Murder in Vail (13 page)

Chapter Thirty-eight

The men started back on the long trek through the snow to the house. The snowfall had picked up again and was making visibility difficult.

“Shouldn’t we bring the arm back to the house with us?” Glen asked. “He’ll need to be identified.”

Stephen and Lance looked at one another.

“I’m not carrying it,” Stephen said.

“Me either,” Lance echoed.

But Glen was doubtful. “I don’t know. It just feels weird leaving it out here.”

“Well, go get it if you want to, Glen,” Stephen said, adding with a wink to Lance. “I just hope the mountain lion doesn’t get a whiff and come back for what he left.”

“On second thought,” Glen said, digging his ski poles into the snow faster, “let’s leave it.”

They trudged along in silence for five minutes until they came within feet of the ski shed. Glen noticed something unusual in the snow.

“Hey, what’s this?” he called to Stephen.

Stephen made his way over to Glen. “Those are tracks. Somebody’s been here. They lead to the ski shed.”

“Let’s check it out. Maybe Gwen is in there,” Glen said optimistically. “It’s the only place we haven’t checked.”

They each turned and made their way slowly to the small shed where the family kept their skis, ski boots, and other ski equipment. Stephen arrived first. As he climbed the five stairs to the small covered porch, he found a turquoise mitten on the top step.

“Hey, look at this!” He waved the mitten in the air.

“Let me see that,” Glen said, coming up behind him. He examined the mitten. “I’m pretty sure this is Gwen’s. It looks familiar. She likes this color.”

They all three stared at the door to the shed, not sure what would be on the other side. After finding three dead bodies in the past two days, the likelihood of finding another one didn’t seem that farfetched to them.

Glen stepped forward and took hold of the knob. “Gwen? Are you in there?”

When they didn’t get an answer, Glen turned the knob and slowly opened the door. He saw several sets of skis hanging from racks on the wall, and ski poles, ski boots, goggles, gloves, and other equipment lined up against one wall. A built-in bench ran the length of the other wall. The room was so small that there was nowhere she could have been hiding.

They all went inside, looked around at the equipment, and one by one sat down on the bench.

“Well, what do you make of this?” Stephen asked, holding up the mitten.

“I don’t know,” Lance said. His foot hit something under the bench. He bent over and looked underneath.

“What are these?” He pulled out a pair of snow boots from under the bench.

“These are wet,” Lance said, giving his brother a meaningful look. “And they’re women’s.”

Stephen checked out the ski racks more closely. “It looks like there might be a set of skis missing,” he said.

Glen looked back and forth at both of them as if he didn’t understand. “So, what are you saying? That Gwen skied down the mountain?”

“It sure looks that way,” Stephen said, frowning. “Pretty dangerous in these conditions.”

“Especially for Gwen,” Glen exclaimed. “She doesn’t know how to ski!”

Gwen’s brothers exchanged surprised glances.

“What are you talking about, Glen?” Lance said. “Gwen’s a good skier. At least she was when she was a teenager. She used to race.”

“She was?” Glen said. “I didn’t know that. Or, at least I don’t remember.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Are you two really married? How can you not know that?”

“I’ve never seen her ski,” Glen said defensively. “We live in South Florida. The subject just never came up.”

“Well,” Lance said, “to be fair, Gwen probably hasn’t skied in ten years.”

“I’ve only known Gwen for five years. And we’ve only been married for four.”

  “Well, I hope she’s able to get down the mountain okay,” Stephen said. “The conditions are dangerous after a storm. Downed trees, downed power lines. You never know what’s underneath the snow.”

“Why would she take a chance like this,” Glen asked, confused. “And why didn’t she tell me she was going?”

Stephen and his brother traded glances. It was obvious they were both thinking the same thing.

“I think she was afraid of something,” Lance said. “What—or who—I don’t know. But two women in the house ended up dead. She might have thought she’d be next.”

“This isn’t like Gwen,” Glen said, concerned. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.”

“Well, let’s just hope she makes it down okay,” Lance said. “There’s nothing we can do now. I’m sure not going down after her.”

“Me either,” Stephen echoed. “Much too dangerous.”

“Let’s head back to the house,” Lance suggested. The others agreed and they started slogging back through the snow toward the house.

As the men left the shed, a mile-and-a-half down the ski slope, Gwen lay motionless, face down in the snow. Steady snowfall pelted her back.

Chapter Thirty-nine

A half hour later, Lance knocked on the bedroom door.

“Who is it?”

“Lance.”

“Password?”

“Duchess.”

The door opened, and Yvette threw her arms around her husband. “I’m so glad you’re back! What did you find out there?”

“Well, the good news is, the blood on the snow was not Gwen’s. It was a poacher’s. I won’t go into the gory details, but it wasn’t pretty.”

Yvette grimaced. “So you still don’t know what happened to Gwen?”

“We’re pretty sure we do. When we went into the ski shed, we found her boots, and a pair of skis were missing. So, it looks like she’s trying to ski down the mountain.”

Yvette gasped. “She skied in this weather? Why would she do that?”

“We’re not sure about that. She may have just panicked and wanted to get out of here no matter what.”

Yvette sat down on the bed. “Oh, poor Gwen. That’s so scary. She must have been so afraid to do something like that.”’

Lance sat down next to her and took her hand. “It’s like those people who jump out of burning buildings. They just want to get out.”

“Do you think she’ll make it down safely?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to try it, that’s for sure. But Gwen’s a better skier than I am. She’s really good—the problem is that she hasn’t skied in years. We’ll just have to wish for the best. It’s all we can do.”

Lance fell back on the bed. “I’m exhausted. I haven’t gotten that much exercise in years.”

