Sea to Sky (3 page)

She played with a round drink coaster on the table in front of her, spinning it on its edge. “I managed to stay under Mike’s radar until I was caught on the KTLA noon news being interviewed about the ‘Iceman’ case.”  Hunter nodded. She’d been the lawyer representing a woman truck driver last July, at Hunter’s request. The woman and her husband had been arrested and charged with murder after a frozen corpse had fallen out the back door of their refrigerated trailer. “I hadn’t seen him for so long before that, I’d begun to hope that he’d moved on, lost his obsession with me, you know? Maybe even left California. Yeah, I could sure use a dirty martini.” She nodded emphatically. “Maybe two.”

The pianist returned from a break, started a soft rendition of ‘Moon River’. They both paused to watch her shoulders sway dreamily behind the gleaming black instrument before Alora continued. “He called me at home that night, must’ve wangled my home number from the temp receptionist at my law firm.” She shook her head. “He can be very persuasive. Charming when he wants to be. Typical sociopath, right? You used to be a Mountie. You must know.”

He nodded. The server came by the table and they placed their order. Beer for him again, the dirty martini for her. “Most of these guys are cowards, that’s why they prey on women. Makes him feel like more of a man.” He glanced at Mike, who was talking to his colleagues. “You’re safe here,” he repeated. Hunter opened his arms to encompass the lounge: a safe, civilized place, a grand piano playing an old Pat Boone song, cheerful fires in the two big fireplaces, dozens of witnesses. The server arrived and set down their drinks.

“I don’t understand why he can’t leave me alone.”

“Like most bullies, he’s encouraged by your fear. Ever encountered an aggressive dog? Most of them will chase you if you run, but there’s a good chance they’ll back away if you walk toward them.”

She cocked her head to one side. “What would happen if I went on the offensive?”

“It’s possible that would take the wind out of his sails.”

She took a healthy sip of her martini and a smile played across her face. “You know, I do feel safe here, with you. What better time to turn and face that mean dog?”

“Hold on, now. Some mean dogs
will
bite.”

“Not here, he won’t,” she said. “Not with you and everyone else in this room.” She stood up, nodded vigorously at Hunter, then turned and strode across the room. She stood directly behind her ex-husband, placed her hands on his shoulders, and said something to his companions. The two men both laughed, while her ex-husband stared straight ahead, a thoughtful, almost confused look on his face. She took hold of his upper arm and pulled gently, motioning toward Hunter with her head. Hunter read her lips. “C’mon,” she said. “Come join us.”

Hunter smiled. She did seem to be having fun with this. Her ex-husband looked hesitant, but must have decided it was unreasonable for him to refuse. He picked up his drink and followed her back to their table. Hunter pulled a chair from the neighboring table and offered it to Mike, along with his hand. Mike hesitated, then put down his drink and gave Hunter’s hand a quick shake.

“We kind of got off on the wrong foot back there,” said Hunter. “How about we start over. I’m Hunter Rayne, from Vancouver.” When Mike didn’t immediately respond, he added, “And you are…?”

“Mike. Mike Irwin.” He picked up his drink and took a mouthful, then studied his half empty glass. “You buying?” he said to Alora, ignoring Hunter.

Alora looked at Hunter, as if to ask ‘What next?’ Hunter winked at her. He knew this guy wasn’t going to be an easy nut to crack, but he’d seen worse. Hunter’s ex-wife had once called him ‘a master manipulator’. He knew it wasn’t supposed to be a compliment, but he took pride in the skill and put it to good use during his time as a member of the RCMP.

“So. Mike,” said Hunter, leaning forward with his chin on his hand, eyes on Mike’s face. “What brings you to Whistler, chief?”

Mike was obviously not in the mood for small talk. “Look,” he said, turning to face Hunter. “I don’t know what your game is, buddy, but …” He paused, looked from Hunter to Alora and back again. They both waited for him to continue. He seemed to be holding his breath, trying to make up his mind about something. Hunter half expected him to get up and walk away. “Conference,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair and taking a deep breath. “Purchasing conference. How about you?”

