A Crime for Christmas Page 4

  “I swear, Steve, it’s not my fault!” the short one pleaded, hands pressed to his chest like he was praying. “I skied it myself before we did the final pass, and it was perfect. You know I never—”

  “All I know is that you had orders you didn’t follow, and this is the last time . . .” The big guy’s voice faded behind us as we moved farther away.

  “I take it Todd is the groomer,” I said to my ski patrol chauffeurs, glad to have a tiny mystery to take my mind off my throbbing leg.

  “One of them,” Berkley answered. “He’s in charge of the beginner and intermediate runs on the lower part of the mountain. Big Steve’s the head groomer, and he has a temper even when things go right.”

  “I’d feel terrible if someone got fired because I wiped out,” I said, feeling a sting of guilt along with the pain in my leg.

  “It’s not your fault, Nancy,” Marni assured me. “Todd’s a good guy, but he really should have flagged that ice. Even the best grooming crew in the world can’t catch it all, but there was a solid sheet under the powder covering that whole side of the run by the turn, and the markers they did put down steered you right toward it. It was an accident waiting to happen.”

  Berkley nodded. “If they’d done a test run like they were supposed to before the opening ceremony, they probably would have caught it.”

  At the clinic, Berkley and Marni carefully transferred me onto a gurney and wheeled me into an examination room. The clinic was like part emergency room and part high-end spa. The Grand Sky Lodge did hospitality right. The staff was every bit as nice as Marni, Berkley, and Jackie had been. Well, maybe not all the staff.

  Doc Sherman was a jumpy middle-aged man with sandy brown hair that was starting to gray, wire-rim glasses, and just about the least confidence-inspiring bedside manner I’d ever seen from a doctor. It’s not that he said anything mean—he didn’t say much at all, really—he was just a lot more fidgety and grouchy-looking than you hope to see from a guy who sometimes operates on people.

  “Hmm,” “Mm-hmm,” and “Huh” seemed to make up most of his vocabulary as he examined me. His other favorite words were, “Does this hurt?”

  “Ouch!” I said as he poked the fresh bruise below my hip a bit too hard. “It’s a little sore, I guess, but I didn’t really notice so much until you poked it.”

  “Hmm,” he replied, and got up and left the room, sending an older nurse named Mariana in after him to take me down the hall for X-rays.

  “I’m sorry, dear. Doc Sherman isn’t usually this grumpy,” Mariana said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper as she pushed me back to the exam room in a wheelchair. “He’s got a boil on his rear end that’s been giving him fits. Don’t tell anyone.”

  I laughed. Doc Sourpuss with a boil on his butt did make me feel a little better. It didn’t last long, though.

  Doc Sourpuss walked in with two X-rays in his hand. He put the first one up on the light box. There were my lower left leg and foot bones in all their black-and-white film-negative glory.

  “That’s your tibia,” he said, pointing to the bone just above where my ski boot had been. “And that”—he indicated a little squiggly-looking spot on the bone—“is a small hairline fracture.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned, seeing my would-be glorious week of skiing flash before my eyes. At least it’s only a small fracture, I thought, reassuring myself.

  “That’s the good news,” he said.

  My mouth dropped open. “Huh?”

  He slapped the second X-ray onto the light box. This one showed the long bone connecting my hip and my knee, and the thing he was pointing to below my hip wasn’t a faint squiggly line. It looked like someone had snipped the bone cleanly in two with scissors!

  “You have a femoral fracture,” he declared.

  “But—but—” I stammered. “It was just a little bruise.”

  “Appearances can be misleading,” he said. It would have been good detecting advice, but I didn’t much appreciate it as a medical patient.

  “You’re lucky it doesn’t require surgery,” he continued. “But we are going to have to immobilize it immediately.”

  I quickly learned that by “immobilize,” he meant a cast—and not just one of those walking boots like jingly Jackie had that lets you still move around everywhere, but a huge foot-to-thigh behemoth cast that made me look like a mummy someone had forgotten to finish wrapping!

  As if that wasn’t bad enough . . .

