To Hell in a Handbasket (2 page)

Once they had strapped in Stephanie and her ski equipment, two of the patrollers took off with her. One crouched next to her on the toboggan and pumped an air bag into the mask covering her lower face.
So, Stephanie has stopped breathing.
Claire's throat constricted with unshed tears. She murmured a silent prayer.

The third patroller, a lean, sandy-haired man in his thirties, approached them. He pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “I'm Hal Matthews, senior ski patroller. I need to ask you some questions about the accident. Did anyone see what happened?”

“Not exactly,” Roger said before telling him about the snowboarder and describing his board and attire. Judy choked out her part of the story in response to the patroller's gentle questions.

Their voices faded in Claire's mind as she studied the spot where the tracks of the impact had been. She tried to make sense of what she had seen. If a skier took off from the woods without checking uphill first, then the skier could have run into Stephanie instead of the snowboarder. But if so, why didn't the person stop? He or she had to have seen Stephanie hit the tree. Why didn't the snowboarder stop? And if the snowboarder hit Stephanie, why again did neither one stop?

“Mrs. Hanover?”

The patroller's question broke into Claire's train of thought. Realizing Roger must have given the young man their names, she answered, “Yes?”

“Do you have anything to add?”

“As a matter of fact I do, though the evidence is gone.”

He crooked an eyebrow, and Roger and Judy stared at her.

Claire launched into an explanation of the tracks she had seen, ending with, “Unfortunately, none of us saw this skier, though that young snowboarder may have. Either one could have hit Stephanie, and the other one probably saw what happened.”

“Then we have all the more reason to find the snowboarder.” Matthews called in the snowboarder's description to ski patrol headquarters and returned his radio to his belt. “I'll also get this description to the Summit County Sheriff's Office and the Breckenridge Police Department. Now, how are you related to Stephanie Contino?”

“Oh, we aren't,” Claire said.
Not yet.
“Her brother and my daughter started dating at the University of Colorado last fall before she went abroad for an art study program in January. Both families are in town this week to ski.”

“Do you have contact information for Miss Contino's family?”

After Judy gave him the phone number, she asked, “What about Stephanie? Will she live? Where will they take her?”

Matthews tugged his collar. “She'll be taken by ambulance to the Summit County Medical Center in Frisco. Depending on her condition, they'll decide where she goes next.”

While he tried to make his voice carry hope and sympathy, the despair he couldn't mask in his glance to Claire told her what she already knew. Stephanie's next likely stop would be the morgue or a funeral home.

He held out a card to Roger. “Call me if you think of anything else. I'll escort you down the hill, if you're ready.” He walked over to the skis left by the patroller who had crouched over Stephanie's body and picked them up.

Roger helped Judy up, and the four of them trudged to their skis. Silently, they clicked into their bindings and headed slowly down Claimjumper.

As Claire followed Judy, she noticed her daughter's awkward form.
The poor girl can barely focus on her skiing.
Then Claire caught her ski edge and fought to regain her balance.
Neither can I
.

She blinked back tears as she envisioned the reaction of Stephanie's parents and her brother to the news.
How are we going to get through the next few days?

One thought came through clear.
Our nice family vacation has sure gone to hell in a handbasket
.

Two:
Waiting for the Continos

Under the sterile glare
of a fluorescent light, Claire sat twisting her hands in the waiting room at the Summit County Medical Center. Her gut churned as she vacillated between despair and hope for Stephanie's life. The staff had been mute about the young woman's condition, since the Hanovers weren't family.

She rehearsed and discarded inane-sounding expressions of condolence to Stephanie's parents and brother. Nothing sounded right. And guilt kept nagging. Could she have done anything before or after the accident to prevent Stephanie's death?

Right after Hal Matthews left them at the base lodge to call Stephanie's family, Claire, Roger, and Judy had driven to the medical center. Since then, time had slowly ticked by on the wall clock as they waited for the Continos. Roger sat at the other end of the sofa with his arm around Judy. She leaned against his shoulder and quietly sniffled.

Feeling prickly heat soon after coming inside, Claire had taken off her ski jacket and sweater. She couldn't remove the heavy, waterproof ski pants, though, because all she wore underneath was long underwear. She tugged at the collar of her turtleneck and fanned her face.

Maybe Claire's warmth was more than being overheated. She remembered reading that stress could bring on perimenopausal hot flashes. She studied Judy and Roger, who seemed comfortable.
Yep, hot flash.

Roger caught Claire's eye. “Maybe we should leave a message for the Continos and go home to wait.”

Claire shook her head. “I can't leave Stephanie here alone.” Even if nothing more could be done to save her, Stephanie deserved to have people who knew her, at least a little, watch over her until her family arrived.

“I don't want to leave either,” Judy said.

“Besides, if I were Stephanie's mother, I'd want to know every detail of what happened right away, particularly what Stephanie was doing and how she felt before she …” Claire glanced at Judy. “Before the accident. We owe it to them to answer whatever questions they have as best as we can.”

“But we didn't see the accident.” Judy's eyes were puffy and her face was tear-blotched.