Hunter was pleased that Mike had decided to cooperate. “Skiing, mostly.” He smiled in Alora’s direction. “I told Alora when I met her in L.A. last summer that if she ever came to Vancouver, I’d show her around. I didn’t exactly mean Whistler, but I was due for a break. I’m kind of rusty on the slopes, not to mention out of shape. She’ll probably ski rings around me tomorrow. Right, Alora?”

Alora laughed. “Not the way my muscles feel tonight. I’m lucky I can still walk.”

“How about you, Mike? Do you ski?”

“Yeah. Used to ski a lot, not so much since I started a family.” Mike Irwin was chewing on the end of his swizzle stick and barely opened his mouth as he spoke. He was staring at Alora’s breasts, or at the amber pendant that lay between them.

“Wait’ll your kids get a little older,” Hunter said, cheerfully. He was hoping that Alora would start to lead the conversation; it would help to change the dynamics between her and her ex. “Once they’re hooked, they’ll be dragging you off to the ski hill every weekend. Where do you ski? Big Bear?” He glanced at Alora. Her hand had closed over the amber pendant, and she was looking from one face to the other, as if she were following a debate.

“Yeah …” Mike Irwin started breathing heavily through his nose, looking from side to side, obviously uncomfortable.

Before Mike had a chance to speak, Hunter turned to Alora. “Do you ski there, Alora?” he said, trying to draw her in. Their eyes met, and he nodded encouragement.

“Used to,” she said. “I haven’t had much time lately. We used to go together, when we first started dating, didn’t we, Mike?”

Mike nodded.

She started to laugh, her hand over her lips. “Hey, remember when you hit the moguls your first time on that black diamond run and did a major face plant? Ouch! Your nose was bloody and I had to hike back up to help you. We both snowplowed all the way to the bottom.” Alora continued to giggle and Mike spun his empty glass on the polished table top, working his jaw. “You looked like a train wreck for the rest of the weekend, remember?”

Hunter heard the swizzle stick snap as Mike drew a deep breath and lifted his shoulders.

“Ice bitch,” said Mike with a snarl. He raised his voice and Hunter saw the bartender glance in their direction. “You think you’re hot stuff? Well, you’re not.” He turned to Hunter. “If you think she’s a good fuck, your standards are pretty low, pal.”

Hunter set his jaw and was about to stand up when Alora spoke up again.

“Ever think it might be because you’re such a ham fisted lover? You’re a caveman, Mike. I pity your poor wife.”

Mike picked up the glass to hurl it in Alora’s direction, but Hunter was on him in the blink of an eye and grabbed his wrist, squeezing until Mike dropped the glass on the table. It landed with a thunk and rolled across the table where it hit Alora’s martini glass, knocking it over and sending gin and olives into Alora’s lap. She leapt to her feet, knocking over her chair. Mike also stood, tried to take a swing at Hunter with his free hand but Hunter grabbed that arm and in an instant had swung Mike around with the arm twisted behind his back. Mike swore loudly and repeatedly, and tried to kick backwards. Hunter planted a solid kick behind Mike’s other knee and Mike dropped to his knees like a rock.

“Cool it, chief,” said Hunter, just loud enough to be heard. “You don’t want to get thrown out of here, do you?” He saw Thomas Halsey walking calmly but quickly toward them. “Too late. Here comes hotel security.”

Hunter tried to help Mike to his feet, but Mike shook his arm off and pulled himself up off the floor by hanging onto the chair. His face was red and his jacket crooked. Alora had picked up her chair and was mopping up the spilled martini with a napkin. Mike pulled his jacket on straight, glaring at Hunter and Alora in turn. “Like I said earlier, cowboy. You better watch your back.”

“What’s going on here?” asked Thomas Halsey in a low voice. “Hunter?”

