The Sky Is Falling (17 page)

“I came for some information.”

A disappointed look crossed his face. “Information?”

“Yes. Did Julie Winthrop get her skis here?”

He studied Dana more closely. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she used the top-of-the-line Volant Ti power skis. Loved them. Terrible thing that happened to her up at Eaglecrest.”

“Was Miss Winthrop a good skier?”

“Good? She was the best. She had a trophy case full of prizes.”

“Do you know if she was alone here?”

“Far as I know, she was.” He shook his head. “What’s so surprising is that she knew Eaglecrest like the back of her hand. Used to ski here every year. You’d think an accident like that couldn’t happen to her, wouldn’t you?”

Dana said slowly, “Yes, I would.”

The Juneau Police Department was two blocks from the Inn at the Waterfront.

Dana stepped into a small reception office that contained the Alaska state flag, the Juneau flag, and the Stars and Stripes. There was a blue carpet, a blue couch, and a blue chair.

A uniformed officer asked, “May I help you?”

“I’d like some information about Julie Winthrop’s death.”

He frowned. “The man you want to talk to is Bruce Bowler. He’s head of Sea Dog Rescue. He has an office upstairs, but he’s not in right now.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

The officer looked at his watch. “Right now you should be able to catch him at Hanger on the Wharf. That’s down two blocks on Marine Way.”

“Thank you very much.”

Hanger on the Wharf was a large restaurant crowded with noontime diners.

The hostess said to Dana, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a table right now. There will be a twenty-minute wait if—”

“I’m looking for Mr. Bruce Bowler. Do you—?”

The hostess nodded. “Bruce? He’s over at that table.”

Dana looked. There was a pleasant-faced, rugged-looking man in his early forties, seated alone.

“Thank you.” Dana made her way to the table. “Mr. Bowler?”

He looked up. “Yes.”

“I’m Dana Evans. I need your help.”

He smiled. “You’re in luck. We have one room available. I’ll call Judy.”

Dana looked at him, puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Aren’t you asking about Cozy Log, our bed-and-breakfast inn?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you about Julie Winthrop.”

“Oh.” He was embarrassed. “Sorry. Please sit down. Judy and I own a small inn outside of town. I thought you were looking for a room. Have you had lunch?”

“No, I—”

“Join me.” He had a nice smile.

“Thank you,” Dana said.

When Dana had ordered, Bruce Bowler said, “What do you want to know about Julie Winthrop?”

“It’s about her death. Was there any chance that it was not an accident?”

Bruce Bowler frowned. “Are you asking if she could have committed suicide?”

“No. I’m asking if… if someone could have murdered her.”

He blinked. “Murdered Julie? Not a chance. It was an accident.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Sure.” Bruce Bowler was thoughtful for a moment, wondering where to begin. “We have three different sets of slopes here. There’s the beginners’ slopes, the Muskeg, Dolly Varden, and Sourdough… There’s the more difficult ones, Sluice Box, Mother Lode, and Sundance… There’s the really tough ones, Insane, Spruce Chute, Hang Ten… And then there’s Steep Chutes. That’s the toughest.”

“And Julie Winthrop was skiing…?”

“Steep Chutes.”

“So she was an expert skier?”

“She sure was,” Bruce Bowler said. He hesitated. “That’s what was so unusual.”

“What was?”

“Well, we have night skiing every Thursday from four P.M. to nine P.M. There were a lot of skiers out there that night. They were all back by nine o’clock except Julie. We went looking for her. We found her body at the bottom of Steep Chutes. She had slammed into a tree. Had to have killed her instantly.”

Dana closed her eyes for an instant, feeling the horror and pain of it. “So — so she was alone when the accident happened?”

“Yeah. Skiers usually travel together, but sometimes the best ones like to hotdog it by themselves. We have an area boundary marked here, and anyone who skis outside it does so at his own risk. Julie Winthrop was skiing outside that boundary, on a closed trail. Took us a good while to find her body.”

“Mr. Bowler, what is the procedure when a skier is lost?”

“As soon as someone’s reported missing, we start with a bastard search.”

“A bastard search?”

