Sea to Sky (4 page)

“It’s been a long day,” he said, running the back of his fingers gently down her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned to look before he rounded the corner to the elevator, and she still stood at the open door, watching him, unsmiling. He could still taste her lipstick as he found an armchair in the lobby. It would have been easy to give in, he thought, forget the consequences. What consequences? He didn’t know, and perhaps that was the problem. He killed time in the lobby reading abandoned newspapers and magazines until Tom was ready to leave. He slept like a stone, awaking to natural light and a digital clock that read 9:24. He called Alora’s room and there was no answer, so he had a shower, shaved and dressed before following the smell of coffee to Tom’s kitchen.

Tom was arranging sausages in a fry pan on the stove. “Help yourself,” he said, nodding toward the coffee pot. “My wife is in Vegas with her sister for a few days, so you’ll have to put up with my cooking. How did you sleep?”

“I was dead to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow. It’s so quiet down there, I didn’t even hear you get up.” Hunter poured himself a mug of coffee, dressed it up with cream and sugar, set the dirty spoon in the sink, and pulled out a chair for himself at the kitchen table. The table had a nice view of snow covered trees and the peaked roof of a neighboring chalet.

“What’s your girlfriend up to this morning?” asked Tom, poking at the sausages with a fork. They were just starting to sizzle.

“Don’t know,” said Hunter. He blew across the surface of his coffee and took a cautious sip. “She’s not a girlfriend, chief,” he added. “Acquaintance is more like it.”

Tom turned from the stove, his eyebrows raised. “Are you crazy? That’s not what I saw last night,” he said.

Hunter shrugged. “I met her in L.A. last summer and we went out for dinner. Once. That’s it. She called me up a few weeks ago and asked me if I’d like to come skiing while she was here on vacation. It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“And it’s not a good idea now?” He laughed, and added, “I guess not, or you wouldn’t have been sleeping at my place.”

“I’m not sure I want to complicate my life like that.” And he wasn’t sure how to put it into words, but he
was
sure that he didn’t want to explain his feelings to Tom. Being alone was easy, and safe. No demands, no fights, no guilt. He didn’t want to give up the emotional simplicity of his life. Being with Alora was like staring at a fire: it was fascinating to watch and it enticed him to draw closer to its warmth, but he knew the flames would burn, and couldn’t imagine walking into it. His old scars still hadn’t healed.

“We planned to go skiing together today. I’m supposed to call her to set it up, but she didn’t answer.” It occurred to him that he’d left his cell phone beside his bed in the basement. “I should try again,” he said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet, then decided against it. “After breakfast.” He sat back down and picked up his coffee.

Hunter met up with Alora just outside the flags marking the entrance to the quad chairlift that would take them over a thousand feet up Whistler mountain, giving them a chance to warm up and try out the conditions on a shorter run before going higher. It was a few minutes before noon, and the snow had let up, just a sprinkling of small flakes meandered through the chilly air. Alora wore a pink and black jacket with black ski pants, and a pink and black toque, considerably more stylish than Hunter’s plain navy ski jacket and pants.

She lifted her goggles to her forehead. “You and blue,” she said. “Blue truck, blue jeans, blue ski jacket,” she moved closer to him and looked into his face, “blue eyes.” She smiled and laid a gloved hand on his arm.

“Blue me,” he said, smiling back and patting her hand. “Black toque, though.” He pulled a black wool toque out of his pocket and snugged it down over his ears, then turned toward the lift lineup. “We should get in line. Ready?”

She nodded and they pushed off toward the lineup, Hunter hanging back to let Alora take the lead. It felt good to be on skis again, but from just the short distance he’d gone so far, he could feel tightness in the muscles of his thighs. He pulled up beside her at the back of the line. “It’s a lot busier than it was yesterday,” she said as the line inched forward.

The woman in front turned around and said, “The Harmony chair’s closed, so nobody can ski the Little Peak. Some kind of accident there this morning.”

Hunter nodded his thanks.

The woman was middle-aged, wearing a yellow ski jacket and matching toque. “Not that I was planning to ski there anyway,” she said. “I just graduated from the bunny hills.” As if to illustrate the point, one of her skis slipped and she began to lose her balance. Her companion laughed and grabbed her arm to steady her as the line moved forward.

“No sign of your ex this morning?” Hunter asked Alora.

She looked down at the tips of her skis and shook her head. “I’d prefer not to think about him. One evening of Mike is more than enough.”

They skied down the first run, and decided to go higher the second time. The first run, she was faster than Hunter and had to stop and wait for him to catch up once or twice. He soon got his ski legs back and kept up with her easily on the second run. He even passed her once, and pulled off to a familiar view point, waving her in to join him.

This was what he loved about the sport. The boundless mountain vistas and the silence of snow. They stood side by side, leaning on their ski poles and soaking in the beauty of it. When he turned to look at her, he half expected to see his ex-wife Christine, they had stood at this exact spot together so many times in the past. He tried to picture himself in a relationship with the woman now standing beside him. Scenes flashed through his mind: long intimate dinners and good wine, making love, waking up together, maybe she liked to golf, or travel, or … He tried to mesh those romantic fantasies with the reality that was his life. On the road for weeks at a time, barely enough money to cover his living expenses and still contribute toward his daughters’ education. He could barely afford new clothes, let alone pay his share of nice dinners, golf games and the type of lifestyle an attractive young lawyer would expect. He couldn’t let her pay, and he didn’t need another blow to his pride.

“Nothing else matters when you’re speeding down the slope, does it?” said Alora.

Hunter nodded. In the moment, life was as it should be. They stood in silence for a few more minutes, then he motioned for Alora to start down ahead of him. She waited for a trio of snowboarders to slide past, then pushed off and they were moving again.