  “You need to stay off it entirely for the next week,” he declared like a judge reading a prison sentence to a convict.

  “But—but—” I stammered again.

  “You can have a wheelchair in case you need to go anywhere, although I don’t recommend it,” he warned. “In fact, I recommend total bed rest.”

  “B-but—” I stammered some more.

  “Don’t even consider trying to put weight on it,” he said, ignoring my gibbering. “If it heals properly, we can replace the cast with a less cumbersome brace before you leave and send you home on crutches.”

  “But I just got here!” I finally spit out. “And it barely even hurts!”

  “The protruding bone appears to have hit a nerve, causing localized numbing,” he explained impatiently. “But if you don’t keep it entirely immobile during the first seven days of the crucial healing stage, then you could leave here with nerve damage and a permanent limp. Stay off it.”

  Mic drop. Exit stage left. Or at least that’s how I envisioned it as Doc Sherman set his clipboard down on the desk and walked out of the room chewing on his lip, leaving me to contemplate the reality of his verdict.

  The dream ski vacation I’d been so excited for? I was going to be spending the entire thing watching everyone else have fun skiing while I was stuck indoors in a cast!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Room with a View

  I HAD TO ADMIT, THERE were worse places to be stuck in bed than a corner suite at the Grand Sky Lodge. Archie had booked my dad and me into a beautiful suite with a living room, two bedrooms, three fireplaces, and one fantastic view. Well, actually, three fantastic views. Because it was on the corner, each room offered its own breathtaking panorama. I could look out over either the front of the lodge, all the way down to Prospect and the valley below, or up at the ski-slope-covered mountains, depending on where I wheeled myself. Plus, the suite was only two floors up, so I could look down to the courtyard and hedge maze below. I was in perfect people-watching position.

  Okay, so I know Dr. Sherman had recommended bed rest, but I told myself it was only a recommendation, after all. I mean, it wasn’t like he’d given me an order or anything. My upper leg really didn’t hurt much at all; I mostly just felt a throbbing in my lower shin where I’d broken my tibia. If anything, I felt drowsy from the pain medication they’d given me. And with the huge, bulky cast, it was actually less uncomfortable sitting in my wheelchair with my left leg stretched out in front of me than lying in bed anyway. I was sure the doctor would want me to be comfortable—that certainly seemed like an important medical consideration too. And, besides, just thinking about being stuck in bed for a whole week while I was in this amazing place made me stir-crazy! I figured being able to wheel myself around was actually an important mental health consideration. Surely the doctor wouldn’t want me going crazy, right?! I’d just be super careful not to jostle my cast too much or bang into anything. I was determined not to let a little thing like a badly broken leg ruin my vacation!

  Archie had felt so bad about my accident that he made me feel bad for him. I tried to assure him that it really wasn’t his fault and just bad luck, but he was convinced I never would have gotten hurt if it hadn’t been for him asking me to sub in for the ceremonial first run. He insisted on giving me anything and everything I might need to make myself comfortable, including my own personal walkie-talkie radio to communicate with the staff and a really nice pair of binoculars to watch the action on the slopes. Not that watching everybody else having a blas
t skiing while I was stuck inside in a cast was my idea of the most fun activity ever, but it sure beat staring at the walls (although the exposed log walls with their rustic built-in breakfast nook and benches were pretty nice!).

  Liz had cut her skiing short and rushed up to the suite to see me as soon as she heard what happened from Brady, who really had caught the whole embarrassing mishap on his drone cam. Things One through Three insisted on being the first ones to sign my ginormo cast, and Liz got right down to business teaching me how to maneuver my wheelchair around.

  “Believe me, doll, I know,” she said, tapping the boot of her scarred leg with authority. “I spent a lot of time in one of those when I was rehabbing after the helicopter crash.”

  Liz was a great teacher, and I was excited to use my binoculars to watch her giving the kids their ski lessons later. I had to tell Kelly and Jimmy that I wasn’t quite ready for wheelies, but we all agreed that Liz should show me tips for what she called “stealth mode” so I wouldn’t make a racket everywhere I went.