“Hi, Tom,” said Hunter to Halsey. “Sorry about this. A little misunderstanding. Mike here was about to apologize to the lady for some off color remarks he made.” He turned to Mike. “Isn’t that right, Mike?”

“Fuck you.”

“I beg your pardon, Mike.” Hunter stepped toward him, staring him down. Mike averted his eyes. “That wasn’t exactly the kind of apology I had in mind.”

“Fuck off.” Mike turned to leave but Hunter grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

“Apologize to the lady, Mike,” said Hunter, holding fast to Mike’s bicep and starting to squeeze. Mike raised his other arm but Thomas grabbed it from behind and forced it down.

“It’s okay, Hunter,” said Alora. She moved closer to him, placed a hand along his arm. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Hunter knew at the back of his mind that this could make things worse for Alora. Mike would be angry and want to take it out on her if and when a future opportunity presented itself. However, he couldn’t let Mike walk away from this the winner. His pride wouldn’t let him, and he knew Mike would be angry regardless. “Be a man, Mike. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry …” said Mike. Hunter and Thomas both released his arms and Mike shrugged, pulled his jacket sleeves down, then straightened his back, turned, and started heading away from the table. Then he turned and threw a snarl back over his shoulder, “I’m sorry that I didn’t hit you, bitch.”

Hunter took a step toward him but Thomas grabbed his arm and held him back. He felt Alora’s arm go around his waist, her body tuck itself under his other arm.  “Yo, chief!” Hunter raised his voice so Mike could hear him. “You so much as get close to her and I’ll make sure you never hurt her again, you hear me?”  Mike dismissed him with a backwards wave and walked out of the lounge, spitting into a potted plant as he passed.

“Damn,” said Hunter. “That turned out badly.” He turned toward Alora and she pressed against him. His arms went around her and, almost as a reflex, his lips caressed her temple. He whispered against her hair, “Sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” Then to Thomas, “Sorry, Tom. Guess I’ve lost my touch.”

“Can’t win ‘em all, Hunter.” Thomas turned and signaled the waiter for another martini. “Have a seat. And have another round on the house. I’ll go see our friend out and make sure he doesn’t come back again tonight.”

Hunter gave Alora a gentle squeeze, then released her, stepping back. Alora smiled and took a deep breath. “Thanks. Both of you.” She laid a hand on Hunter’s arm.

He could feel the coolness of it through the cotton fabric of his sleeve, and resisted the urge to pull her close again. He hadn’t been with another woman since Chris, and it was hard to get used to the thought of being intimate with someone he didn’t know all that well. That had never been his way. He liked to think it was because he had too much respect for women, but it had occurred to him that perhaps it was almost the opposite, that he was afraid to lose respect for himself. Old fashioned? Straight laced? Maybe it was time for him to change. He avoided her eyes and took his seat.

“No need to apologize, Hunter. Mike’s the bad guy in all this. If he weren’t such a jerk, he’d still be sitting here and we’d all be having a civilized conversation.”

And if she hadn’t provoked his anger, Mike might have continued to play along, Hunter thought to himself. He rested his chin on his fist and stared glumly at Thomas’s retreating back. “I’ve just managed to promote him from a jerk to an angry jerk with a score to settle.” He smiled wanly at Alora. “And that
is
my fault. I’m sorry.”

The waiter set down a fresh martini and Alora raised her glass. “But I feel better, thank you. I feel somehow empowered by what just happened. I yanked his chain, instead of him yanking mine, and that makes me feel stronger.”

“You may feel stronger, but that doesn’t make him harmless, I’m afraid.”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I think what just happened helped change his perception of me, and more importantly, my perception of myself.” She took a long sip, then let out a deep breath. “Right now, I don’t feel like I’m running scared. I can be on the attack, if I need to be.”

“Let’s hope your paths don’t cross again. There are thousands of people here, two big mountains with dozens of ski runs, lots of restaurants and bars. There’s no reason to expect to see him again.”

