Chapter Thirteen
The tears Chloe had been holding back came pouring out.
She shook with sobs and couldn’t stop, ugly-crying into his chest. He stroked her back and murmured soothing phrases until she could bring her emotions under control again.
Then she realized he was kissing the top of her head, the gentlest brush of his mouth against her hair, bestowing a blessing.
The tenderness of the moment melted her last reserve, and she pulled back enough to find his mouth with her own.
Then they kissed in earnest, her hands cradling his face, his fingers twined in her hair. Heat spread through her, burning away the anger and fear and replacing it with raw need. She pressed closer, craving the sensation of his body against hers.
Then he pulled away, gently. He stroked one thumb across her cheek. “We should stop now,” he said, his voice husky. “Let me make you some soup. And tea or coffee.”
She wanted to protest that wasn’t what she was hungry for, but he was right. She had been through too much the last few hours to make any kind of sensible decision about him. About them. “Tea would be good,” she said. “Let me help.”
“Sure. You can set the table.”
She followed him into the kitchen and pulled bowls from the cabinet he indicated while he heated canned soup and took crackers from the trailer’s tiny pantry.
“Darinda blames me for what happened to Sharee.” She folded paper towels for napkins and arranged spoons beside the bowls on the small table.
“And she’s right—Sharee was my responsibility.
And she was still so young. I never should have let her wander around town at night. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder and she met his eyes. So dark and earnest. “What happened to Sharee wasn’t your fault.”
“She wouldn’t have died if I had made her stay home at night.”
“Could you have done that? From what I know about Sharee, she made up her own mind about things. And it seemed like she was used to getting her own way.”
“That’s true.” She sank into a chair at the table. “The first night she was here she told me she hadn’t had a curfew since she was thirteen and she wasn’t going to put up with one now. Short of tying her to a chair I don’t think I could have made her stay home.”
“The only person to blame here is whoever killed her.” He brought the pan to the table and poured soup into the bowls, then sat across from her. “Try not to pay attention to Darinda,” he said.
“What about that detective—Renfro? He thinks we’re up to something.”
“We can’t help what he thinks.” He sipped his soup. They ate quietly for a few minutes, then he said, “I’m not trying to scare you, but I’m concerned that the person who trashed your apartment might be connected with Sharee’s murder.”
“Because of the key.” She nodded. “I’m worried about that, too. But how does that link up with the woman who scheduled all those appointments with me, then didn’t show up?”
“Bunny. And you think she was wearing a disguise?”
“Or maybe she’s simply someone who likes a lot of makeup and wigs.”
“Did she look at all familiar to you?” he asked.
“Not at all. And why would she want to trash my apartment?”
“Maybe she’s working with the killer. An accomplice.”
“Maybe the sheriff’s investigators will find her and discover who her accomplice is.
” She crunched a cracker, then continued.
“I’ve been thinking about the idea that Sharee might have gotten involved with a tourist. Someone here short term.
If he killed her, we might never find him if someone didn’t see them together or provide a way to connect them. ”
“So, Sharee flirted with this man, they agreed to meet, and he killed her before they had sex?” Brian asked.
“The sheriff didn’t say she hadn’t had sex, only that she hadn’t been raped.”
Brian shook his head. “If she’d had sex, they would have tested for DNA. They would have been looking for mine. Finding someone else’s DNA would have cleared me, and that hasn’t happened yet.”
“I’ll talk to the sheriff’s office again, and see what I can find out,” she said. “Have you had a chance to talk to Darrell Cooperman?”
“I haven’t forgotten about him,” Brian said. “Ski racers will be training on the mountain tomorrow. I’m hoping I can get him aside to talk then.”
“Then we both have things to do that might move the case forward.” She stood. “Let me help you with these dishes,” she said.
“No.” He took the bowl she was holding and put it in the sink with his. “You look exhausted. Go to bed. I put out some of my things you can wear.”
She wanted to argue, but he was right—exhaustion dragged at her like an iron weight.
