The tall blonde tossed back her long hair. “You mean the woman who bashed a tree?” Her expression softened. “You knew her? I’m sorry.”
Refusing to succumb to grief, Claire reminded herself why she was here. “Thanks. Could you describe this Naylor guy to me? All I saw of him was his outerwear and that multi-colored hat.”
The blonde laughed. “Boyd likes to have all eyes on him, especially when he’s flipping tricks or grinding rails.”
What the heck is she talking about? “Is Boyd his first name?”
“Yeah, he hates it, which is why he goes by Nail-It. Matches his last name, and he does nail his jumps.”
“He shreds with the best,” one of the other young women added.
Shreds? “What does he look like?”
The blonde cocked her head and stared into space as if trying to picture him. “Fuzzy blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes, a few inches taller than me.”
A young man wearing a backward baseball cap stumbled into the group. His open coat slouched off his shoulders, and his red-rimmed eyes wandered unfocused over the faces of the young women. “Any of you ladies care to dansh?”
He swayed before them, obviously well on his way into a good bender. His beer sloshed on the gray carpet underfoot. The blonde and her friends turned their backs as a group.
Not as fast, Claire was left alone with him. Darn!
A look of disappointment crossed the drunk’s face, then he focused on Claire. “How ’bout you? Let’s boogie.” He shuffled his feet, causing more liquid to slosh from his glass.
She tried to keep the distaste out of her expression. “No, thanks.”
He grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the stage. “C’mon.”
Claire planted her feet and pulled his hand off. “I said, no thanks.”
He lurched close, his stale beer breath overpowering. “Jus’ one.” He held up a finger, which swayed between their faces.
Roger appeared next to Claire and took her arm. “The lady said no.”
The drunk eyed him, taking in Roger’s advantage in height and weight and the angry set to his jaw, then put out his hand, palm out. “No offensh, man. Didn’t know she was your lady.” He spun, put out a foot to catch his balance, and stumbled off.
Roger dropped his grip on Claire. “I leave you alone for a few minutes, and you’re already attracting young drunks.”
Ready with a retort, Claire noticed the grin on his face, and swallowed her angry words. She lifted her beer glass as if toasting him and took a sip. “Always ready to dance with a handsome fellow like yourself.”
Roger glanced at the stage. “Not sure I’d know what to do to this music.” He scanned the non-dancing crowd. “No one else seems to either.”
“Did you see Judy when you came in?”
“She was talking to the coat-check girl and told me where to find you.”
He steered Claire toward the back of the room, away from the stage, though the noise level didn’t dissipate much. “I called the sheriff’s office. The dispatcher said she’d locate Detective Silverstone and send him over here, but she had no idea how long that would take. She seemed to know the place, as if they’ve had trouble here in the past. So, did you find this snowboarder?”
“No, but I have a name, Boyd Naylor, and a description from the young women over there.” She tilted her head toward the quartet at the bar.
Judy walked up beside Roger, her beer glass already half empty. “Oh, good. You found Mom. Nail-It seems to be here. The girl behind the coat-check counter found a hat that looks like his.”
A young man in baggy black jeans and a T-shirt with a marijuana leaf on it stepped out of the men’s restroom and walked toward the billiard room. His fuzzy blond mop looked like a whole family of gerbils could nest in it.
Claire walked over to the tall blonde who had given her Naylor’s first name and tapped her on the shoulder. “Is that Boyd?” She pointed at the receding back of the young man.
“That’s him,” the blonde replied.
Claire grabbed Roger’s arm. “Let’s go.”
They walked into the billiard room and found Naylor leaning on the small bar there, ordering a beer.
When the bartender brought the glass, Roger slapped a twenty on the counter. “It’s on me.”
Naylor whirled around and stared at Roger. “Who’re you and why’re you buying me a beer?”
Roger stuck out his hand. “Roger Hanover. This is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Judy.”
Claire and Judy nodded at the puzzled snowboarder.
“Are you Nail-It Naylor?” Judy asked.