“Even if I do, with all those thousands of people here, what could happen?” she said. She was smiling, but he thought not with as much courage as she pretended to possess.

“Whatever you do tomorrow,” said Hunter as he picked up his beer, “don’t let him catch you alone.”

C
H
A
P
T
E
R

    THREE

Kelly couldn’t sleep. The clock beside the bed said 11:37. It wasn’t so much that she was anxious for Mike to come back to the hotel room. In fact, she’d be more relaxed if she knew he wasn’t coming back, and she planned to feign sleep as soon as she heard him at the door. She slid out from under the covers and crossed the room to where the kids slept on the pull-out couch, then perched on the arm of the couch and watched their quiet breathing. She could feel the textured fabric of the upholstery through her flimsy nightie.

Corenna was on her back, one arm thrown above her head, the other tucked under the blanket. Jordan was on his side, his mouth crookedly open, one arm at right angles to his body with the hand hanging limply off the edge of the mattress. She could hear his breathing, not quite a snore. Her heart ached for him. Jordan had never asked out loud, but his eyes often searched her face for an answer:
Why doesn’t Daddy love me? What have I done wrong?
She wished she had the courage to leave Mike, take the kids far away where he’d never find them. “You’ve done nothing wrong, my sweet, sensitive little man,” she whispered.

Kelly sighed softly, and went to the window. The curtain was open, the world outside bright with snow, flakes softening the edges of roofs and roads. She could make out the dark shapes of trees between the buildings. A car wound its way up the road, its headlights illuminating cones of dancing snow. The room was silent except for Jordan’s breathing and the faint noise of a fan.
And what about me?
she asked herself.
I’ve done nothing wrong either.

She thought back to the woman she was before Mike entered her life. She was strong then. Young, strong and alive. She’d been a good student, graduated college with honors, was on the threshold of a career in journalism. Mike was ten years older, handsome, charming, and the son of her late father’s best friend. Being with him made her feel safe, like she had felt with her father. Mike wanted to marry her and start a family, he was forceful and persuasive, and she let herself be swept away, willingly abandoning her own plans for his. It was wonderful at first. She felt like a princess. She wasn’t sure exactly when the sense of being looked after was replaced by the sense of being controlled, but it was during the year after Jordan was born. From fairy tale to horror story in only two years.

Little by little, her husband had chipped away at her self esteem until she now pictured herself a wraith, a pale phantom of her former self. She knew the woman she’d seen in the restaurant today was Mike’s ex-wife, Alora. Early in her marriage to Mike, Kelly had been jealous of Alora and dreaded the thought of ever running into her. Ironic, wasn’t it, that when she finally saw Alora today for the first time, she was jealous of the woman, not because of Mike, but because she’d had the courage to leave the bastard.

Her father would be outraged, she knew, if he were still alive. That hurt, too. She was letting her father down by allowing Mike to treat her this way. He would have helped her out of this. Not for the first time, Kelly vowed to make some drastic changes in her life. The only question was, how? Mike had always been a good provider. She and the kids had a comfortable lifestyle, there was no denying that. How would she be able to support herself and the children if… The thought stopped dead. She knew Mike would never let her keep the children, and she shuddered to imagine the possibility of living apart from Jordan and Corenna, and what Jordan’s life would be like without his mother.

Kelly watched another pair of headlights sweep up the road toward the hotel, and decided it was time to crawl back into bed.

Meredith’s room in the Coast Peaks Hotel had to be one of the worst. It was small, on the second floor, with a view of the parking lot and right above the dumpsters outside the main kitchen. However, at last minute and with her budget, it was all they had available. She couldn’t complain about the quality of the room itself, great Jacuzzi tub and tasty décor, bed like a cloud. All she really needed was a bed and a bathroom. Her job was the 24/7 type, no time for entertainment or relaxation beyond what she could grab while her target was locked safely (she hoped) in his hotel room.