“We telephone friends to see if the skier is with them. We’ll call a few bars. It’s a quick-and-dirty search. That’s to save our crews the trouble of conducting an all-out search for some drunk who’s sitting stoned in a bar.”

“And if someone is really lost?” Dana asked.

“We get a physical description of the missing skier, his or her skiing ability, and the last-seen location. We always ask if they had a camera.”

“Why?”

“If they did, it gives us a clue to the scenic areas they might have gone to. We check to see what plans the skier might have had for transportation back to town. If our sweep doesn’t turn anything up, then we assume that the missing skier is located outside the ski-area boundary. We notify the Alaska state troopers for search and rescue and they put a helicopter in the air. There are four people in each search party, and the civil air patrol joins in.”

“That’s a lot of manpower.”

“Sure is. But remember, we have six hundred and thirty acres of skiing area around here, and we average forty searches a year. Most of them are successful.” Bruce Bowler looked out the window at the cold slate sky. “I sure wish this one had been.” He turned back to Dana. “Anyway, the ski patrol does a sweep every day after the lifts close.”

Dana said, “I was told that Julie Winthrop was used to skiing the top of Eaglecrest.”

He nodded. “That’s right. But that’s still no guarantee. Clouds can come in, you can get disoriented, or you can get plain unlucky. Poor Miss Winthrop got unlucky.”

“How did you find her body?”

“Mayday found her.”

“Mayday?”

“That’s our top dog. The ski patrol works with black Labradors and shepherds. The dogs are pretty incredible. They work downwind, pick up a human scent, go up to the edge of the scent zone, and work the grid up and back. We sent up a bombardier to the scene of the accident, and when—”

“A bombardier?”

“Our snow machine. We brought Julie Winthrop’s body back on a Stokes litter. The three-man ambulance crew checked her out with an EKG monitor and then took photographs and called a mortician. They took her body to Bartlett Regional Hospital.”

“And no one knows how the accident happened?”

He shrugged. “All we know is she met an unfriendly giant spruce. I saw it. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Dana looked at Bruce Bowler a moment. “Would it be possible for me to see the top of Eaglecrest?”

“Why not? Let’s finish lunch, and I’ll take you up myself.”

They drove in a Jeep to the two-story lodge at the base of the mountain.

Bruce Bowler told Dana, “This building is where we meet to make our search - and - rescue plans. We carry ski-rental equipment here and we have ski instructors for those who want them. We’ll take this lift up to the top of the mountain.”

They slid onto the Ptarmigan chairlift, heading for the top of Eaglecrest. Dana was shivering.

“I should have warned you. For this kind of weather, you need propylene clothing, long underwear, and you have to dress in layers.”

Dana shivered. “I’ll r-remember.”

“This is the chairlift Julie Winthrop came up in. She had her backpack with her.”

“Her backpack?”

“Yes. They contain an avalanche shovel, a beacon that transmits up to fifty yards, and a probe pole.” He sighed. “Of course, that doesn’t help any when you slam into a tree.”

They were nearing the summit. As they reached the platform and they gingerly stepped off the chairs, a man at the top greeted them.

“What brings you up here, Bruce? Someone lost?”

“No. I’m just showing a friend the sights. This is Miss Evans.”

They exchanged hellos. Dana looked around. There was a warming hut that was almost lost in the heavy clouds.
Had Julie Winthrop gone in there before she went skiing? And was someone following her? Someone who was planning to kill her
?

Bruce Bowler turned to Dana. “Ptarmigan here is top of the mountain. It’s all downhill from here.”

Dana turned and looked at the unforgiving ground far, far below and shuddered.

“You look chilly, Miss Evans. I’d better take you down.”

“Thank you.”

Dana had just returned to the Inn at the Waterfront when there was a knock at her door. Dana opened it. A large, pale-faced man stood there.

“Miss Evans?”

“Yes.”

“Hi. My name is Nicholas Verdun. I’m from the
Juneau Empire
newspaper.”

“Yes?”

“I understand you’re investigating the Julie Winthrop death? We’d like to do a story on that.”

An alarm sounded in Dana’s mind. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m not doing any investigation.”

The man looked at her skeptically. “I heard—”

“We’re doing a show on around - the - world skiing. This is just one stop.”