He drew back but had the presence of mind to take a swig of his free beer. “How do you know who I am?”
Judy smiled. “No need to worry. We just have a few questions. First, you wear a hat with multi-colored fleece dreadlocks, don’t you?”
His brows furrowed. “Yea—ah.”
“And your snowboard is orange with swirls on it,” Claire said.
“Where’s this going?” Naylor peered at each of their faces as he drank some more beer.
Roger pocketed the change the bartender returned to him and faced Naylor. “We’re friends of the young woman who was killed on Peak Eight yesterday.”
“Shit!” Naylor slammed the glass on the bar, sloshing the beer, and turned to flee.
Roger laid a restraining hand on his arm. “We want to hear your side of the story.”
“No way. That dude’ll get me for sure.” Naylor’s eyes widened with fear. “I didn’t see nothing.”
“That dude?” Claire advanced on Naylor. “What dude?”
Naylor shook his head.
Claire’s mind raced. Obviously, the young man was afraid of someone. Was he already in trouble with the ski patrol, Breckenridge police, or the Summit County sheriff ? Or maybe the dude was the skier—the one whose tracks she had seen. If Naylor saw the skier hit Stephanie, the skier could have threatened him with harm if he divulged anything.
How could she get him to open up? Claire got an idea. She caught her daughter’s eye, pointed her chin at Naylor, and gave Judy a nudge.
“Look, we’re not the authorities,” Claire said. “We knew the young woman who died. We need some closure, to understand what happened to her. So do her parents and brother.”
Judy removed her father’s hand from Naylor’s arm and slipped her arm through the snowboarder’s. “She was my friend. It’s very important to me. I’d really appreciate it.”
Though Naylor still looked edgy, his desire to flee seemed to wilt under her sweet gaze.
“If you want,” Claire added, “whatever you tell us won’t go beyond us and Stephanie’s family.”
Sorrow joined the fear in his eyes. “Oh, man. I didn’t want to know her name.”
“Please help us.” Judy stopped just shy of batting her eyelashes at him.
When did she become such an expert flirt, Claire wondered. And how much practice did it take?
Naylor licked his lips. “You won’t go to the cops?”
Claire damn well would, but she could convince him of the necessity of that later. Right now, she had to get him to trust them and tell them what he knew. She was terrible at lying, but a delaying tactic was different, right?
“We won’t tell a soul unless you approve it first.” Claire glanced at Judy and Roger. “Okay?”
Roger shot her a dubious look but appeared to be willing to follow her lead. “Okay.”
Judy nodded.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet, so we can hear each other talk.” Claire scanned Naylor’s thin frame. “How about the outdoor crepe stand across the street. You hungry? We’re buying. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Naylor downed the rest of his beer and wiped his hand across his lips. “Okay.”
He led them up the stairs and retrieved his snow jacket and goofy hat from the coat check. Claire, Roger, and Judy got their coats, too, and Roger tipped the young woman.
Once
outside, Claire led the way across the street and talked Naylor into ordering two dessert crepes, chocolate and strawberry. She also ordered a round of hot chocolate, so he wouldn’t feel self-conscious about eating alone. Once they were seated at an outdoor table beneath an overhead gas heater, Naylor dug into the crepes, wolfing down big bites like a stray dog on the run.
The sight reminded Claire of her son in the midst of a growth spurt. Poor guy probably skipped dinner.
Roger leaned forward. “Judy saw you zoom past her seconds before Stephanie was hit. You were going awfully fast.” The accusatory words came out in a cloud of frosted breath.
After taking a swig of hot chocolate as if to bolster his courage, Naylor said, “It’s like this. I may look like I’m booking too fast down the slope, but I know what I’m doing. I’ve been riding board for eight years, since I got hooked on it in junior high. I can catch major hang time and still land on a dime. Just ask around.”
“A young woman in the bar said you shred with the best,” Claire said. Whatever that means.
Judy lifted a surprised brow at her mother.
Naylor sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “There. You see?”
