Sea to Sky (22 page)

“Nathan. That was Nathan, I’m sure of it. They’re there, Hunter.  I have to come.”

“Wait, Helen. Wait until I’ve found the boy.”

“I’ll drive. I’ll come get him and bring him home.”

“Listen to me.” She kept on talking about her plan to leave first thing in the morning so he had to raise his voice. “Helen. Listen to me. It’s not an easy drive at this time of year. Give me a few more days.”

“But I can’t just sit here …”

“Better there than behind a snow plow in the Rockies.”

“But I can drive him home.”

“I’ll drive him home. Stay in Calgary and wait for us, okay? Give me a few more days. I’ll find him and I’ll bring him home.”

After he hung up the phone, Hunter sat at Tom Halsey’s kitchen table for over half an hour thinking about what he’d just done. “Why did I say that?” he whispered, shaking his head. Yes, he wanted to find Helen’s son and see him safely home. He wanted to help the Whistler RCMP detectives find Mike Irwin’s killer. He wanted Alora Magee to be innocent. But each and all of those things he wanted, he couldn’t begin to reconcile with what he truly wanted most.

He remembered what Mike Irwin’s widow had said.
Have you ever just wanted to stop the world and take a break from life?
Hunter wanted to be back in The Blue Knight, cruising south on the I-5, listening to the hum of the engine and watching the world go by from the driver’s seat, where the most complicated thing about his life was shifting gears.

By the time he’d unhooked the trailer and pulled away from the factory in Redding, Sorry was hungry enough to eat a horse. He passed a Burger King on his way back to the highway, but it was across the median on the other side of the street, so he carried on down the I-5 to the TA truck stop at exit 673. He found a table in a corner of the 24-hour restaurant so he could sit with his back to the wall. He didn’t expect to run into anyone with a score to settle here in California, but he still liked to keep an eye on the door. He ordered steak and eggs.

Sorry stirred some cream and sugar into his coffee as he watched an old trucker in a Budweiser ball cap come through the entrance. The guy wore army green pants and shirt, like a uniform of some kind, and had a ring of keys hanging from his belt. It looked like the keys were heavy enough to pull the pants down over his skinny butt. He was a little bent over, like his back was giving him trouble, but he grinned and waved at the waitress on his way to a table. Sorry was reminded of his dad. It seemed his dad was cheerful and friendly to almost everybody in the world except his son.

Am I a wayward son?
he asked himself. He refused to take over his dad’s hardware store and turned his back on the small town where he’d grown up. Was that so unforgiveable? He tried to picture Bruno grown up, to see if he would feel the same way. What if he started a business and taught the kid everything about it and then the kid flipped him off and left town. It was no good. Not only could he not picture Bruno flipping him off, he couldn’t even picture little Bruno grown up. It occurred to him that his own father had long ago stopped thinking of Sorry as his little boy.

“He’s hurt,” his mom had said.
That makes two of us
, thought Sorry, watching the old trucker chat with the waitress as she took his order. He, too, sat facing the door. What if his old man did die soon after retirement, like his mom was worried about. “Bruno should meet his dad’s old man,” he decided aloud, just at his steak and eggs arrived.

“What’s that, sugar?” said the waitress. She was about as old and skinny as the trucker, and he could tell by the way she talked that she didn’t have her own teeth.

“Did you get along with your dad?” he asked her, reaching for the salt.

“He died in the war,” she said. “Iwo Jima.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

She laughed a smoker’s laugh. “Ain’t nobody given their condolences about my dad for over forty years.” She turned away and coughed a couple of times, then said, “I’m over it. Why’d you ask?”

Sorry’s mouth was already full, so he didn’t reply, just shrugged and the waitress moved on. He pictured his dad’s face — and his mom’s — when they saw Sasha and little Bruno for the first time. He stopped chewing and almost teared up just thinking about it. Now that he had his own son, it was easier to understand where his dad was coming from. The more he thought about it, the more important it seemed for him to make it up to his old man before Hank croaked. He would drive down with Mo and the kids this spring. Done deal.

The steak and eggs dinner was good, and he washed it down with a glass of milk, then sat back and patted his belly. A nap would go good, or he could drive another nine hours and make it to Castaic by morning, like El wanted. Yeah. He needed the money, and if he was late to pick up the load in Sylmar, assuming El really had one for him, he’d piss off Hunter as well as the fat broad. He’d grab another coffee to go and hit the road.

Sorry paid his bill and stepped outside, lighting up a cigarette as soon as he was settled in the cab of The Blue Knight. Blowing out a lungful of smoke toward the four inch gap between the top of the window and the door frame, he decided that as long as he kept the window cracked open, Hunter would never know.

Alora’s shuttle to YVR was scheduled to leave at ten o’clock, so she was all packed and ready to leave by eight, with plenty of time for breakfast in the restaurant downstairs. The hostess was leading her to a table for one when she heard her name called. It was Kelly Irwin, with her two children, at a table she had just walked past.

“I’m glad I got a chance to see you,” Kelly said. “We’re leaving today.”

“So am I.”

“Mike’s dad has just gone to meet one last time with the police.”

Alora nodded, wondering if she should have let the police know she was leaving. Surely if they still considered her a suspect, they would have been in touch again. She smiled at the two small faces looking up at her. There wasn’t much she felt she could say to Kelly in front of them, but she thought she should acknowledge them. “Hi, kids. Are you happy to be going home?” She smiled at each of them in turn.

The little girl nodded, a tight little smile on her face. The boy first looked toward his mother, then said, “We’re not going home to California. We’re going to Seattle because our dad got killed.”

Alora felt as if her smile had frozen on her face.