He stood there a moment. “I see. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Dana watched him leave.
How would he know what I’m doing here
? Dana telephoned the
Juneau Empire
. “Hello. I wanted to talk to one of your reporters, Nicholas Verdun…” She listened a moment. “You don’t have anyone there by that name? I see. Thank you.”

It took Dana ten minutes to pack.
I’ve got to get out of here and find another place
. She suddenly remembered.
Aren’t you asking about Cozy Log, our bed-and-breakfast inn? You’re in luck. We have one room available
. Dana went down to the lobby to check out. The clerk gave her directions to the inn and drew a small map.

In the basement of the government building, the man looking at the digital map on the computer said, “The subject is leaving the downtown area, heading west.”

The Cozy Log Bed-and-Breakfast Inn was a neat one-story Alaskan log house, half an hour away from downtown Juneau.
Perfect
. Dana rang the front doorbell and the door was opened by an attractive, cheerful woman in her thirties.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes. I met your husband, and he mentioned that you had a room available.”

“Indeed we do. I’m Judy Bowler.”

“Dana Evans.”

“Come in.”

Dana stepped inside and looked around. The inn consisted of a large, comfortable living room with a stone fireplace, a dining room where the boarders ate, and two bedrooms with bathrooms.

“I do all the cooking here,” Judy Bowler said. “It’s pretty good.”

Dana smiled warmly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Judy Bowler showed Dana to her room. It was clean and homey looking. Dana unpacked.

There was one other couple boarding there, and the conversation was casual. Neither of them recognized Dana.

After lunch, Dana drove back into town. She walked into the bar of the Cliff House and ordered a drink. All the employees looked tan and healthy.
Of course
.

“Beautiful weather,” Dana said to the young blond bartender.

“Yeah. Great skiing weather.”

“Do you ski a lot?”

He smiled. “Whenever I can steal time off.”

“Too dangerous for me.” Dana sighed. “A friend of mine got killed here a few months ago.”

He put down the glass he was polishing. “Killed?”

“Yes. Julie Winthrop.”

His expression clouded. “She used to come in here. Nice lady.”

Dana leaned forward. “I heard it wasn’t an accident.”

His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I heard she was murdered.”

“Murdered?” he said incredulously. “Not a chance. It was an accident.”

Twenty minutes later Dana was talking to the bartender at the Prospector Hotel.

“Beautiful weather.”

“Good skiing weather,” the bartender said.

Dana shook her head. “Too dangerous for me. A friend of mine got killed here skiing. You might have met her. Julie Winthrop.”

“Oh, sure. I liked her a lot. I mean, she didn’t put on airs, like some people. She was real down-to-earth.”

Dana leaned forward. “I heard her death wasn’t an accident.”

The expression on the bartender’s face changed. He lowered his voice. “I know damn well it wasn’t.”

Dana’s heart quickened. “You do?”

“You bet.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Those damn Martians…”

She was at the top of Ptarmigan Mountain on skis, and she could feel the cold wind biting at her. She looked down at the valley below, trying to decide whether to return, when suddenly she felt a push from behind, and she was hurtling down the slopes, faster and faster, heading toward a huge tree. Just before she hit the tree, she woke up, screaming.

Dana sat up in bed, trembling.
Is that what had happened to Julie Winthrop? Who pushed her to her death
?

Elliot Cromwell was impatient.

“Matt, when the hell is Jeff Connors coming back? We need him.”

“Soon. He keeps in touch.”

“And what about Dana?”

“She’s in Alaska, Elliot. Why?”

“I would like to see her back here. The ratings on our evening broadcasts have gone down.”

And Matt Baker looked at him and wondered if that was the real reason for Elliot Cromwell’s concern.

In the morning, Dana dressed and drove back into the center of town.

At the airport, waiting for her flight to be called, Dana noticed a man sitting in a corner looking at her from time to time. He looked strangely familiar. He was dressed in a dark gray suit, and he reminded her of someone. And Dana remembered who it was. A different man at the Aspen airport. He had also worn a dark gray suit. But it was not the clothes that triggered Dana’s memory. It was something in their bearing. Both of them had an unpleasant aura of arrogance. He was watching her with a look that almost bordered on contempt. She felt a chill.