“My poor baby,” Yvette said sympathetically. “Roll over, and I’ll give you a massage.”

Lance rolled over and teared up a bit. “You’re the best wife ever, Yvette. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Downstairs, Stephen and Glen were warming their hands by the fireplace when Helga walked in, the butcher knife in her hand.

“You find Gwen in snow?”

Startled, the men turned around quickly.

“No,” Stephen answered. “That was a poacher. Looks like he froze to death, and then a mountain lion got him.”

“Serve him right.”

“That’s what I said too.”

Helga moved a few steps closer. Glen flinched.

“So, nobody know where Gwen is?” she asked them.

Stephen answered, “We think we know where she is. When we went in the ski shed, her boots were there, and some skis were missing. It looks like she skied down the mountain.”

Helga seemed shocked. “Ski? Gwen? She never make it.”

“You’d probably never guess this, Helga, but Gwen used to be a very good skier,” Stephen told her. “Still, in this weather, unfortunately you may be right.”

“Why she do that? You think she kill Sally and try to escape?”

“What!” Glen glared at her. “My wife didn’t kill anybody.”

“Why else she go?”

“We think she may have been afraid,” Stephen said. “That she was afraid to stay in the house.”

Helga glared at Glen. “Maybe she afraid of her husband. Maybe she know you kill her mother.”

Glen hissed back at her. “Maybe you’re the one she should have been afraid of. You and that butcher knife of yours.”

“Enough, enough,” Stephen said, raising his hands. “All these accusations aren’t doing anybody any good.”

Helga had one more to hurl. “Probably you or your brother kill her. Or maybe Playboy lady. You all want her money.”

Stephen sighed. “Ok, Helga, now that you’ve accused everyone in the house, can we please have some peace and quiet.”

Helga waved the knife at them. “You stay away from me!” Then she whirled around and left the room.

Glen murmured to Stephen. “No problem with that.”

Chapter Forty

Her nose was tingling. She wanted to rub it to warm it up, but her hands wouldn’t move. She tried to wiggle her fingers in her gloves. A couple of them moved, but the others were numb.

She fluttered her eyelashes to see if her eyes would open. They opened a crack, but all she could see was white. Her cheeks felt wet and cold, and her forehead was pounding. Her whole body ached, and she couldn’t move. What had happened?

Gwen tried to remember. She had been skiing down the mountain. She started off slowly, not sure if she would even be able to do it after all these years. But once she got going, she wanted to go faster and faster, she couldn’t help herself. It made her feel so alive, so free, like she was flying. But then, after a curve in the trail, she didn’t see it in time, a huge fallen branch from a fir tree jutting up out of the snow. She remembered flying up in the air, her body twisting, and then hitting the ground hard. She somersaulted and began rolling until everything went black. Gwen wondered how long ago that had been, how long she had been lying there.

She couldn’t see, but it felt like it had stopped snowing. Thank God for that, at least. It had been coming down pretty hard when she left. But it was so cold. She tried to think of warm places and imagine she was there. The patio by her pool in Palm Beach, the warm sand on South Beach, the hot springs pool down the road at Glenwood Springs. She almost drifted off but forced herself to stay awake. If she lost consciousness now, it would be all over.

With every ounce of strength she could summon, she rolled onto her side. Her back and legs screamed with soreness at the small movement. She wondered if she’d broken anything. She noticed she was wearing the turquoise ski jacket that she just bought. How long ago was that? Two days? It felt like months.

She rested again, for how long she didn’t know. She felt so groggy. What was she doing out here anyway? She tried to think. Slowly, it came back to her. Her mother. Smothered. She had to get off this mountain. She had to keep going.

Gwen forced herself to roll over on her back. Then, she lifted her head, painfully, and looked around. She saw one of her skis about twenty feet away. She pushed herself up a little more and then had to rest. She tried wiggling her fingers and suddenly realized she was still clutching her ski pole with her left hand. She lifted her right hand out of the snow and shook it, trying to get some circulation going.

She rested again. Every move she made required such effort. Finally, she got herself into a sitting position. She was very sore, but she didn’t think she’d broken anything. Reaching up, she touched her forehead. Pain seared through her, and she could feel a huge bump.

Using the ski pole as a cane, she pushed herself into a standing position. She stood still for several moments and peered at the snow around her. She finally saw the second ski, a little higher up the slope.

Not as stiff as she had been earlier, Gwen took a few tentative steps in the deep snow. She kept pushing forward and soon made it to the first ski. She grabbed it, tucked it under her arm, and trudged on toward the second ski. Either she was feeling better, or her body had gone numb in the cold, and she couldn’t feel anything.

Gwen looked around for her second ski pole. She didn’t see it. Could she ski with only one pole? She had done it once or twice, but it was so hard, even in prime conditions. She squinted farther up the hill and saw the sun reflecting off something metal right behind the fir branch. Carrying the two skis, she crawled on her knees toward the pole. After several minutes, she finally reached the thick branch. She set the skis on it, climbed across, and grabbed the ski pole. Then, she sat down on the limb to rest. When she finally gathered a little more energy, she put her skis back on.

Taking several deep breaths, Gwen stood up and pushed off on her skis. She skied slower this time, a lot slower, on the lookout for anything ahead of her that might cause a problem. Her legs ached and her head throbbed. This part of the trail curved so much. She slowed down even more and stopped to rest.

Gwen wondered what time it was. The sun was starting to move down in the sky. Maybe two-thirty or three, she guessed. She forced herself to block out her headache and start skiing again. “Stop being such a baby,” she reprimanded herself.

Up on skis again, Gwen went around two more curves and suddenly saw the small wooden cabin at the end of the trail come into view. It was about fifty yards away.

She’d never felt such relief. “I made it!”