Chapter Fourteen
“Hey, Connor. Come take a look at this.”
Connor was attempting to go to lunch for the third time that afternoon when Cerise hailed him from her post on Lift Four.
The busy quad lift ran from above the main parking lot to the top of the westernmost peaks at the resort.
Connor detoured to meet her outside the lift operator shack.
Her partner today, Saska, paused in her work of scraping collected snow away from the loading area to wave.
“Hey, Cerise,” Connor said. “What’s up?”
“Get a load of this.” She passed him a battered cardboard box. “Open it.”
“This doesn’t have one of those exploding snake gags inside of it, does it?” he asked.
“No. Just take a look.”
He lifted the lid on the box and stared at a cast booster, complete with attached detonator. He stared. “Where did you get this?”
“Don’t freak out. It’s not real. Take a closer look.”
He peered into the box again. The detonator was wrong—too many squiggly wires.
It looked like someone’s idea of a detonator.
And the can itself wasn’t quite right. He picked it up and heard a rattle, like rocks or marbles.
“It’s a painted soda can with pebbles or something inside,” he said. “Made up to look like a bomb.”
“Sick, right? I found it tucked up above one of the chairs when we started up this morning.”
“Did you call security?”
“I wanted ski patrol to take a look first. It would be just like one of you guys to try to scare the daylights out of me with this.”
“You mean Chase.”
“Tell him I’m impressed. He went to a lot of trouble for this one.”
“You found it this morning?”
“Yeah. Then we got busy, and I forgot about it. Seeing you passing by reminded me.”
“I’ll take this back to the patrol office and talk with Chase,” he said. “You two need to cool it on the pranks.”
“We’re just having fun.”
“Then do what most people do. Go out for a beer. Play some pool. See a movie. But leave the pranks away from the job.”
At the office, he radioed Chase, then studied the fake bomb. Whoever did this had at least seen a cast booster. Maybe they looked up an image online. The wiring on the detonator was wrong, but someone who didn’t know better would mistake it for the real thing.
The door to the patrol office opened, and Chase came in, stamping snow from his boots. “What did you need to see me about?” he asked.
Connor gestured to the box. “Recognize this?”
Chase clomped over and looked down at the box. “Is that a fake bomb?” He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “Pretty sweet. Where did you get it?”
“I thought maybe you made it.”
“Me?” Chase dropped the fake back into the box. “Why would I do that?”
“Cerise found it above one of the lift chairs when she started her shift this morning. I know you two have been pranking each other for weeks.”
“Sure, but I wouldn’t do something like this. Can you imagine the panic if someone saw this and thought it was real?”
“We’re lucky Cerise isn’t the panicky type.”
“Yeah, she’s real steady that way.”
“So instead of pulling her hair to get her attention like a schoolkid, why don’t you man up and ask her out?”
Chase flushed. “Do you really think she’d go out with me? I mean, her last boyfriend was an MMA fighter. He looked like a Greek god or something.”
“And she’s all torn up about the breakup?”
“No way. She dumped him.”
“Then obviously Mr. Greek God didn’t impress. And she’s wasted a lot of time playing with you.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Maybe I’ll talk to her.” Chase looked at the bomb again. “So, did somebody else put that at the lift to scare her? You find out who it was, and I’ll clean their clock.”
Connor put the lid back on the box. “Just get back to work.”
When Chase had left, Connor put the fake bomb in a desk drawer.
Later, he would show it to Stacy. He thought about the idea that whoever had stolen the cast boosters had been practicing when they set off the avalanche yesterday.
Was this fake a kind of practice, too? Maybe someone wanted to see if they could plant a bomb at a lift without getting caught.
If anyone questioned them, they could say it was a practical joke.
Next time wouldn’t be a joke. He pulled out his phone and texted Stacy. I’ve got a development here you need to know about.
Stacy’s left cheek was freezing, shoved into the snow. Her dad lay beside her, practically on top of her. He had drawn his weapon and was staring in the direction of the blast. A second explosion sounded, this one more muffled than the first.
She shoved at George. “Get off of me,” she said. “No one is shooting at us.”
He rolled off her, and they both sat. He holstered the weapon. “The explosions are coming from over there,” he said and pointed to their left.