Claire took Judy's hand. “Honey, you'll have to be strong, especially for Nick. This will be quite a shock for him.”

Judy squeezed her mother's hand. “You don't think Stephanie's alive, do you?”

“What do you think?”

“She looked bad, really bad.” Judy sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “But she had her whole life ahead of her. It's not fair for her to die so young, from such a stupid accident!”

“Life's not fair. Nor is death.” Claire squeezed her eyes to stop the tears. She agreed with Judy and wished her daughter hadn't had to learn the harsh lesson so young.

The sound of a door opening and a cold gust made Claire look up.

With a solemn expression, Hal Matthews held open the outside door. The couple who followed him in had to be Stephanie's parents. Claire remembered Judy telling her the names of Nick's parents the night before.

Anthony, Stephanie's father, entered first, his olive-skinned face grim under a regal mane of dark hair sprinkled with gray, the perfect picture of an Italian-American gentleman. He wore black ski pants and jacket, as if he had just come off the slopes. He turned to take the hand of his wife, Angela.

Angela's shiny black hair was perfectly coifed, and her petite figure was clothed in a maroon-and-black embroidered pant set that must have cost a fortune. Obviously, she hadn't gone skiing that day. Her face held a raw edge of despair.

Claire's chest contracted. No mother should have to go through what Angela was about to face. Outliving one's child is a mother's worst nightmare.

Last came Judy's Nickolas, or Nick as she called him. Tall, thin, and black-haired like his parents, his sharp features looked as if they had been chiseled out of stone. Like his father, he was dressed for skiing. Worry furrowed his young brow as he scanned the waiting room. When his gaze fell on Judy, he stepped toward her.

Judy ran into his arms, burying her face against his chest. “Oh, Nick, it was awful. Oh, God.”

Claire stood and approached the Continos, her feet feeling as if they were made of lead.

Roger followed and put a steadying hand behind her back. “Mr. and Mrs. Contino, I'm Roger Hanover and this is my wife, Claire.”

The fear in Angela's eyes was a deep, sucking void.

Claire clasped the woman's icy hands. “We're so sorry this happened. If you need anything, anything at all, we're here.”
God, that was lame. After all that thinking, that's the best I could come up with?

With tears pooling in her eyes, Angela nodded mutely.

Anthony laid a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders. “Thank you.”

While they talked, Hal Matthews had checked in at the desk. An attendant buzzed open the door from the waiting room to a hallway leading to treatment rooms. Matthews stood next to her at the open doorway. “Mr. and Mrs. Contino?”

As Anthony stepped through with Angela, he called Nick's name. Nick mouthed “later” to Judy and followed his parents.

The Hanovers returned to their seats. Judy slipped her hand into Claire's again. Dully, Claire stared into space until she realized her hand had gone numb, squeezed so hard in her daughter's. She gently extracted her hand and swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Roger, could you get us some water, please?”

As he stood and moved to the water cooler, Judy let out a long sigh, her gaze glued to the waiting room door.

“I know this is hard, honey.” Claire ran her hand along Judy's hair. “Anything I can do for you?”

Judy had found comfort in the caress as a child but had shied away from her mother's touch as a teenager. This time, she remained motionless, except for a small shake of her head in answer to her mother's question.

Roger returned with two paper cups filled with water.

A muffled noise filtered down the hallway and out the reception window into the waiting room—a woman's scream, followed by hysterical sobbing.

Roger's hands shook, and he spilled some water.

Claire took her cup and glanced at the only other occupant of the waiting room, a young mother with a lethargic toddler, who stared at the empty reception window. Slowly, her head turned toward Claire and their gazes locked, she clutching her sick child to her chest and Claire's hand still on Judy's hair.

In her maternal bones, Claire knew the woman thought the same thing as she.
Dear God, please never let that be me.

The receptionist returned and called a name.

Like an automaton, the young mother stood, breaking the spell of that mutual look of horror. She walked with her toddler slung across her hip through the door into the hallway.

Needing the contact, Claire stroked Judy's hair again.

Judy hunched her shoulders and slid her head away from Claire's hand. “Stop petting me like a dog, Mom.”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard.” Claire forced herself to take a swallow of water. Realizing Judy hadn't taken her cup from Roger yet, Claire placed it on the end table beside them.

Without a word, Roger turned to pour another for himself. The three sat quietly for a few more minutes, lost in their own morbid thoughts.

The doorway to the examining rooms opened. Nick Contino stepped through, his eyes red-rimmed.

As if drawn to him by a powerful magnetic force, Judy leapt to her feet and ran to him. They hugged for a long time, then Judy pulled away to say, “I'm so sorry.” She led him by the hand to Claire and Roger and sat with him on the sofa facing theirs, their arms intertwined and hands locked in a tight hold.

A surge of jealousy engulfed Claire. Judy had shrugged off her mother's attempts at comfort, and now she clung to her boyfriend like ivy sucking life from a tree.
Don't be stupid, Claire. Be happy she can find comfort with him.

Judy glanced nervously at her parents then licked her lips as her gaze returned to Nick. “Is Stephanie . . . ?”