A frown creased Roger’s face. “That’s precisely the problem. We don’t see. We don’t know who hit Stephanie or how.”
Firmly, Claire pushed him away. She decided to establish some rapport. “Ski patrol’s looking for you because they think you hit her. I think someone else did, for reasons I’ll tell you later, but I need to hear your story first.”
Naylor swallowed a huge bite. He leaned his elbows on the table and peered nervously up and down Main Street. No cars moved along the street. The only other people in sight were the two workers manning the crepe stand, chatting quietly between themselves. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again.
Judy ran her hand along Naylor’s forearm in a gentle caress. “Please tell us what happened.”
Good girl.
Looking extremely disappointed after Judy removed her hand, Naylor cleared his throat and started in. “I remember passing the four of you below the bump field on Ptarmigan.” He looked Claire and Roger up and down. “You must know your stuff to have made it down that.”
Roger cracked a wry smile. “We try.”
“Anyway, after I passed you, I stopped in the woods to take a piss. Then she and her friend came by.” He jabbed a thumb in Judy’s direction then scratched his head, jostling the hat perched on his unruly hair. “I kinda thought that since they’d peeled off from you two, I might catch them in the lift line. Strike up a conversation, you know.” He grinned sheepishly.
Judy pursed her lips, but thankfully knew to stay quiet and sip her cocoa.
“And then?” Claire prompted.
“I passed her.” Naylor indicated Judy. “And slowed down, looking for the other one. Right when I spotted her, this dude dressed all in black came shooting out of the woods right at her. He smacked into her like that.” He clapped his hands together, startling Claire.
Judy gasped.
“She didn’t fall right away, but she lost her balance. I could see her fighting for it. But she never got it back. Then she smashed into the tree.” He stopped, his eyes glazed over as he relived the crash. “Shit,” he whispered and cast his gaze toward the ground.
Claire gave him a moment then asked, “Do you think it was an accident? That he didn’t look uphill before he came out?”
“Hell no.” Naylor ground his teeth and raised his head. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “He was looking uphill all right. Right at her. He waited until she got close, then he pushed off and rammed her.”
“Oh, God.” A tear dribbled down Judy’s cheek. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket.
Gently, Claire asked, “Why didn’t you stop to help her?”
Naylor jerked and stared at her. “I saw her head smack into the tree and the blood on the ground. I couldn’t help anyone hurt that bad, and I didn’t have my cell phone on me. I figured the best thing to do was to get the ski patrol. So I booked.”
“What about the skier? Why didn’t he stop?”
“’Cause he was chasing me, man.”
“What the hell?” Roger’s eyes went wide.
“I passed him on my way down,” Naylor said. “He was standing on the other side of the slope, farther down, staring at her, cool as a frozen cucumber, like he was waiting to see if she moved or something. I couldn’t believe it. Then he took off after me, and all I could think was that I’d be next. My heart was pounding, man. The dude was good, knew his stuff. And he was fast, as fast as me. I couldn’t shake him.”
Claire gripped her cup. “What did you do?”
“I figured my only chance was to head into Toilet Bowl.” At their quizzical glances, he said, “That’s what we boarders call the treed area between Northstar and Claimjumper. It’s full of big bumps, tree wells, icy spots, all kinds of nasty, fun shit. It’s where we hang out, shoot the breeze, smoke some weed. Just to party a little, know what I mean?” He looked at Judy.
She nodded, silently shredding the tissue in her hands.
Claire stared at her daughter.
Judy shrugged, as if to say she was only playing along with Naylor.
“I know that place backward and upside down,” Naylor said. “I know every bump and tree, so I figured I could lose him there. And I did. After I couldn’t see him anymore, I spotted a couple of riders hanging off to the side, finishing a joint. I asked ’em to ride down for me and get ski patrol to help your friend ’cause I had a maniac on my ass. What was her name again?”
“Stephanie,” Judy whispered.
Naylor glanced at her and his expression softened. “Stephanie. Yeah. Well, after that, I peeled out of Toilet Bowl as fast as I could, hit the base, stepped out of my board, and ran for the first bus heading off the mountain.”
