Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (7 page)

A flat male voice droned outside our room. It wasn’t Calvin. He was much more animated, even when asleep. “What’s that?”
 

“NPR. That’s their news and their connection with the world. NPR doesn’t cover local news, much less super-hot Marilyn Monroe look-alikes.”
 

“What about CNN?” I asked.
 

“Nope. They like PBS. You’re not big there either.”
 

“So they know nothing about me?”
 

“They know you’re a nurse,” said Pete. “That’s good.”
 

“It’s not much. What about my godmothers? Millicent and Myrtle aren’t unsavory. Why do I have to hide them?”
 

Pete turned away and said, “Like I said, it’s a lot to take in.”
 

I left it at that, all the while knowing there was more to it. But I had enough on my plate. Sometimes unpacking is the simplest thing to do.
 

As soon as Pete was occupied with unpacking his underwear—there were no women’s; I checked— I decided to slip out to the bathroom to text Rory Dushane. I had it all under control until I opened the bedroom door and found Wallace sitting there, now wearing a purple turtleneck.

Bark.

“Do you need something, Mercy?” asked Nancy from the kitchen.
 

“No, I’m good.”

Bark.

Wallace lunged for my leg, I jumped over her and ran for the bathroom. I slid across the hardwood, grabbed the doorknob, and just managed to slam the door in Wallace’s smushed face. I didn’t know about Pete, but that dog was a menace. She continued to bark at the bathroom door as I texted Rory.
 

He got back instantly, saying he was at Aprés by the American Flyer lift. I said I’d be right there and cooked up an excuse to get out of the condo alone. I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. Wallace lunged, I jumped and locked her in the bathroom.
 

“Nancy, I’m just going to go down to the shops. I packed the wrong pair of ski socks,” I said, picking up the oversized leather purse I’d packed for the express purpose of carrying off Keegan’s oil.
 

“Make sure you wear a coat. It’s down to eighteen now.” Nancy opened a package of deli ham and arranged it on a platter. Funny. I didn’t see her go out to shop.
 

I grabbed my ski coat as it hadn’t been peed on yet and almost made it out when Nancy said, “Would you be a dear and walk Wallace? I think she’s getting stir crazy. Listen to all that barking.”

Are you kidding me?

“Of course.” I got Wallace’s rhinestone-covered leash and prepared to be treated as a chew toy, but the second Wallace saw the leash, she was all panting smiles.
 

I clipped the leash on. “You don’t fool me, you psychopath.”

Lick.
 

“Yeah, right.”
 

Wallace and I went out the door and didn’t make it five feet before two teenaged girls spotted Wallace and just had to pet her. She didn’t bark or bite, just snorted, which the girls thought was adorable. I peeled Wallace off them and made for the elevator when an elderly couple saw Wallace and came over to love her up.
 

Stupid dog. I’m never going to get out of here.
 

I dragged Wallace into the elevator, and we went down to the main floor. The doors opened and there were three million potential pug lovers there. Crap. I picked up Wallace and stuffed her in my purse.

“If you pee in my new purse, I’ll make you into a hat. Got that?”

Bark.

I jogged into the ski shop while Wallace wiggled around and got her wrinkly head poked out. I found a pair of truly hideous socks in my size and ran to the counter. There was a very relaxed guy behind the register whose mouth fell open when he saw me. “Dude, Marilyn Monroe shreds.”
 

“Skis actually,” I said. “Socks, please.”
 

“Is there like a convention or something?” His brow wrinkled under his thick mop of black hair.
 

“What? No. I’m just me. I really need those socks.”
 

He asked me if there was anything else he could help me with in that sincere way that Coloradans have. There wasn’t, so he rang me up. I paid and stuffed the socks in with Wallace, who seemed to be embracing the idea of being a bag dog.

“Nice dog,” the counter guy said. “Hey, can I take a picture with you? The other one’s kind of old, but you’re totally hot.”
 

The other what?

“Sorry. I have to go,” I said.
 

