you’ve been taking.”
“Chopper and Norris both told me parts of this. I think Norris’ mystery contact told him to kill Sacha. If my brain was working better, I think I could solve this right now.”
“Norris was grasping at straws to get you to swallow the Ambien. He would have slipped it into a drink.”
“No, he wanted me in handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs? Rest, Clare. The killer is caught. It’s a solid close on a high-profile case and the credit will be largely yours. Sorry I knocked your skills. It’s just . . . I was scared shitless that I’d never see you alive again. Scared enough to trust Chopper.” He shook his head. “You should never trust the other guy your girlfriend is sleeping with.”
Clare gave him a faint smile. She liked the sound of girlfriend. “I’ll take credit when the case is over. Shared credit. I wish I still had that bear cam footage. I’m sure it could have helped us put this together.”
“You mean Sacha’s documentary?”
Clare nodded.
“We have that. Well, the RCMP does. Richie Lebar saved every file to his home computer.”
“Have you watched it?”
“No. It was password-protected, but our guys cracked it easily in the lab. I hear it’s enough to put most of these people in jail. If only we can find that bastard Chopper.”
“He’s not a bastard.”
“He drugged you and abandoned you in the middle of nowhere. In my books, he’s a bastard.”
“He saved my life today. I hop
e they never catch him.”
“They?” Noah’s eyebrows lifted.
“Fine. We.”
Noah snorted. “You should worry about developing Stockholm Syndrome.”
“At least I don’t get so caught up in my cover role that I murder people because I’m in love with them.” Clare tried to clap a hand to her mouth, but her arm moved too slowly to make that work. “I did not mean for that to come out.”
Noah’s brow lowered. “How do you know about that? Bert said it was in the vault.”
“Amanda told me. I’m so sorry, Noah. I have to learn to think before I talk. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Clare, leave it.”
Clare felt tears form behind her eyes. Man, this was fucked — all these chemicals in her body were seriously messing with her emotions.
“Norris had something else that nails his coffin: three plane tickets, one-way to Buenos Aires.”
“Three?”
“Him, his wife, and his kid. Leaving Monday morning.”
“Wow. If he hadn’t tried to kill me, he probably would have made it.”
“Who knows? The important thing is, Norris is safely behind bars.”
Right. Where Clare could visit him, to talk further. She wanted that DEA/Kearnes story.
“I’m going for a cigarette,” Noah said. “You mind? If you want, I can ask a nurse if we can get you outside for one, too.”
Clare looked up at Noah, surprised. She hadn’t had a cigarette since she’d thrown her pack away in Chopper’s place, and she’d forgotten to be edgy about it. “I think I might have quit.”
Noah gave her a look like the world must have turned upside down.
“I have to stop in Toronto on my way back to New York. You want to come?”
“You talked to Roberta?” Noah lifted a corner of the sheet and started playing with Clare’s foot, rubbing it. He pulled up a chair and sat down — apparently the cigarette could wait.
Clare smiled at his touch. “It’s not going to be a fun trip. I understand if you say no.”