Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (31 page)

“What’s the hurry?” I asked.

“She thinks you’ll get scared off by the craziness.”
 

“I don’t scare easily.”
 

Not usually anyway.

I uncrossed my skis and said, “I am curious about Rory Dushane though.”
 

“God that’s a tragedy. Cullum, his father, is wrecked.”
 

“So you knew Rory?”
 

“Since I started treatment with Cullum ten years ago. Why?”
 

“Because I think the attacks are connected. Rory had your medication with him, didn’t he?”
 

Mickey’s voice went deeper. “Yes. I can’t tell you how much I regret asking him to deliver it up here. Usually I just go down to the Springs and pick it up, but with all this going on with Wade…”
 

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “So I’m right in thinking you didn’t get what you need?”
 

“You’re right. Cullum’s assistant is trying to make another batch but it will be small. They didn’t have a lot of the right strain left.”
 

I wanted to ask if he’d tried conventional therapies, but Cullum was the treatment of last resort, not first. “How did Wade find out about your treatment? You started after the band broke up.”
 

“I don’t know. On that note, I wanted to ask you something?”
 

Oh, no. Please don’t ask for nude photos or anything gross.

“How did you happen to be here this particular weekend?” asked Mickey; the jaw was set again.
 

We put up the safety bar and tipped up our skis in anticipation of our exit.
 

“Pete’s parents picked it. Why do you ask?”
 

We hit the slope and slid down, no falling and it’s a good thing, too. I was so sore I probably would need help to get up again. Nancy and Calvin waved at us from the sign pointing the way to the Excelorator lift. That’s what I needed, another trip down Mine Dump. Maybe I could just slide down on my butt after everyone had gone ahead. I really didn’t want to fall and the way my legs felt it was guaranteed.

I started for Calvin and Nancy, but Mickey put his pole in front of me. “Your father had nothing to do with it?”

I must’ve looked shocked because Mickey said, “I guess not.”
 

“My dad didn’t even want me to go on this trip,” I said. “He thinks it means I’m getting serious about Pete.”
 

He nodded and the rest of DBD got off the lift. Wade was smiling and hamming it up with his groupies, although I have to say they looked a lot less happy now than they did at the bottom of the lift.
 

“What’s with the teenage girls?” I asked. “Is this just for show or what?”
 

“With Wade it’s hard to separate the show from real life. Actually, I take that back. It’s all the same thing. He does seem to like Jessie more than the others, but they’re all replaceable.”
 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.
 

“Neither do they, once they figure it out,” said Mickey.

“Who’s Jessie?”
 

“The dark-haired one, which is odd. Jessie seems to have a little more going on upstairs than his usual arm candy.” He grinned. “Maybe he’s growing up at last.”
 

Just then Wade decided to stick his tongue down the throat of one of the blonds. Nice.
 

“I seriously doubt it,” I said.
 

Mickey laughed. “Me, too, but I keep hoping.”
 

Jessie watched Wade sucking face with the blond, yet another scowl on her pretty face. I wondered what her story was. If she had the brain Mickey suspected of her, she should’ve been in college, not humping an aging rocker who didn’t give a crap about her. My heart went all soft. Girls got off the right track all the time. Not girls like me. I had so many people keeping me on the track, I couldn’t see to make a turn. Just when I was feeling all friendly toward the girl, she turned and her scowl intensified. I swear she would’ve spit in my direction if she could’ve reached me. There were just some women who saw me as competition no matter what. Clearly, Jessie and I weren’t going to be friends.
 

“Mercy!” yelled Nancy.
 

I waved and said to Mickey, “I have to go. We’ll talk later.”
 

“We’ll get that paperwork done.”
 

I nodded because what else could I do? In truth my mind was already onto other things. Mickey had planted a seed of suspicion. Dad could’ve had everything to do with my being at Copper. He was all about being in the right place at the right time. And that week was turning out to be just that.
   

We skied for the rest of the day. Pete did not join as advertised. He sent a series of excuses ranging from the so-called injured ankle to calling St. Louis to check on patients. I wasn’t buying it. Calvin and Nancy weren’t either, but their reaction wasn’t to get angry with Pete or guilt trip him as my parents would’ve done. They just skied harder. To my surprise, after the first couple of runs my legs loosened up and I began to enjoy myself. Sometimes I skied with Mickey and his bodyguards. They stuck to green runs or easy blues, because Mickey had had two knee replacements. I guess life on the road is harder than it looks. I rode the lift with him several more times and was able to cobble together a little more information. He had no idea why either Rory or Nina had been attacked, but he wasn’t in denial. He knew it had to do with him and the band. He was less certain about the fire being connected. His meds weren’t in Rory’s condo and he couldn’t see why anyone would want to hurt Kera. He didn’t want to talk about the band or their breakup. All the skiing gave me time to think, but it wasn’t very useful. I was missing some vital piece to the puzzle, but I was convinced that Mickey didn’t know what it was.
 

After lunch, Fergus showed up, continually blushing when Kera’s name was mentioned. He stayed behind me for the rest of the day with Mickey’s bodyguards and I took tons of pictures of them. It was a bodyguard sandwich. Mickey’s two bodyguards flanking my bodyguard, two pieces of Texas toast with a pickle slice between.
 

Calvin and Nancy, the roboparents, lived up to their name by going hard and never going home. They went down blues with us sometimes but always swerved into blacks when they had the chance. My parents weren’t exactly out of shape, but they’d have been in the hot tub long before dark.
 