A hand went around my waist. “Come on. It’s just one picture,” said Pete.
 

Shit!

I posed with the counter guy, who took about twenty shots because what else could I do and it was a good stall for time.
 

When picture time was over the guy thanked me profusely, and Pete said, “See. You made him so happy.”
 

“Easy for you to say. You don’t know what he’s going to do with those pictures,” I said.
 

“You’re wearing a ski coat. What can he do?” asked Pete.
 

Clearly he hadn’t seen the crop of porn that had popped up with my head on various bodies. My mother had a conniption fit and wanted to sue, only she couldn’t nail down the perpetrators. I wasn’t going to tell Pete about that. For now it couldn’t hurt him.
 

I smiled and batted my eyes. Sometimes I have no shame. A lot of times, actually. “So…why don’t you take Wallace and I’ll go buy some…girl stuff,” I said.
 

“Girl stuff?”
 

“You know,” I said, rolling my eyes.
 

Pete’s eyes wrinkled behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “You mean tampons? Didn’t you just have your period?”
 

Damnit!

“Oh, yeah,” I said, cozying up to him. My breasts have been known to be distracting.
 

The corner of his lip lifted. “Are you feeling okay?”
 

But not today they’re not.

“I need a drink. How about a drink?” I asked, not bothering to bat.
 

“Mom’s cooking,” he said.

I dragged him out of the ski shop past overstuffed racks of padded pants and into the frigid evening. The sun had dipped low, casting the mountains in shadow. The lifts were shut down and cauldrons had been lit, their flames lighting up the stone walkway and the cold-reddened faces of skiers and snowboarders returning from the slopes. Everyone was smiling as they hoisted their equipment on their shoulders and clomped past in their bulky boots toward spiked hot chocolates or shots of something fiery. It was impossible to be unhappy in such company, even with a pug in your purse and a boyfriend who was determined to follow me everywhere.
 

I hung a right toward the American Flyer lift and dodged a pack of laughing seniors carrying old-school super long skis.
 

“What’s your hurry?” asked Pete, breathless with keeping up with me in the high altitude.
 

“Thirsty.”
 

There was the bar up ahead. Its ski racks were full to bursting and laughter billowed out the doors every time they opened. I’d have to lose Pete somehow.
 

Think, Mercy, think.

“That guy’s calling you,” said Pete.

Nooooo!

I looked behind me with a wince, but it wasn’t a purple-haired teenager racing to catch me. It was a guy with short hair, and he had to be at least thirty-five.
 

He hobbled up in ski boots, gasping, “I thought I wasn’t going to catch you.”
 

“Can we help you?” asked Pete.
 

“Are you her bodyguard?” asked the guy.
 

That was a new one for Pete. He’d gotten brother, friend, and cousin, but never bodyguard. Not a lot of bodyguards at 160 pounds and wearing wire rims. Most guys would’ve been insulted to be assumed as anything but my romantic partner, but not Pete.

He laughed. “I’m her boyfriend.”
 

“Ya’ll are wild.” He grinned wide. “Can I have your autograph? I’ve been trying to catch you all day. I’m a huge fan.”
 

All day?

Pete laughed again. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
 

“Sure,” I said.

The guy ripped his lift ticket off his jacket and gave it to me with a Sharpie. “It’s for my brother, Carl. He’s gonna go crazy. Can you say ‘To Carl, you horny son of a bitch”?

“Umm sure.” I signed the ticket, pausing to remember whether or not horny had an e in it.
 

He put the ticket in his pocket and said, “I’ve got to say you look a lot younger in person than you do on screen. What’s your secret? My wife will kill me if I don’t ask.”
 

“Soap, I guess.”
 

He laughed, thanked me, and clomped off.
 

“Okay,” I said. “That was weird, right?”

“It was a little weird,” said Pete.

“Do I look old on the website?”
 

“There’s only one way I can answer that.”
 

“Never mind.” I took his hand again and jogged up the wide stone stairs to the bar.
 