“Thanks,” she said, and moved past him to the bedroom.
She lay on the bed, the sheets soft and smelling faintly of the soap she associated with him.
She intended to rest for only a few minutes before going into the bathroom to shower.
Instead, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and didn’t wake until morning.
“YOU’RE AWFULLY QUIET this morning. Everything okay?”
Brian glanced over to where Nina crouched down, adjusting the harness of her red golden retriever, Sky, while Daisy danced around them. “I’m fine,” he said, and shrugged into his pack. Morning meeting had just broken up, leaving him and Nina alone at headquarters.
“You were sitting there, staring into space,” she said.
He had been thinking about Chloe. Specifically, the kiss they had shared last night.
“I didn’t sleep well,” he said. Thoughts of Chloe, and how that kiss might have progressed to more, had kept him tossing and turning.
Had she kissed him because she really liked him, or merely because she was stressed and seeking release?
He had stopped them before things got out of hand because he didn’t want to increase the risk of law enforcement adding her to their suspect list. But if they learned she had spent the night at his place they would probably assume the two had shared more than a kiss, so had he been foolish not to let the evening play out?
“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with all this,” Nina said. She stood and Sky shook, her harness jingling. “If people really knew you, they’d understand you couldn’t have hurt that girl.”
“Thanks for that.” He followed her and the dogs out of the gloom of the office to brilliant sunshine on pristine snow.
Even at this early hour a line had formed at Lift Four.
They skied past the waiting visitors and loaded onto the next free chair, the dogs between them.
As the chair traveled up the mountain, he tried to focus on scanning the runs below, determined to get his head in the right place for work.
He looked for potential hazards or any problem situations but thankfully spotted none.
Everyone was skiing safely and enjoying the beautiful day.
He should concentrate on doing the same.
Every week ski patrol blocked off one or two runs on Thursdays for ski race practice. The high school team as well as local youth clubs utilized the training ground for slalom and downhill practice, and several times a year they hosted races.
Brian and Daisy said goodbye to Nina and Sky and headed to race practice.
He spotted Darrell Cooperman at the top of the run with a group of other high schoolers.
The tall, dark-haired young man stood out from the others in his green-and-black skin suit, showcasing broad shoulders and powerful thighs.
His custom skis featured his last name emblazoned on the bottom, making him easy to spot as he stood cradling the skis a short distance from the start line.
“Come on, Daisy,” Brian called the dog, who had wandered over to be petted by a trio of teens.
The dog trotted over and followed Brian as he skied past the group, then headed to a parallel run that would take him to the bottom of the race course.
From there, he waited for Cooperman to come down.
He stood a short distance from a group of coaches, who critiqued each skier as they navigated the narrow racecourse.
When it was Cooperman’s turn, the attention of the judges, and many of the spectators as well, sharpened.
Conversation ceased as the green-and-black-clad figure burst through the starting gate with the force of a fired arrow.
He was a quarter of the way down the course before he angled his body to execute his first turn, as required by the layout of the course.
Then he went into a tuck and sailed over the first hill, soaring at least twenty feet before landing with an impact hard enough to be heard at the bottom of the course.
The young man momentarily disappeared in a fog of snow, then emerged on the edges of his skis and guided them expertly across the finish line, to a chorus of shouts and whistles.
He braked hard at the bottom and stepped out of his skis, hoisted them and acknowledged his fans, then strode to the coaches, who greeted him with praise. “Great run, Darrell.”
“You shaved three-hundredths of a second off your best time.”
“Good save on that hard landing, but put more bend in your legs next time for more propulsive force on takeoff.”
Darrell listened and nodded, then turned away as the next racer started down the hill.
Brian, Daisy beside him, moved out so that Darrell had to wait for him to cross in front of him. Brian stopped. “Great run,” he said. “I enjoyed watching you.”
“Thanks.” He grinned, which made him look more boyish.
“You ever get tired of racing, ski patrol could use someone with your skills,” Brian said.