Roger looked skeptical. “Why didn’t you contact the ski patrol and tell them about the skier chasing you?”
“You think they’d believe me? You don’t believe me yourself, man. I can tell from your eyes. I’ve had some run-ins with the patrol in the past. They’d assume I did it, pull my season pass, and who knows what else.”
A manslaughter charge is what else. Claire was amazed that what the young man seemed to be most concerned about was his ski pass.
“Well, I’m willing to believe you,” Claire said, “because your story meshes with what I saw. I spotted the skier’s tracks coming out of the woods and meeting up with Stephanie’s right before hers veered off. You said the skier was dressed all in black. Can you be more specific?”
“Black skis, those skinny graphite black poles, black gloves, and Spyder pants and jacket.”
“Spider?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Mom,” Judy said. “It’s S-P-Y-D-E-R, a brand of ski clothing, with a big logo of a spider on the pieces.”
“What about his head?” Claire asked Naylor. “Could you see his face or hair?”
“He wore sunglasses, but no hat. His hair was kinda gray, or a mix of black and gray. I was surprised an old dude could ski that fast.”
“Was he heavy?” Roger patted his own paunch.
“Nope. Thin.”
Judy leaned forward. “I think I saw the man. He rode up the T-bar a few positions behind Stephanie and me. I remember him because he shoved past a couple of guys adjusting their gear at the top of Ptarmigan like he was in a big hurry. I thought he was rude.”
“Can you add anything to the description Boyd gave us?” Claire asked.
Naylor winced.
Claire caught the movement. “Sorry. Nail-It.”
“The man was on the other side of the slope from us,” Judy said, “so I didn’t get a look at his face. I asked Stephanie if she’d seen how rude he was.” Judy’s voice caught, and she grabbed her cocoa cup to take a sip.
Claire rubbed Judy’s shoulder. “Did she see him?”
Judy shook her head. “She was fixing her gloves
and didn’t see him at all.”
Tapping his plastic fork on his empty paper plate, Naylor seemed to formulate some decision. “I drew a picture of him.”
“The skier?” Roger asked.
“Yeah, I’m majoring in art.”
“Me, too,” Judy said.
“Cool.” Naylor looked at Judy, as if assessing her with a fresh eye, but when she showed no return interest, he sucked on his fork and focused on Claire. “I couldn’t get to sleep last night. I kept seeing the dude in my head. So I decided if I drew him, maybe he’d leave my dreams and live on paper, you know?”
Claire didn’t know, but she nodded.
“Anyway, it worked.”
“We’ll need to get that drawing.” Claire reviewed what they knew. An older man, dressed in black Spyder ski clothes, who was an excellent skier, had deliberately killed Stephanie. “I want to take the information you gave us to Detective Silverstone at the Summit County Sheriff’s Office.”
Naylor shook his head and sat back, his palms pushing against the table, as if ready to bolt. “You promised you wouldn’t go to the cops.”
Claire spoke quietly, but firmly, “No, I said we wouldn’t tell a soul unless you approve it first. I’m asking for your approval. You’re in danger, Boyd. Look how easily we found you. Not only will the police have no trouble tracking you down, but this skier-in-black could do the same and come after you.”
“I can take care of myself,” Naylor said.
“Not if he has a gun,” Claire replied. “Detective Silverstone needs to hear how the skier chased you, so he knows how dangerous this man is. This isn’t only about your safety. What if the skier gets his kicks from crashing into people on the slope? What if he kills someone else? Do you want that on your conscience?”
Naylor tucked his hands under his armpits, hugging himself. His gaze shifted up and down the street, searching once more. “What if the cops can’t find him, and he gets to me in the meantime?”
“How about this? I’ll tell Detective Silverstone your concerns and see if he can offer protection.”
“I don’t want cops hanging around my place.”
“So you live here?” Roger asked.
“For the season, at least.”
To Hell in a Handbasket Page 5