Her Last Letter (33 page)

Carefully, I slid the paper from the easel, then locating the tongs, gripped a corner of the paper. I eased the sheet into the developer and began to time the process, continuing to tightly hold onto the edge of the paper, knowing that if I let it go, I wouldn’t be able to see to pull it out again.

At that precise moment, I heard a loud
thunk.
But it had come from outside the house, on the roof. Probably a tree branch had fallen as wind picked up outside.

I listened for a moment, hoping the noise hadn’t awakened Trevor, then, the timing for the development process complete, lifted the print. I could tell immediately from the weight of it that nothing came out with the tongs. Blindly, I poked around the tray searching for the paper, but couldn’t find it.

I tried not to panic. But it was all taking so much time. Trevor could wake up and begin searching for me.

Finally, I located the print and lifted it out. I felt around for the next clean pair of tongs, again secured the print and let it slide into the stop bath. I released my breath, realized I’d been holding it.

I completed that step and the next without a problem. I turned on the light.

To my utter dismay, the print was ruined, the images too dark to tell anything. The enlarger light had been too bright. I looked closely and saw that the enlarger lens aperture was set to f-4, not to f-8. Now I had only one sheet of Panalure paper left.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, my skull throbbing from the tension, and began again.

This time, I worked more slowly, hoping to compensate for the gaps in my thinking that might cause me to fumble simple, but crucial details. Silently, I talked myself through it, told myself to be careful, to stop and consider … to make sure … to get it right.

This time, when I turned on the light, the print lying submerged in the tray revealed everything.

Wolfgang. Wolfgang and Kelly. Not Trevor … not Trevor.

I let my body sway back against the counter. For a moment, I allowed myself a grim sort of gratitude. It wasn’t Trevor. It wasn’t him after all. He hadn’t had sex with Kelly, and then murdered her. It had to be Wolfgang. Everything pointed to him.

I perched onto my stool, my stomach a big painful knot, my head pounding. I reached for the print and pulled it from the tray. But God.
My poorLinda
. Married to that
sick, sick
monster. I had to get her out of there. I had to get her the hell out of there-fast.

I picked up the phone, then stopped. What would I say to her? You didn’t call Linda in the middle of the night without a very good reason. And Wolfgang would certainly ask what was up. I couldn’t think of a thing that would get my sister out of that house. I couldn’t mention the negatives, not over the phone. Wolfgang might overhear us. And Linda would need something more incriminating than the negatives anyway, no matter how damning they were, to believe her husband was a murderer. Unfortunately, Craig was the only one who could provide the remainder of the proof.

Sue.
I could call her, have her remove Linda from the house, forcibly if necessary. But Sue would ask why it was necessary. She’d know Linda was in no immediate danger. Her people were watching and listening in twenty-four seven. And if I did tell Sue about the negatives, her next question would be to ask who gave them to me. She was smart. She might guess that Craig was involved, and then she’d be watching me like a hawk, and Craig would come nowhere near me.

I stepped out of the darkroom. It was late, very late, past three. My eyes kept closing involuntarily. Maybe I should get a few minutes sleep. I’d be able to think clearer if I got a little rest. Just lie down for a couple minutes. Then I’d be able to figure all this out….

“Gwyn. Gwyn?” Trevor’s hand was on my shoulder, shaking me. My eyes snapped open. “What time is it?”

“Seven … a little past. I wanted to say goodbye before I left for work. What are you doing out here?”

I didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but I had. “I don’t know.”

He kissed me on the cheek. “Call me later. Okay?”

I nodded.

“Okay?” he asked again.

“Yes.”

He started for the door, looked back, then closed the door behind him.

I leapt up and ran for the phone. Linda didn’t answer, so I called back every few minutes until she finally picked up fifteen minutes later.

“What?” she asked exasperatedly.

“Geez, I call to ask you to go to breakfast with me and that’s what I get?”

“Breakfast? Since when do you ask me to go to breakfast?”

“I don’t know. Today.”

“Well, you’re lucky I’m even up. Sorry, but I can’t. Wolfgang and I are heading out to ski.”

“You are? Where?”

“Cloister Ridge. Did you see how much snow dropped last night?”

“No.”

“At least twelve inches. Should be spectacular. I’d talk longer, but I need to finish dressing.”