“That’s right, Jordan,” said Kelly, then to Alora, “I’ve got your card. I’ll be in touch.” She glanced over Alora’s shoulder, then said, “You’d better go.”

Before Alora had a chance to understand what Kelly meant, Beth Irwin was beside her. The older woman gripped her arm, as if she were scolding a child.

“Why are you here? As if we’re not in enough pain, you’re here to gloat about it, aren’t you?”

Alora took a step backwards, stunned, and Beth let go. The older woman’s face was contorted with a combination of grief and anger. She looked smaller than Alora remembered her, somehow shrunken and disheveled, in spite of the tasteful sweater and slacks she wore.

“I hope you’re happy now,” she continued, her voice bitter. “I have nothing more to say to you. Please leave us.”

The hostess, who had been two tables ahead holding a menu, stared at Alora with her eyes wide. Alora swallowed hard, raised her head high and walked on toward the hostess. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t see any of the Irwins again. Not even Kelly, she decided.

She chose the chair facing away from the door so she wouldn’t have to know if Beth or the children were staring at her, but still she felt uncomfortable. She studied the menu, not sure if she felt like eating, and ordered coffee with a light breakfast.

Yes, I am happy now
, she said to herself.
I am going home.

She thought about the ugly weekend she had just endured. The scenes with Mike on Friday night, the awkwardness with that truck driver — an aborted ‘relationship’ better forgotten — the interviews with the police detectives, and now this encounter with Beth Irwin. The only bright spot was meeting Kelly on the chairlift, and knowing they were both better off. The only bright spot besides Mike’s death, she corrected herself.

And the skiing. The skiing had been fun. She had to admit that spending time with Hunter Rayne wasn’t a total loss, but it was better if she never saw him again either. She wanted to make a clean break from anything and everything that had any connection to Mike Irwin.

“You wanted coffee?” A young server with the red cheeks of a frequent skier stood before her holding a stainless steel carafe.

“God, yes,” she said, holding up her cup. When the server had gone, she raised the cup to the window, as if she were proposing a toast to her own transparent reflection.

To the first day of the rest of my life.

Meredith watched Mike Irwin’s father arrive at the entrance of the restaurant and make his way to the table where his wife and daughter-in-law sat with the kids. The older Irwin woman still looked upset from her encounter with Alora Magee, and although she couldn’t hear what was being said, Meredith could tell from the gestures that she was pointing out Alora’s presence to her husband. He just nodded with a pained smile as he took his seat.

Meredith turned her attention back to Alora Magee. The woman had seemed a bit rattled when she first sat down, but had begun to look more relaxed. She was reading one of the hotel’s complimentary Vancouver newspapers as she ate her breakfast. So was Meredith. The Chairlift Killer was still in the news, but relegated to an inside page.

Whistler RCMP would like to hear from anyone who was on the Harmony Express chairlift between 8:00 and 9:00 on the morning of Saturday, February 8, who might have seen Mike Irwin (see photo) or noticed any unusual activity on the chairlift at about that time.

She was glad she’d opted to pass on the morning seminar and accepted the invitation from Carruthers’ boss’s daughter to join her on the slopes. She’d been on the phone to her client at seven o’clock, as previously arranged, and had reported what was pertinent to her assignment. The client told her to stay on until the end of the conference, as planned, and had asked her, “Are you still a suspect in Irwin’s murder?”

Meredith replied that she didn’t think so.

When the server came by with the coffee carafe, Alora Magee checked her watch, then turned her head far enough to catch a glimpse of the Irwins’ table. The fact that they were still there was probably the reason she let the server refill her coffee cup, then went back to her paper.

Meredith left enough cash on the table to cover her bill and a tip, picked up her ski jacket, then walked over to Alora’s table.

“I’ve seen you at the conference, haven’t I?” she said, sliding onto the bench across the table from Alora. “I decided to pass on this morning’s topics, too. There’s only so much a girl’s brain can absorb, don’t you think?” She followed up with a light laugh and a perky smile. “I’m going to ski a couple of runs this morning, so no conference badge. I’m Stella.” She thrust her hand across the table.

Alora reacted with a confused frown, then gave Meredith a smile that bordered on condescending. “No, I’m not here for the conference. I’m leaving Whistler on the airport shuttle this morning.”

Meredith withdrew her hand. “Heading home? Where are you from?” Meredith kept her voice light and friendly.

“Southern California. L.A. And you?” Alora’s lips barely moved, as if speaking to Meredith was painful for her.

“Oh, my gosh! Did you know the guy from L.A. who was killed on the chairlift?” Meredith pointed to the newspaper, implying that she’d read about it there. “Wasn’t that just awful? It freaked me right out. He was a guest here, did you know that? He was registered for the conference I’m at. I’m kind of nervous about going on the chairlifts here, at least until they find the guy who did it, weren’t you?”

“Don’t worry. I‘m sure it wasn’t a random murder.”

“Really? How do you know that? Did you know him?”

Alora Magee’s face got hard, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Look,” she said. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to discuss something that neither of us have any business speculating about. I don’t like to be rude…”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Yes, I’ve upset you. I can tell. I’m just trying to be friendly.”  Meredith looked down at her lap and in a subdued voice said, “All these stuffy older men — I know what they want when they make conversation with me — away from their wives and having a few drinks — I just wanted to talk to somebody — you know. I’m here by myself and…”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t like you, I just don’t have much time.”

“What time is your bus?”

“I still have to go upstairs and finish packing.” Alora pushed her plate away and started gathering up her things.

Meredith changed her tone. “The chairlift guy. Did you know him?”

Alora stopped dead, her eyes narrowed, and in an icy voice she said, “Who
are
you?”

“Like I said…”