“She's gone,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

A whimper escaped Judy's lips before she clamped them shut and gazed at their clasped hands.

“Nick, we all feel awful,” Claire said. “I wish we could have done
something, anything, to prevent the accident or to help her afterward.”

Nick shook his head. “They said she was lost as soon as she hit the tree. The blow to her head was too severe.” He swallowed hard. “She probably never felt it. You couldn't have done anything.”

Claire felt some relief. At least Stephanie hadn't suffered. Her family, however, would suffer for years to come. “Did Mr. Matthews tell you what happened?”

“Yes, but I wanted to hear the story directly from you.” Nick peered at Judy. “If you're up to it.”

Judy sucked in a deep breath and sat tall. “I'm up to it.”

Claire felt a surge of pride and a twinge of nostalgia.
When and how did Judy grow so strong?

Judy told Nick about the snowboarder and about finding Stephanie lying in the snow. She swiped at a tear running down her cheek. “I feel so guilty, Nick. I should have kept up with her, so I could warn her about the snowboarder.”

Nick hugged her again, but seemed unable to speak, to assure her that she deserved no part of the blame in Stephanie's death.

Claire felt she had to say something. “None of this was your fault, Judy.”

Judy stared at her. “You're just saying that.”

Claire realized Judy needed to hear it wasn't her fault directly from the Continos, but she tried to offer what assurances she could. “There's still a possibility that the snowboarder didn't do it.”

“Mr. Matthews sure made it sound like the snowboarder did it,” Nick said. “He said the resort posted a description of the slimeball, asking anyone who knows him to contact them. They gave a description to all the patrollers, too.” His jaw worked. “The guy better hope they find him before I do.”

Judy tugged at her hand that was clenched tight in his fist. “You're hurting me.”

Nick jerked his hand away. “Damn. I'm sorry.”

“I understand,” Judy said, rubbing her knuckles. “How did they find you? Weren't you and your dad snowcat skiing in the back bowls at Copper Mountain?”

Nick shot her a glance then quickly said, “Mr. Matthews called the house. Mom gave him Dad's cell phone number, and he called that. Good thing we got good reception at Copper. By the time we drove here, Mr. Matthews had picked up Mom and brought her here. We met them in the parking lot.”

Claire wondered why Nick seemed rattled by the question. She scanned his clothes. No wet spots, even on the bottom hem of his ski pants. She hadn't seen any wetness on his father's ski clothes either. Their outfits must have been made of awfully quick-drying cloth, or the two men were excellent skiers who never fell. She realized Nick was watching her and met his gaze.

“Mom and Dad will probably want to talk to you, too,” he said.

Claire nodded. “That's why we stayed.”

Nick pursed his lips. “I don't think Mom can handle it now. Could you come by our house tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Roger replied. “What else can we do?”

Nick turned his gaze on Judy and his expression softened. “Take care of my girl here.”

Noting Judy's answering look of adoration, Claire felt a sudden shock of realization. These two had fallen hard for each other. She studied the handsome, mysterious young man in a new light and vowed to find out more about him.

Nick extracted himself from Judy's clutches and stood. “I should go back to my folks now. The doctor gave us the number of the only funeral home in town.”

His eyes glistened, and he took a moment to compose himself. “They're coming to get Stephanie soon.” He turned away and, with clenched fists, walked through the reception door.

Judy held her hands over her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks.

Claire handed her a tissue. Judy would take that from her, at least.

While Judy dabbed her tears, a man wearing jeans, a brown work shirt, and a black fleece vest with a sheriff's star logo sewn onto it walked into the waiting room. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall, lean and well-muscled with short-cropped black hair. His cold, gray-blue eyes studied Claire's family before he walked over to them.

“I'm Owen Silverstone, detective with the Summit County Sheriff's Office. Are you the Hanovers?”

“Yes we are,” Roger said.

The man's high, prominent cheekbones bespoke his Native American heritage. “I need to ask you some questions.”

Startled, Claire asked, “Why?”

“We're required to investigate all deaths at the ski resort, but first I have to talk to Hal Matthews. Do you mind waiting here?”

Roger spread his hands wide. “That's what we've been doing already.”

Claire's gut rumbled. The wall clock showed it was already after one, and they hadn't eaten lunch. Not that she could stomach anything yet.

Detective Silverstone thanked them, then went through the reception door, leaving the Hanovers alone again.

After three more patients had entered the waiting room, the detective returned. “The Continos have left, and Hal's available to join us. I found an empty office in the doctors' center next door so we can talk in private.”

He held the outside door open and ushered them across the parking lot, then into the adjoining building and an office inside. Hal Matthews was already there, perched on the side of the desk. Three chairs crowded the space in front, and he indicated the Hanovers should sit in them.

Detective Silverstone sat in the chair behind the desk and took out a notebook. “Hal already filled me in on what you told him about the snowboarder. We have an ongoing problem with recklessness on the slopes, and we're working hard to curb it. Hopefully, if enough of these kids get charged with assault or manslaughter, they'll get it through their thick heads that they need to slow down.”