Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (12 page)

Why is this my life?

“We work together sometimes,” I said, weakly.
 

The lift guy grinned, pulled me out of line, and stuck me with the three weirdos. I was starting to see a trend, a kind of Chinese finger trap for my life. The more I struggled, the more time I spent with Aaron. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up sleeping at the foot of my bed like a hound.
 

“All right, guys, let’s get it together,” I said. “Poles in one hand and just let the chair scoop you up.”
 

“Got it,” said Uncle Morty as he put his ski tips on top of mine.
 

“Good luck,” said the lift guy and he signaled to start the lift.
 

“If he pancakes me, I’m coming for you,” I said to the lift guy.
 

“I can take it.”
 

The lift chair came around and scooped us up, no problem. I wasn’t going to be so lucky with the exit. Morty and Aaron couldn’t even sit with their skis pointed straight. How they were going to slide off the chair in a straight line was a mystery to me. Rodney’s snowboard was dangling right, but how long would that last? I’d have to get off fast to survive.
 

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.
 

“Skiing,” said Morty. “Getting physical. Being dudes.”
 

“Since when do you get physical? You’re a dedicated sitter.”
 

“Turning over a new leaf. It’s us against the elements.”
 

“Come on. Spill it. Dad sent you, didn’t he? Is there a grifter in the village that he wants us to nab? A wife beater, a child molester, armed robber? What am I supposed to do?”
 

“Nothing,” said Rodney. “Tommy didn’t send us.”
 

“Really? You just happen to be at Copper Mountain the week I’m here with Pete and his parents by accident.”
 

“It’s no accident. We were invited,” said Morty.
 

“By who?”
 

“Don’t matter. We’re here.”
 

“Who do you know that skis besides me?” I asked.
 

“Nobody,” said Morty. “Hey Aaron, you got another Ding Dong?”
 

We passed trees decorated with strings of Mardi Gras beads. I forced myself to stop listening to the guys discussing the merits of snackcake companies and looked at the stunning scenery. It was pristine that morning, unlike my very messy life. The heavy snowfall had left the runs clean and smooth with only a few new tracks etched in and the new snow coming down would cover them soon enough. My favorite kind of day to ski, except I didn’t want to ski. I wanted to get Keegan’s oil. Having Uncle Morty around would only make it harder, not to mention Aaron. He had the ability to turn up exactly when I didn’t want him around, usually eating and talking Star Wars.
 

“Have one?” Rodney’s Ding Dong was in front of my face.
 

“No, thanks.”
 

He pulled back, but I grabbed his hand. “Rod, where are your wrist guards?”

“Don’t need them. I’m an expert,” he said.

“You’re an expert in snowboarding?” I’d rarely seen Rodney outdoors, much less being athletic.

“Yep. You’re looking at the all-time high scorer two months running.”
 

“By high scorer do you mean a video game?”
 

“Triple Stomp X. I am the champion,” said Rodney, glowing with pride.

“Have you ever been on a snowboard before? A real one?”
 

“Don’t need to. I’ve got the moves.”
 

“You’re going to have the move to an ER. Rod, this is Colorado with real snow and real pain when you fall.”

“I’m going to be great,” said Rodney.
 

“Uncle Morty, aren’t you supposed to be the brains of this operation?” I asked.

“He’ll be okay. Stop pissin’ and moanin’. So he falls. We’re men in the outdoors doing stuff that guys do,” said Uncle Morty.
 

“Who
are
you?”
 

“Morton Van Der Hoof as you well know. Writer of epics and badass action scenes.”
 

“That’s different. You’re not actually doing anything. We can just stay on the lift. They’ll stop it at the bottom for us.”

“No way, girly girl. We’re hittin’ it like men do.”
 

Well, there’s always the orange sleds.
 

Uncle Morty rammed his shoulder into mine. “Speaking of hittin’ it. Where’re you with this stabbing?”
 

“Nowhere. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
 

He snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re here and there’s a crime, there ain’t no way you’re not involved.”
 