One more run and Hunter’s legs had reached their limit for the day. “Do you want a lift back to your hotel?” he asked, and she said yes.

They carried their skis through a sprinkling of snow to where he’d parked his Pontiac, the conversation safely confined to skiing and snow conditions. Hunter had no roof rack, so their skis poked out the rear window for the short drive.

Hunter pulled up in front of the Chateau Grande Montagne and turned off the ignition before getting out to unload Alora’s skis. “Want to come in for a drink?” she asked.

He was about to say, “Sure, why not?” when Thomas Halsey stepped out of the front door of the hotel and motioned him over. He nodded to Tom and excused himself to Alora.

“What’s up?”

Tom took his arm and turned him away from Alora. “Just wanted to give you a head’s up,” he said. “That guy you had the dust up with last night? Mike Irwin?”

Hunter nodded.

“Somebody executed him with a single shot to the cerebellum on the Harmony Quad this morning.”

Hunter sucked in his breath. A dozen questions came to mind, but he said nothing.

“When you were in the force, did you ever come across Shane Blackwell? How about Colin Pike?” asked Tom. Hunter shook his head.

“They’re the investigating officers and they’ve already been by here asking questions. Seems one of the deceased’s associates — at the conference, I assume — told them about the little altercation last night. You’re now on their list.”

“Their list?”

“You and your girlfriend are both ‘persons of interest’, and I have no choice but to call Shane and let him know you’re here.” He smiled wryly, and half shrugged.

“Of course,” said Hunter. He glanced over at Alora. The bellhop had taken her skis to the ski check and she stood just inside the door of the hotel, watching him and Tom. “Tell them we’ll be in the lounge,” he said, and added, “thanks, Tom.”

Alora was waiting for Hunter in the lounge after he’d parked his car. He had hoped the police wouldn’t arrive before he did, and was relieved to see she was still alone. She was seated at a table by the window, looking out at the snow-draped evergreens, her hands in her lap. There were two black napkins on the table, waiting for drinks. Hunter pulled his chair closer to the table and sat down.

There was no easy way to say it, so he didn’t put it off. He took a deep breath, then said, “I just heard from Tom Halsey that your ex-husband is dead.”

She leaned back with a puzzled frown, as if he’d just told her the moon was purple. “What do you mean?”

“Your ex-husband was killed this morning.”

The color drained out of her face. “You’re joking.” She leaned forward, bracing herself against the table with the heels of her hands. When he shook his head, she said, “What? How? A skiing accident?”

“Murder,” he said. “The police should be here to talk to us any minute.”

“Talk to
us
? Why?”

“Someone told them about the incident here last night. All part of a police investigation, questioning anyone who might have had a motive …”

“A motive! Am I a suspect?” Her eyes widened; she pulled her hands off the table and placed them back in her lap. “Are you?”

Hunter smiled. “Everyone’s a suspect this early in the game. At least, unless there’s a video tape of the crime, they should be. I guess I should have said the police want to talk to us because we saw Mike last night. They’re looking for information on everything he did and everyone he saw since arriving in Whistler.”

Just then two men arrived at the lounge entrance and paused. Tom Halsey came up beside them and nodded in Hunter’s direction, then all three men approached the table.

“Hunter Rayne?” The one speaking was a barrel-chested man about Hunter’s age, his dark hair shot with gray, and had a bass voice. He wore snow boots and a long black winter jacket, but the way he carried himself was red serge. He stuck out his hand. “Hunter Rayne? Tom tells me you were a member at one time. I’m Staff Sergeant Shane Blackwell.” He motioned toward the tall and slender younger man beside him. “And this is Sergeant Colin Pike. You’re Alora Magee?” he said, turning toward her.

Hunter stood and shook his hand, then extended his hand to the younger man, who bowed his head slightly and smiled softly, as if apologizing for his height. Hunter liked him immediately.

“I’d like to speak with you both, separately,” continued Staff Sergeant Blackwell, “regarding your reported contact with Mr. Michael Irwin yesterday evening. Mr. Irwin was found dead under suspicious circumstances earlier today. Mr. Halsey has offered the use of his office. You first, please, Ms. Magee.”

Alora glanced at Hunter, who nodded slightly, then she stood and allowed the detective and Tom Halsey to escort her out of the lounge.

Sergeant Colin Pike folded himself into the chair across the table from Hunter. “You look like you’ve had a day on the slopes,” he said.

Hunter could feel the windburn on his face, and could imagine how his hair looked after spending a few hours compressed by a wool toque. “First time in a long time,” he said. “My legs feel like rubber.”

“Have you skied Whistler much?”

Hunter shrugged. “A few times over the years. Are you a skier?” he asked.

The sergeant flashed a grin that verged on a laugh. “I’m fresh from Winnipeg,” he said. “Stoney Mountain is 100 vertical feet.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How well did you know Mike Irwin?”

“Just met him yesterday,” said Hunter.

“I understand you had a confrontation with him last night.”

“Yes.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

Hunter thought briefly that at this point, anyone with something to hide would be wise to contact a lawyer, but it was second nature for him to trust and cooperate with the police. “He was rude and verbally abusive toward the woman I was with,” Hunter nodded in the direction that Alora had gone with Colin’s partner, “his ex-wife. I indicated to him that wasn’t acceptable behavior.” It was easy to slip back into the stilted language of police reports.

“So you didn’t like him.”

“He wasn’t a likeable man.”

“In general, or just for you?”

“The man was a bully. And a stalker. He’d evidently been stalking Alora for years. Who else have you talked to?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

“Okay, then maybe I can give you a lead. Mike Irwin was being watched.” Hunter described the woman he’d seen at both the Coast Peaks restaurant and the lounge they were in. “I don’t know why she was watching him, or even her name, but I think you should talk to her before she leaves Whistler.”