The sun began to go down, casting the mountains in grey, gloomy shadow. I rode the lift one more time with Mickey. Our trio of bodyguards rode on the chair behind us. Fergus was chattering away with Marcus and Devon. They appeared to be fascinated with each other’s lives. Marcus and Devon were former college football players, who’d been talked into getting degrees in Construction Management and, my favorite, Forestry. Like Marcus, who’d never been camping, was going to be a forest ranger. Fergus had attended Eton and would go to Oxford after spending a year running around after me. He played cricket and as much as Marcus and Devon tried to explain football, he couldn’t comprehend it.
 

Mickey and I slid off the lift and followed Nancy and Calvin right toward Bittersweet.
 

“I’ve been thinking,” I said to Mickey.
 

“About?”
 

“Wade. How did he find out about your arrangement with the Dushanes?”
 

“I don’t know. He just called me up one day and he knew.”
 

“Is that how you ended up discussing a reunion? He’s blackmailing you. That’s pretty obvious.”
 

Mickey shook his head. “No. We were already talking about a reunion. He’s using the Dushane connection to get his way.”
 

“What does he want?”
 

Mickey shook his head when we reached Calvin and Nancy.
 

“Last run,” said Nancy. “I’ll make dinner. Then we’ll have a nice quiet evening.”
 

I’m so scared.

“What are you making?” I asked.
 

“Pete’s favorite, vegetable soup,” she said. “See you at home.”
 

And they were off. Mickey and I poled up to the edge.
 

“What’s that face?” asked Mickey. “Can’t she cook?”
 

“If anyone can ruin veggie soup, it’s Nancy. She’s a menace.”

Mickey laughed and then said, “You asked what Wade wants.”
 

“Yes?”
 

“He wants a writing credit on every song,” he said.

I lifted my goggles and looked at him without the haze of pink. “I assume he doesn’t actually write anything.”
 

“Not a word. Not a note. It’s about control. If they’re his songs too, he gets a say over their use, sampling, covers, and most importantly a larger cut of the profits.”
 

“Are you going to do it? I don’t see how it’s worth it.”
 

Mickey wrapped his pole straps around his wrists. “You wouldn’t. You haven’t been me. I have to get it back. What am I without the music?” He poled over to the edge and I watched him glide away. Marcus and Devon passed me on either side. They were so large they raised a breeze at the nape of my neck. The bodyguards did their best to keep up, but were woefully lacking. They had none of Mickey’s grace or skill.
 

Fergus stopped beside me and I lowered my goggles. “Did you find anything out?”
 

“Some. Did you know that Mickey hasn’t written a good song in ten years?”
 

“No, I didn’t. He said his solo career went nowhere. What else?”
 

“They think Wade Cave caused Mickey’s brother’s death. I didn’t know he had a brother.”
 

A laughing family swished by us yelling things like, “Last one down does the dishes.” There were two boys. Brothers.
 

“He did,” I said. “But I don’t know anything about him. Marcus and Devon think Wade killed the brother?”

Fergus shrugged one thin shoulder. “That’s what they said. They do not like Wade, but they love Mickey. They’d do anything for him.”

Mickey wasn’t the only one with a loyal fan. Unless I was totally off base someone was willing to do anything for Wade.
 

The darkness was coming fast. It does in the mountains. I couldn’t see the village below with its warmth and joy. Up there on the mountain, it just got a lot colder.
 

Chapter Nineteen

Smell is a curious sense. It has the power to bring back memories one would rather forget. Grandma’s vegetable soup for instance. It’d taken us a while to get down the mountain and put up our skis. My legs were feeling better, but not better enough to take more than a leisurely glide down.
 

When the elevator door opened, Fergus wrinkled his nose. “Nancy’s cooking.”
 

“Want to come to dinner?” I asked, not quite ready to step off.

Fergus, always polite, said, “No, thank you. Aaron’s making muffulettas. I don’t know what that is, but it will be better than that smell.” He held back the door and nudged me out.
 

“Take me with you,” I said.
 

“I’ll save you some.”
 

“No, you won’t.”
 

He grinned at me as the door closed. “I know.”
 

I slumped and dragged myself to the condo door. The smell got stronger and stronger. I got out my phone and called my mother.
 

“Hello, honeybabe,” she said. “How’s the trip?”
 

“It’s okay.”
 

“What’s wrong?”
 

“I’m standing outside the condo and I swear I can smell Grandma Tilly’s vegetable soup,” I said.
 

“No. It’s not possible. That recipe died with her.”

“Smells like Pete’s mother has resurrected it.”
 

I rested my head on the wall beside the door. So tired and hungry.
 

“Tilly’s recipe was from the Great Depression. Nobody would make that,” said Mom, chuckling.
 

My great-grandmother Tilly was many things. A great cook wasn’t one of them. She passed away when I was eight, but I could still remember her strange table with a jar of Tang in the center, mayonnaise jar for flowers, and threadbare napkins that she refused to throw away. None of her silverware matched and potatoes were included in every meal. Great-Grandma Tilly bought her potatoes in fifty-pound sacks and kept them in the cool basement along with hundreds of jars of canned vegetables from her garden. She was a great seamstress and that was how they survived the Depression. I had a collection of beautiful dresses that she’d made me. Mom had inherited the recipes and she threatened Dad with olive loaf when he made her mad occasionally.
 

“I’m telling you she’s making it, Mom.”