“Can I go?”

She was silent for a moment. “Well, I suppose. You really want to?”

“Sure, it sounds like fun.”

“One sec. Let me mention it to Wolfgang.”

She’d covered the receiver. I could hear only muffled voices.

“No prob,” she said. “In fact, Wolfgang can bring the snowmobile now that we have a third. You know, I would have asked you to go in the first place, but this is all very last minute. Do you want us to pick you up?”

“No, I’ll meet you. I have a couple of things I want to do first.”

“Okay, see you out there.”

I left a message for Trevor on his cell, gathered my equipment, then started out. Snow was still falling steadily. As I pulled the Jeep onto the highway, a snowplow, yellow lights blinking, roared past. Even in this weather, I calculated I could make it to the ridge in under a half-hour.

Snow continued to descend in whirling flakes as I turned onto the narrow mountain road that cut off from the main highway. Only four-wheel drive vehicles could make it up this god-awful stretch of road on a bad day, and this was going to be one of those days. Ahead of me, two sets of tire tracks dug into the heavy snow blanket. I assumed the tracks belonged to Wolfgang’s Subaru and the flatbed trailer he’d be hauling behind it.

My Jeep bumped up, then slammed down over what must have been a sizable log buried beneath the snow. Only my seatbelt kept my head from hitting the roof. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, slowed to less than ten miles an hour.

It was another three to four miles of rough going through thick pine forest before I spotted the Subaru and trailer parked off to the side of the road. Wolfgang was sitting atop the snowmobile, backing it off the tilted flatbed.

I parked, climbed out, then trudged through the Subaru’s tracks toward him. I noticed Linda still inside the car.

“Hey there,” Wolfgang called out, smiling at me. “You picked a great day to join us.”

I couldn’t look at him now without seeing the eight by ten glossy of him sitting on his knees, his erection visible, Kelly’s fingers reaching out, stroking.

“Yes, a lot of snow.”

Linda opened her car door. “Gwyn, come sit with me.”

I slid behind the steering wheel, then glanced uneasily at my sister.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“What?” I said, startled.

“That we were going telemark skiing. You must have read my mind. You never call that early in the morning.”

“Yes … strange.” I watched Wolfgang through the rearview mirror. He was gunning the snowmobile, veering around in circles. “You know,” I said, “the weather’s looking really nasty. That road was in pretty bad shape.”

“Funny. Wolfgang said the same thing, only he thought it was good, keep the others away.”

I faced her, and was about to speak, when her door flew open. Wolfgang thrust his head inside. “Move your little butts, ladies, or I’ll be the only one with first tracks.”

“Well, you just do that,” said Linda.

He grinned and shut the door, then began to pull skis off the roof rack. I got out and headed toward the Jeep. As I strode over, I could almost feel Wolfgang concentrating his full attention on my ass. I remembered all those times when I was first getting to know him, how he would move in a little too closely, hug me a little too tightly, on all those special occasions when it wouldn’t seem inappropriate. The same way he’d no doubt lured Kelly.

I brought my skis and poles out of the back of the Jeep and placed them on the snow. I sat inside and began pulling on my gear: hat and mittens, neck warmer and goggles, hooded waterproof ski jacket and pants with gaiters, to keep snow out of my ski boots. I grabbed my backpack off the rear seat and did a quick check. Inside were mohair skins for climbing, a compact first-aid kit, shovel and telescoping probe, plus a rope and digital avalanche transceiver. To travel in the backcountry with anything less could be suicidal.

I set the transceiver to “transmit.”

Linda and Wolfgang stood waiting for me in full gear and backpacks.

“Linda,” I said, “check my transceiver.”

She nodded, unzipped her jacket, then lifted the device from a strap around her neck. She flipped the switch to “receive.”

I walked toward her. “It’s working,” she said, her transceiver emitting a beeping signal that grew louder as I approached.

“Now you,” I said.

I checked out Linda, then she checked out Wolfgang, though he insisted his equipment worked just fine.

I pointed in the direction of the snowmobile, figuring one of us would be riding it down. “No,” Linda said, “not yet. I plan to take at least one trek up without mechanical aid, though I’ll probably live to regret it.”