“I’m not.”
 

“I saw you eyeing that crime scene tent. You’re just like your dad. Up to your eyeballs in it.”
 

Damnit!

Rodney leaned over. “You know the snowboarder that got stabbed?”
 

“No!”
 

Uncle Morty scratched his scruffy chin. “Yeah, you do. What’s his name? I’ll dig into him, for a reasonable price of course.”
 

“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”
 

Uncle Morty raised a bushy eyebrow behind his battered sunglasses and made a grumbling sound deep in his chest.
 

Distract him. Distract him.

“There’s the end,” I said. “Lift your tips and let the chair gently push you off.”
 

“This is really fast,” said Rodney.
 

“It’ll slow down when we get there. It’s a detachable system.”
 

“Detachable?” Rodney started wiggling around like he was ready to jettison right there. “What if we fall?”
 

“Now you’ve done it,” said Morty.
 

“Calm down,” I said. “It’s just how they keep the chairs moving evenly and can slow down for us.”
 

“I don’t want to,” said Rodney.

“You’re gettin’ off, pantywaist,”said Morty.
 

The chair slowed.
 

“Oh,” said Rodney. “Okay. This is good. We can do this.”
 

Famous last words. Our skis and Rodney’s board hit the exit slope and it was no longer good. He screeched and twisted in the seat.
 

“Don’t hold on!” I yelled.
 

He did hold on, but only for a second as his edge grabbed the snow. He screamed and for a second it looked like he might actually slide down the hill. Okay. Maybe a half second. He flailed and then latched onto Uncle Morty, who is the size of a boulder. He let out a stream of obscenity they’re still talking about to this day. It melted the snow on the lift shack roof and singed my cheek as the two of them careened toward me. I must’ve blacked out because the next thing I knew we were dogpiled at the foot of the slope with Nancy and Calvin headed straight for my face. I think I was screaming because they did a hard stop and iced us. My mouth was full of snow. Morty the boulder had me pinned underneath him. Rodney was yelling, “Holy crap!”
 

The lift stopped, leaving a four pack of snowboarders staring at us from their chair.
 

The lift operator ran down and stood over me. “Wow!”

“Get off,” I managed to squeak out.
 

He rolled Uncle Morty off. “Dude, that was spectacular. You are so going to be on YouTube.”
 

Not YouTube again. Well, at least I was fully clothed this time.
 

A hand came down and hoisted me to my feet and I came nose-to-freckled-nose with Fergus Borthwick.
 

“Not you,” I said.
 

“I’m here to serve,” he said.
 

“Please don’t.”

Fergus grinned and whispered, “I’m ready.”
 

Morty barreled in between us. “Ready for what?”

Fergus held out his hand. “Mr. Van Der Hoof. Fergus Borthwick. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
 

“I’m working with Mercy on her new case.”
 

Morty nudged me. “Not involved, huh?”
 

Somebody help me.

“I’m Mercy’s partner,” said Aaron, skiing up with Nancy and Calvin.

Not you. Go. Ski away.

“So Fergus,” said Morty, “you’re helping Mercy. Did she hire you?”
 

“I’m a volunteer,” said Fergus, all Scottish charm.

“So you’re the new stalker.” Morty clapped him on the shoulder. “Can’t say we need any help. We got her covered. Unless, of course, like a true Scotsmen you’ve got a bit of the good stuff on you.”
 

“Uncle Morty, that’s not right. You can’t assume that— ”

Fergus pulled a small silver flask out of his hip pocket. “My father has a distillery, finest Scotch from the moors of our estate.”
 

“Now you’re talkin’.” Morty went for the flask and I snatched it away just before he got it to his greedy lips.
 

“You can’t ski drunk,” I said. “You can’t ski sober.”
 

“I believe a little Scotch helps,” said Fergus. “Loosens up the body and mind.”
 

“See, the boy agrees with me.” Morty wrestled the flask out of my hand and took a big swig.
 