Only half the tables were full with most of the customers fighting to get to the bar. I scanned and found Rory Dushane at a table to the far right, next to a table of three old guys wearing sunglasses and frowning at each other. They distracted me for a second. Those expressions were so out of place at Copper, not to mention the girl that was with them. She was young enough to be one of their daughters, but clearly wasn’t, since she was wearing a skintight mini with matching tank and hooker heels. She glanced at me and frowned, causing her red-lacquered lips to pout fiercely.
 

I looked away to Rory. He was unmistakable. I expected purple hair. I didn’t expect it to be a color you’d find on a muppet, waist-length with half his head shaved. He sat with two other guys, both as average as Rory was interesting.
 

“I’ll get a table,” I said. “You go to the bar and get the drinks.”

Pete groaned. “It’s packed. Let’s just sit and hope for a waitress.”
 

I turned him around and pushed him towards the bar. “I can’t wait that long.”
 

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Anything.”
 

“You’re at my mercy then.” He chortled and went to the bar. Thank goodness.

I weaved in between bulky guys in fat jackets to claim the closest empty table to Rory. I sat my purse with Wallace, who was now snoring, on the floor. When I was in Rory’s eye line, I took off my jacket, revealing the clingy red turtleneck I wore to be noticed. His eyes focused on me instantly and I smiled, but Rory gave me a slight head shake. I sat and raised my eyebrows. He tilted his head to his laughing friends and I grimaced.
 

He got out his phone and texted me. “You’re late.”

“Boyfriend delay.”
 

“Get rid of him.”
 

“I tried,” I texted.

Rory didn’t respond and I looked up. He shook his phone, then snapped it shut. I was about to make a motion to the bathroom when Pete plunked a shot glass in front of me.
 

“That was fast,” I said.
 

“I waved a twenty.” He sat down, blocking my view of Rory.
 

“What is this?”

“Jagermeister.”
 

“Gross. Since when do I drink Jager?” I asked.

“I asked. You said anything. I picked Jager. Better drink it fast before it gets warm.”
 

Great. First I couldn’t get rid of Pete, and now he was watching me, happily sipping what smelled like an Irish coffee. I wanted Irish coffee.

“You know I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re a featherweight. That’s why I picked it.”
 

“Just to bother me?”
 

“To get you drunk in five seconds flat. Bottoms up,” said Pete with a wicked grin I didn’t know he was capable of.
 

I picked up the shot glass. “You’re a bad person.”
 

“Drink.”
 

I tossed back the Jager in a gulp. Oh, the burning. I started hacking and used the distraction to jolt my chair sideways back into Rory’s eye line. He was looking at me with pierced eyebrows raised. I was going to indicate a trip to the bathroom, but I couldn’t stop coughing. Rory’s companions got up and left. I nearly bolted over, but I wouldn’t have been able to speak.
 

“Oh my god! That is so cute,” said a woman behind me.
 

“Look at the little sweater,” said another.
 

Pete pounded me on the back, while he craned his skinny neck to see what they were talking about. I took his Irish coffee and drank half the cup. Better. Much better.
 

“Huh,” said Pete. “That kind of looks like Wallace.”
 

“Wallace?” I croaked.

“Mom’s dog.”
 

Wallace!

My purse was empty. I jumped up and caught sight of Wallace’s sparkly leash disappearing between ski jackets draped on chairs halfway across the room. Ah crap! I squeezed between tables, muttering, “Damn dog” under my breath.

“Is that your dog?” asked a snowboarder.
 

I was forced to say yes, although it pained me. He pointed toward the kitchen. I saw the leash and dove for it, but missed. Wallace ran for it. Her curly tail disappeared between a woman’s legs. I ran through the crowd at the bar and finally caught the stink dog as she was nosing her way through the swinging doors into the kitchen. I picked up the chubby pug and came face-to-face with the manager.
 

“We don’t allow dogs,” he said, not as angry as he had a right to be.
 

“I’m sorry. I forgot I had her.”
 

“You forgot you had a dog.”