“I figured that out.” She stood and brushed snow off her clothing. “I’m betting those aren’t fireworks.”
She moved toward the source of the explosions, her dad close behind.
They kept to the trees, pausing frequently to listen for anyone nearby.
Two more explosions went off before they reached the edge of a large rock-lined pit.
Concealed in the bushes on the edge of the pit, they looked across toward a group of people almost directly opposite.
“It looks like an old quarry,” George whispered.
“It looks like a good place to practice launching bombs.” She winced as another explosion raised a cloud of dust at the bottom of the pit.
When the smoke cleared, she could make out painted X’s on several rocks at the bottom of the quarry.
One man in the group across from them appeared to be instructing the others, waving his arms and gesturing into the quarry. “We need to get closer,” she said.
They worked their way around the edge of the quarry, staying out of sight of those on the other side. Yet another explosion shook the air.
“They’re wasting a lot of ammo,” her father said.
“According to Connor, ninety-six cast boosters were stolen,” she said. “And they only need a few to do a lot of damage. They can afford to waste some practicing.” She halted when they were close enough to hear the people on the edge of the quarry.
“It’s not enough to hurl the bomb,” said the instructor, a gray-bearded man with a vaguely British accent.
“The more accurate you are, the more damage you’ll do.
And the less likely you yourself will get hurt.
” He stepped to one side. “Nate, I want you to try again. Remember your release point and use your wrist.”
The man from the Trail’s End—the one who had confronted Connor the first night and been with Jace the second night—stepped up. He raised his leg in a pitcher’s windup, then hurled something into the quarry.
Stacy ducked her head and covered her ears as the explosion shook the air. The crowd around Nate cheered.
“Excellent,” the instructor said. “Do that Friday, and we’ll all be celebrating.”
The day after tomorrow. The Friday of Martin Luther King weekend. Did this mean Shane and his fellow protestors weren’t going to wait until Monday’s rally to make a move?
“We need to get into the house and see if we can find some indication of their target,” Stacy whispered to her father.
“I can take care of that.” He patted her shoulder. “I’ll create a distraction while you search.”
“Dad, no.”
But he had already stood and was striding toward the group at the canyon rim. The others looked up at his approach.
“Hello!” George called and raised both arms. “I was told to report here to lend a hand.”
“Who are you?” the instructor demanded.
“I’m George.” He extended his hand, but the instructor ignored him. “Shane told me to come out here and see if I could help.” George nodded toward the box at Nate’s feet. “I see you’re using the Trojan cast boosters. I used many of those in my mining days.”
“You’re familiar with these?” the instructor asked.
“Of course.” George plucked a cylinder from the box. “Portable but powerful. Just the thing for shaking things up a bit.”
The others closed in around George, but Stacy detected no danger. She blew out a shaky breath and retreated from the quarry rim. Clearly, her father hadn’t lost any of his courage—some said recklessness—since retiring.
She set out toward the ranch house. She didn’t see anyone on her way and detected no signs of recent activity.
The house itself looked empty. After looking in windows and listening for noise from anyone inside, she tried the back door.
It was locked, but a credit card easily defeated the simple lock.
Apparently, Shane wasn’t too concerned about security.
Inside, the kitchen was cluttered with the remains of breakfast: the dregs of coffee, cold in the cup. Toast crumbs in the softened butter, and a pan with the remains of eggs in the sink. The air was chilly and silent as a tomb.
The next room contained a long dining table filling most of the space.
The tabletop was covered in stacks of books and papers.
She glanced through old farm journals, ranch supply catalogs and two gift boxes containing shirts, the Christmas wrapping still clinging to them.
No notebooks or diaries or anything to indicate Shane’s plans for tomorrow.
She moved into the empty living room, then to a narrow flight of stairs. Before ascending, she drew her Glock and held it at her side. Then she started up.
Connor had forgotten to bring food from home for his lunch, so when he finally had a moment to spare, he hit up the grill below Lift Four. He collected his food and carried it to a table, then checked his phone. Stacy hadn’t responded to his previous text. Which probably meant she was busy.
Or in trouble, unable to reach her phone.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on the food. He was eating his first spoonful of chili when Nina arrived with a tray.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Have a seat.” He moved his helmet out of the way, and she slid in across from him.
“Busy day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“You look wiped out.”