Calvin and Nancy were staring at him, so I was forced to make introductions, while all I could think was I should be down the mountain and digging through Rory’s room for Keegan’s oil, but here I was, making small talk. Nancy and Calvin kept glancing at me. I can only imagine what they were thinking. Cops, a stabbing, a salacious website, a stalker, and now three weirdos, boozing it up on the mountain top.
 

“All right then,” I said. “I’m skiing. Good luck and good night.”
 

Desperate to escape, I went to the left toward the blue runs, and to my dismay, the whole pack followed me. Nancy was chatting with Rodney and I could see the worry lines forming around her mouth. She was such a mom and moms ruined everything given half a chance. I better hit it before—

“Mercy!” she called.

You didn’t hear that. Just get to the bottom.

A guy in a plaid ski outfit tapped me on the shoulder. “Your mom’s calling you.”
 

That’s what I need, another mom.
 

I turned around with my shoulders slumped. “Yes, Nancy?”
 

“They’re not ready for blues. Let’s start with Coppertone.”
 

Groan.

“Fine.” I turned and ignored the snickering from a pack of teenagers, who pointed at my nerd posse and their jeans. I would’ve gone over and defended them, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it.
 

Calvin and Nancy, showing their excellent breeding, were giving helpful hints to Aaron and Uncle Morty. We lined up at the top of the hill and Rodney did a fist pump. “Let’s do this thing!” And he took off. Straight down the fall line. I guess Triple Stomp X didn’t cover turning. I went after Rodney and Fergus went after me. I couldn’t have lost Fergus, if I wanted to. Neither of us could’ve caught Rodney. He was picking up speed, and since he couldn’t turn, he didn’t go right onto Coppertone, but went straight onto the blue run, Adventure Trail.
 

“Get him!” yelled Calvin as they went right.

Starting on a blue, not my favorite thing, but what could I do? I tucked and avoided turning as well in an effort to catch up with Rodney, Fergus right beside me. Rodney was now approaching light speed, but he had the right stance. I’ll give that to him.
 

Rodney went over a lip and vanished. I heard a piercing scream. He must’ve gotten airborne. I got to the lip, did a hard, chattering stop, and looked down, expecting the worst. And I got it. Rodney had crossed the run and gone into the trees, where he lay motionless in a heap.
 

“That’s brutal,” said Fergus.

Chapter Eight

Rodney looked like a papoose, all bundled up in the orange ski patrol sled. For a guy who just hit a tree, tweaked his knee, and broke his wrist, he seemed quite cheerful. Maybe because the horror was over.
 

“That was great. I stomped it,” Rodney said.
 

Or maybe not.

“When can I get back on the slopes?” he asked.
 

Never.
 

“We’ll see,” I said.
 

“So,” said Eddy, the ski patrol guy, “you two are what? Friends?”
 

Not exactly.

“Yeah, we are,” said Rod, “and has she helped our business. Mercy’s famous. Did you know that?”

“Rodney!” I said with a look towards the heavens.

“She is,” said Fergus. “Internationally known.”
 

Both patrol guys looked at me appraisingly.
 

“Actress?” asked Eddy.

Fergus opened his mouth and I punched him in the shoulder.

“Nurse,” I said. “Just a nurse.”
 

“You’re famous for being a nurse?”
 

Rod wiggled and tried to sit up. Cam the other patrol guy pushed him back and cinched him in tight. “She’s been all over the news. There was this thing in Honduras where she saved a Mafia don’s daughter and she’s doing a swimsuit calendar for Honduran medical relief. I’m taking orders.”
 

“A swimsuit calendar, huh?” Cam nodded. “I can see that.”
 

“What are you doing later?” asked Eddy.
 

Investigating an attempted murder. Stealing medication out of the victim’s room. Pretending I’m normal.
 

“Not sure yet,” I said.
 

Cam put on the sled harness. “We’ll be at Aprés tonight, if you want to come by.”
 

“I will accompany Mercy should she choose to attend,” said Fergus.