  “You’re not going to be able to spy on any perps squeaking everywhere you go and banging into walls,” Liz pointed out.

  “Now I just need a case to solve!” I said, laughing.

  I was actually having fun! Even though I was bummed that my dad wasn’t there yet, and I missed George, Bess, and my boyfriend, Ned, I definitely wasn’t lonely. Breaking your leg the first day on the slopes still stinks, but it stinks a lot less with friends to cheer you up.

  Everyone was supersweet and concerned. Carol took a selfie of us to post on Instagram with the hashtags #traveltips and #hownottostartyourskitrip. Jackie jingled by the suite to fret over me not staying in bed and to bring me a pair of matching mini sleigh bells for my wheelchair so we could be “twinsies,” as she put it. I told her I’d hang them from the door of the suite and think of her every time I came and went. I might not be on an active investigation, but you never knew when one might come up. Wheelchair or no, I was still a detective, and snooping gets a lot harder when people can hear you coming from around the corner.

  Eventually everyone left to let me rest. But I was still too wired from all the excitement to do any napping, so I picked up my brand-new binoculars to get a better look at the Grand Sky’s grounds.

  It took me only a second to realize that I didn’t just have a great view of the slopes and the valley. I also had a clear view of a lot of the other rooms. The hotel part of the lodge was horseshoe-shaped, and from where we were, I could see all the other rooms on the front side of the lodge, along with some of the private cabins spread out on the hill below.

  It was getting late in the day, and I’d meant to watch the last ski runs before the sun set, but the view of the other rooms proved too tempting not to investigate. I couldn’t ski or hike or ice-skate on the frozen pond or most of the other winter activities the lodge offered, but you didn’t need to be able to walk around to sleuth.

  I just had to figure out what I was sleuthing for. The pipeline controversy seemed like a good prospect, but it wasn’t like anyone had been kidnapped or anything. Then again, there were the death threats against Grant and Leach that Jackie had told us about. Now that was a promising angle.

  After all, it doesn’t get much more serious than a death threat! One of the people who made the threats could be staying at the lodge. I kind of had an obligation to conduct at least cursory surveillance. That’s what I tried to tell myself, at least.

  Nope! I scolded myself. No snooping without probable cause!

  I was lowering my binoculars when I caught sight of two men arguing in one of the second-floor corner suites on the opposite side of the horseshoe. My hands slowed down instinctively as Archie and Grant came into clear focus.

  Now this was directly relevant to the death-threat case I’d just assigned to myself. If Jackie was right, and someone had been threatening Archie and Grant, a good way to get a bead on suspects or their motives would be to observe their victims. As co-owners of the resort that was standing in the way of the pipeline being built, they were both in the pipeline proponents’ crosshairs. Which meant they could both be in danger.

  The binoculars were pretty powerful, but I was still too far away to read their lips. It was obvious that they were both pretty worked up, though.

  It wasn’t shocking that there was tension between Archie and Grant, especially after the surprise Archie had dropped in his opening-ceremony comments about wanting to turn the land around the lodge—including the disputed sliver of land needed by the pipeline—into a permanent nature preserve that would stop the pipeline in its tracks. Grant was in the tricky position of not only opposing the pipeline as an owner of the lodge, but also, as a state politician, not wanting to offend the constituents who supported it—and it looked like Archie had just made that job a lot harder.

  It was hard to tell who was angrier at whom, though. Archie was waving his hands and Grant was waving a document. He tried to force it into Archie’s hands, but Archie pushed it away and stormed out. I could see Grant throw the papers down and sit in a chair after Archie marched out. It was tempting to try and read into what the argument might be about, but it really could have been about anything. They were business partners on the opening day of their company’s biggest—and from the way it sounded at the opening ceremony, riskiest—investment, and they both had a lot riding on its success. No wonder they were tense. The argument could have been over financing or which brand of recycled toilet tissue they were buying, for all I knew.

  What I did know was that I was tired.

  KNOCK. KNOCK.

  I woke up to a fist knocking on my suite door a couple of hours later. I must have fallen asleep in the wheelchair.