Beyond the parking lot lights, it was still dark outside when Meredith stepped out into the hall, closed her room door behind her and headed for the elevator. It was only six a.m. and the lifts wouldn’t start until eight thirty, but Meredith didn’t want to risk losing her target again, especially today. Last night he had stormed out of the piano lounge with hotel security on his heels and she wasn’t able to make a fast enough exit to catch him. The bellhop couldn’t tell her where his cab was headed, or even if he caught one of the cabs parked in front of the hotel, but when her own cab headed toward the village there was no sign of a solitary figure hiking through the swirling snow.

She had asked the cabbie if he’d heard where the last fare was taken, but he said no, they weren’t likely to radio in to dispatch enroute unless they were heading out of town. She toyed with the idea of checking out some of the bars in the village, even went so far as to ask the cabbie where would be a good place to get a drink. Too many choices. He could be anywhere. She decided her best bet was to return to the Coast Peaks and check out the two bars there. No luck. She had camped out in the lobby until after midnight before she decided to get some sleep and hope for better luck in the morning. Back in her hotel room, kicking off her wet boots, she couldn’t resist a warm soak in the Jacuzzi but forced herself to leap out when she started nodding off. She usually didn’t need help waking up, but had turned up the volume on the radio alarm clock, just in case.

There’d been no sign of her target yet this morning in the lobby or restaurant, so Meredith grabbed a table near the entrance of the brightly lit coffee shop adjacent to the restaurant and ordered a coffee, a juice, and a Denver on toast. The table had a peek-a-boo view of the elevators. She gathered that Irwin was planning to ski today, so she wore her ski pants and a wool sweater, hung her jacket over the chair back behind her. She’d brought her own skis and boots — she would have no time to get fitted for rentals if she were trying to keep up with her target — and she’d asked the concierge to make sure her equipment was ready by the door.

Meredith took a sip of her coffee. The cup was white and heavy, the coffee black and strong, just the way she liked it. A good start to her day.

It was still snowing; sharp white flakes stung his face, so Mike kept his scarf hooked over his nose like a bank robber in an old western. He settled himself into the seat of the chairlift, paying little attention to the skier who had boarded after him. It was still early, the crowds light, so there were only the two of them on the Harmony quad chair up to the lower peak of Whistler Mountain, both sitting to the outside of the bench to balance the chair.

Mike’s mouth was dry, and he felt lightheaded. He knew he’d had too much to drink, starting on the flight from L.A. and ending by himself in that nightclub in the Village. The crowd there had been too young for him, the music loud and unfamiliar, so he had just sat and drank and watched three skinny girls with pierced lips and noses gyrate on the dance floor until he took a cab back to the hotel. He pulled down his scarf and spat off to the right, then took off one of his gloves and searched in his jacket pocket for the little bottle of Johnny Walker he’d taken from the hotel mini-bar. It felt good to be dangling thirty feet above the slope, heading into a white blur of falling snow, hearing only the hum of the moving cable and the tiny pok-pok-pok of frozen flakes on his jacket. The snow had started falling faster.

He glanced over at the skier next to him, an androgynous form in padded ski pants and a bulky black jacket, with a plain red scarf tucked in at the throat like an ascot. Whoever it was had turned his face away, not that it mattered, because he was wearing a full mask. Mike drank half the scotch, screwed the little top back on and tucked it back in his pocket. He’d save the rest for a short rest at a viewpoint somewhere on the downhill run, if the snow thinned enough for a decent view. He had time for one more leisurely run before his morning rendezvous. He looked forward to boasting about his morning solo run from the peak of Whistler when he met the guys for a drink later. He bet he was the best skier at the conference.

He thought about his wife. Kelly had pretended to be asleep when he got back to the hotel last night, and again this morning when his alarm sounded and he got out of bed. He could tell by her breathing that she wasn’t really sleeping. She was avoiding him, and Jordan did the same. He really was hard on them both sometimes, he admitted. It was just that he found their lack of backbone irritating, and he couldn’t help reacting to it, simply trying to get a rise out of them, goad them into standing up for themselves. He decided to make an extra effort to be nice to them for the rest of the trip, maybe take them shopping for something in Whistler Village later today. At least during the conference he wouldn’t see much of them, nor of his parents. Life was easier that way.