The three of us cleared the snow from the bottom of our ski boots, then stepped into the cable bindings attached to the skis. We began trekking, poles in hand, Wolfgang in the lead, Linda following, me taking up the rear.

The ridge was fifty yards away on our right. To get to it, we had to first maneuver a narrow path snaking through the fir trees. It was relatively flat terrain here and up ahead on the ridge, but once over the edge, the mountain dropped off at a heart-stopping angle. No matter how many times I’d skied it, the sight of it always stopped me cold.

We finally reached the clearing, the ridge stretching wide, almost devoid of trees, a rocky inhospitable crest beneath deep layers of snow. Wind swept across the smooth white surface, unmarred except for a few rabbit tracks. Years ago, I’d driven up here on an early spring morning and taken shot after shot of this breathtaking panorama. Then, tiny plant shoots pushed their way between the scaly rock crevices. Now, all traces of that had been obliterated, buried beneath this massive canopy of powder.

I glanced at Linda. My plan was to stop her once Wolfgang started down, tell her as much as was necessary, then rush her back to the car and fill her in on the rest.

But my thoughts were interrupted as Wolfgang let out a whoop, then charged over the side, snow flying as he raced down the slope.

I reached a hand toward Linda, but she managed to dodge me.

“Hey. Wait, Linda.”

“No way,” she cried out, quickly dropping over the edge. I could hear her laughter as she swooped down, carving an identical set of wavy tracks next to Wolfgang’s. Now I understood. She’d planned to take me by surprise, beat me down.

I skied off after her. “Linda, wait up.”

In my nervous eagerness to catch her, I hooked a ski tip and tumbled forward into the snow. I came to rest covered in powder, and could only watch as Linda continued down and out of sight. Laying my poles in an x-pattern beside me on the snow, I placed my hand where the poles converged, then pushed, floundering to my feet. I positioned my skis again and started down.

By the time I caught up to her, Linda had rejoined Wolfgang.

“Wasn’t that fantastic?” she said. She smiled impishly. “Beat you.”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Wolfgang looked over at me. “I doubt you’ll let that happen again. Nice line by the way. But this time, try not to leave such a huge crater in the snow.” He broke out in laughter.

“Let’s get started back up,” I said.

I removed one of my skis and stuck it tail first into the snow, then took the mohair skins from my backpack. I pulled the adhesive sides apart, careful not to let the skins fall into the snow and pick up debris. Hooking the skin to the tip of my ski via an elastic strap, I smoothed it down over the bottom of the ski. Finished, I did the same with the other ski.

I glanced at them. Wolfgang was ready, and Linda was just finishing up.

I waited for her, then started up the slope, breaking trail. But Wolfgang would have none of that, and came around in front of me. Fine, I thought, maybe he’d wear himself out, make it easier when it was time to run.

We moved steadily up the mountain next to the tree line, heels lifting off the skis, boots attached only at the toe. We climbed straight up, like climbing stairs, mohair skins gripping the snow. I could feel sweat forming in my armpits and at the back of my neck.

Halfway up, I heard Linda groan behind me. “Can we just stop for a minute,” she gasped. “I need water.” We stopped, and Linda reached around for her bottle in a pouch at the side of her pack. “God, is this cold,” she said, gulping the water down.

A spray of wind-driven snow hit me across the face as I also tipped a bottle up to my mouth. “The wind,” I said, “it’s getting worse.”

Neither Linda nor Wolfgang replied.

We again began our ascent.

At the top, Linda threw her pack to the ground and plopped onto it. “Okay, where’s that snowmobile? I’ve had it with this climbing.” She glanced up at Wolfgang.

“My wife is wimping out already. What about you?”

I shrugged. “With the weather so bad … yeah, I think I’ll ride up too. Get more runs in that way.”

“The both of you … wimpy women. I’m disappointed.”

“Just get the snowmobile,” said Linda. “When we want your opinion of us, we’ll ask.”

He laughed loudly at this, the sound echoing across the ridge. He turned and trekked off into the forest.

I considered telling Linda now, then changed my mind. Wolfgang might notice a weird look on her face when he returned. Or Linda might lash out at him, completely forgetting how vulnerable we’d be alone out here on the ridge. Better to first use the snowmobile as our means of escape. Leave Wolfgang far below. Then tell her.