  “The butler did it!” I shouted in confusion from somewhere deep in dreamland. “Um . . .” I cleared my throat. “Who is it?”

  “Dinnertime, sleepyhead!” Liz’s voice shouted from the other side of the door. “I hear that fancy-pants chef you were talking about has a heck of a feast planned, and I didn’t want a little bit of bad luck to stop you from chowing down!”

  “Coming!” I shouted back. Doc Sherman may have prescribed rest, but I wasn’t about to miss this. I wheeled myself over to the door, narrowly avoiding a collision between my cast and the wall as I swiveled around to try and open it.

  “We need to work on your stealth mode moves,” Liz said from the other side of the door. “I can hear you from across the suite.”

  I opened the door for her. “Come on in!” I welcomed her.

  She was wearing an awesome black jumpsuit with leopard-print ankle boots. Her hair was pulled back to show off a pair of glittering Christmas tree earrings, complete with tiny golden stars. I looked down at my black leggings and purple fleece with dismay.

  “You look great, Liz!” I told her. “I’m a little worried this outfit doesn’t say ‘grand opening,’ though. . . .”

  “That’s why I’m here! To help you get ready.”`

  “It might be too soon in our relationship to say this, but I really love you, Liz.”

  About a half hour later, I was dressed in a gray sweaterdress and one high, brown leather boot. I was ready for the big dinner! Since this was the lodge’s grand opening feast, they held it in the banquet hall so everyone could attend. The hall was a wide-open space filled with big round tables covered with crisp floor-length white tablecloths. Each table had a small Christmas tree in the center complete with sparkling toppers and ornaments. Roaring fires in huge hearths were on either end and large chandeliers made of intertwined elk antlers hung from the high ceilings. Green garlands adorned every shelf and windowsill, and large wreaths were hung on every wall. It felt like we were at the North Pole and Santa would come join the festivities any minute.

  It took some awkward maneuvering, but Liz and Brady helped me get my wheelchair in a position where I could eat comfortably. Everyone else had just been seated too when I heard a commotion at the front of the hall not far from our table.

 
The whole room looked over to see the maître d’ helplessly trying to stop a small but intimidating group of men from pushing their way in.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bosley, sir, I can’t let you in. This is an invitation-only event,” the maître d’ pleaded with the leader of the pack, a burly guy sporting a five o’clock shadow and a heavy buffalo-plaid flannel jacket.

  “Where’s Leach?” the man demanded, undeterred.

  “This isn’t the place, Dino,” a frazzled-looking Archie said as he walked past my table toward the entrance.

  “Oh, I think this is exactly the place, Leach. You may have convinced my parents you were looking out for Prospect’s interests, but as far as I can tell, you’re trying to sell our future right out from under us just to make yourself look good,” spat Dino Bosley, the son of the Grand Sky Lodge’s former owners. The same one Jackie had told us held a grudge against the lodge he’d once hoped to inherit.

  “Dino, I know the money the pipeline people are offering you and some of the other landowners seems like a lot, but if we let this happen, we’ll be selling out Prospect’s entire future,” Archie tried to explain. “By protecting the natural resources we’ve all been blessed with—”

  “Easy for a fancy real estate developer to say,” Dino cut in. “You’re already rich.”

  “Now just hear me out for a minute,” Archie said firmly, standing his ground. “I’ve invested just about everything I have in my vision for the Grand Sky Lodge because I believe it’s the right thing to do, and not just for us, but for the town. Protecting the land and stopping the pipeline is the best thing we can do for the local economy. Sure, a few individuals may gain in the short run by leasing their land, but the construction jobs they’re promising will be temporary, and all the profits from the pipeline will go to fat cats at big corporations who don’t care anything about Prospect or its future. They don’t care if our landscape is scarred, our wildlife is killed off, or our water becomes too polluted to drink. The most valuable resource the town has is its natural beauty, not oil. Generations from now, people will still pay to visit Prospect for outdoor recreation if we preserve it. Otherwise there might not be anything left to preserve.”