And what about Alora? And that loser cowboy she was with? Fuck him. Not worth Mike’s time. He pictured Alora, that heavy amber pendant hanging down between her breasts, and he smiled. Cat and mouse. Let the mouse scurry away for a bit, it made the game more fun. He could track down Alora again when they were back in L.A., if he wanted to.

They must be over half way to the top, thought Mike, peering into the white curtain ahead, barely able to make out the chair ahead. The tips of his skis bounced as the chair swayed passing a tower, and Mike was aware that the skier beside him had moved toward him and stretched his arm along the back of the chair, almost touching Mike’s shoulder.
Fuckin’ faggot
, he thought to himself, and was about to say something when the skier pointed urgently at something off to Mike’s left. Mike turned to look, but he didn’t see a thing.

The lift attendant had gotten a radio call from one of his counterparts at the top of the chairlift. “Hey, Parsons! Some guy fell asleep in chair seven. I was busy and didn’t see him in time to stop the lift, so he’s on his way back down to you. We gonna let him ride back up without going to the back of the line? Your call.”

Parsons decided to ask the guy when the chair reached the bottom. Maybe he was riding down intentionally. Maybe he was sick, or got an important phone call on the way up. More likely, he’d chickened out and decided to stick to the shorter runs at the bottom half of the mountain. He was helping a foursome of cute ski bunnies get in position for the chair when the number seven came around again.

“What the hell?” He yelled, “Stop the lift!” The guy in the chair was not sleeping, but obviously in no condition to get off. His eyes were open but unseeing, the rest of his body limp but held upright by a red scarf wrapped around his chest and tied to the back of the chair. One of the four girls, the shortest one with a hot pink ski jacket and matching toque, began to scream.

“Call the medics,” said Parsons after he and another attendant had wrestled the man’s body off the chair laid the still form on the platform. He examined the glove on his right hand, the one that had cradled the man’s head. It glistened, wet with blood. “And the police,” he added. “Shit!” He pictured the hundred or so skiers hanging in the falling snow and freezing air between chair seven and the top tower.

Would the police consider chair seven to be a crime scene? Would they make him leave it here at the bottom? That would leave all the skiers stranded on the lift for how long? He shook his head, and decided to keep the chairs empty, but restart the lift so those already on board could get off up top. He glanced at the four young girls, who stood silently hugging each other as far from the man’s body as they could get.

The other attendant returned from the hut and said in a low voice, “They’re on their way. Shouldn’t we be doing CPR?”

Parsons pulled him close and whispered in his ear. “Won’t help, but no need to spook the clients. Let’s pretend he’s just hurt, okay?”

“Seems there was an accident,” Parsons said to the girls, gesturing toward his partner, who was patting the prone figure and telling him he was going to be okay. “The guy’s hurt, but we’ve got the paramedics on the way. Sorry, but we’ll have to close this lift until we get it checked out. I’m afraid you’ll have to head back down the mountain to one of the other lifts.”

He shepherded them back toward the lineup and raised his voice to inform the rest of the skiers waiting in line. “Harmony’s closed! Until further notice, Harmony’s closed!” This wasn’t going to be a good day.

It had been after two a.m. by the time Hunter followed Tom Halsey back to his chalet in Alpine Meadows on the outskirts of Whistler and fell asleep on one of the guest beds in Tom’s basement. He had escorted Alora to her room in the Chateau Grand Montagne around eleven. She had asked him in for a nightcap, but he declined her invitation, saying they were both probably tired after the stresses of the evening. She had put her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss, and he returned it, instinct drawing him into a tighter embrace, his hands exploring the curves of her back. He felt a stirring in his groin and had to remind himself to back away.