Not exactly true. Patrollers had to be competent skiers, but most of their training involved outdoor emergency care, learning to transport the injured by various means and even conflict resolution to deal with unruly customers.
“That would be a cool job,” Darrell said. “Skiing all day.” He looked down at Daisy, who wagged her tail and grinned up at him. “And you get to take your dog to work.”
“She’s working, too,” Brian said. “Just the other day she helped rescue a guy in an avalanche.”
“Sweet.”
Brian leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I know you’re busy training and all, but I wanted to ask you. Did you know that girl who was killed—Sharee Anderson?”
Darrell frowned. “What about her?”
“Somebody told me you two were an item, that’s all.
” He looked around, as if making sure they couldn’t be overheard.
“I’m friends with the patroller they accused of killing her.
I know he didn’t do it, so I’m trying to help him out—you know, talk to Sharee’s friends, get an idea of what she was really like. ”
“Sharee was okay,” Darrell said.
“She was really pretty,” Brian said.
“Yeah, she was good-looking.”
“A good skier, too, I hear.”
Darrell shrugged. “She was okay.”
“Did the two of you ever go out?”
“Why are you asking me this stuff? What did you say your name was?”
“I’m Dave. Didn’t mean to upset you.” He looked over to where another skier was chatting with the coaches. “You have a busy racing season this year? When I have some time off it’s a kick to watch the races.”
“Yeah. Pretty much every weekend. There’s a schedule over there.” He pointed with his ski pole to a tent set up at the bottom of the hill.
“Thanks,” Brian said. “Sorry to bother you.”
He skied away. When he looked back, Darrell had joined several other teens at the bottom of the run who were watching their teammates.
Brian circled back and made his way to the tent Darrell had pointed out. “Do you have a schedule of the season’s races?” he asked.
“I do.” A woman in a pink long-sleeved tee that said Ski Mom handed him a flyer.
Brian scanned the list of races. “There was a race last weekend in Copper Mountain?” he asked. “I hate I missed it.”
“Oh, the Copper races are always great,” she said.
“I’ll have to mark my calendar for next year,” Brian said. “Do they always run Saturday and Sunday?”
“That’s right.”
“I guess most people stay over for both days?”
“The racers and their families do,” she said. “A lot of the fans, too.”
“Did Darrell Cooperman race in Copper this year?” Brian asked.
The woman turned and called over her shoulder. “Marie! Darrell raced last weekend in Copper, right?”
A dark-haired woman with her son’s deep-set eyes and pointed chin joined them. “Darrell won two firsts at Copper,” she said. She studied Brian. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just a fan,” Brian said. “I was telling this woman—” he indicated the ski mom “—that I hated I missed the race at Copper. She was explaining how there are races both days.”
Mrs. Cooperman nodded. “The scores from both days are combined to determine the winners. Darrell had a fantastic run on Saturday. Everyone was congratulating him at the team dinner Saturday night. And he did even better on Sunday. That was one of his best showings this year.”
“Then I’m sorry I missed it.”
His radio crackled and he pressed the button to silence it. “I’d better get back to work.” He held up the flyer. “But I’ll hang on to this.”
The radio traffic wasn’t for him, so he made his way to the base area and found a quiet spot to make a phone call.
“I just spoke with Darrell Cooperman and his mother,” he told Chloe when she answered.
“Last weekend they were at a race meet at Copper Mountain Resort. Races Saturday and Sunday, with a team dinner Saturday night.”
“So he couldn’t have met up with Sharee Saturday night.”
“I don’t see how. Even if he had been willing to make the four-hour drive each way, his coaches or his parents would have noticed him missing.”
“How is it that everyone we come up against has such a perfect alibi?” she said.
“Everyone but me.”
“Your alibi is that you’re innocent.”
“You don’t know how good that makes me feel to hear you say that. But I can’t count on the same sentiment from a jury.”
“We’re not giving up,” she said.
“I’m not giving up,” he repeated. But he needed a break soon, or he would be fighting this battle from behind bars.