As long as Jason was all right.

Wendy closed her eyes. Something hit the wall. She rolled over, gathering the blankets around her chin. All would be revealed tomorrow. Mom and Dad would be having quite the fit tonight. She almost chuckled at the thought. Why, theyd be so upset at the (incorrectly reported) death of the precious son and heir they might spare a thought for their daughter and give her a call.

But she wouldnt wait up for that.

The walls in this place might as well have been made of rice paper. Her room was next to Alan and Sophies. Their headboard hit the wall-again. And again. A steady rhythm started up.

Wendy studied the ceiling. There was a crack in the right corner.

Everything would be settled tomorrow. She might lay a complaint against Constable Smith for causing her undue worry and stress.

Just for something fun to do in this b.u.mpkin town.

John Winters walked into his office as the phone began to ring. It had been one of the best vacations in a long time. He and Eliza had gone nowhere, done nothing. Just relaxed at home, enjoyed long walks in the winter woods, dined out twice, went to a surprisingly pleasant c.o.c.ktail party at the Chief Constables house. Hed even shoveled the driveway a couple of times without waiting for the snowplow service to come and do it. It was their first Christmas in their home in the Kootenays, and theyd wanted simply to enjoy it. And they had.

Winters had taken two weeks off leading up to and over Christmas, and his partner, Detective Ray Lopez, got the days on either side of New Years off. A yellow post-it note was stuck to Winters monitor. "Do NOT, repeat NOT, attempt to care for my plants. P.S. Happy New Year."

The office housed GIS-the General Investigative Section-the detectives for the Trafalgar City Police. All two of them. Lopez, by virtue of being here longer, had the desk by the window. Where he carefully and lovingly cultivated a row of small pots of African violets. The first time he went on leave, hed asked Winters to care for the plants. Theyd almost died from neglect and Lopez was now afraid Winters would over-compensate.

No need to worry about that.

Between Christmas and New Years not much was likely to happen. He planned to fill his days reading two weeks worth of acc.u.mulated e-mail and finishing up overdue paperwork.

He answered the phone. "Sergeant Winters."

"Merry Christmas, John. Or is it too late to wish one Merry Christmas?"

"Happy New Year is the accepted greeting for now until...I dont actually know when you stop saying Happy New Year. Sometime in February, I think. Perhaps by Groundhog Day."

"I probably dont want to know what Groundhog Day is. But I feel compelled to ask. Do you go shooting these groundhogs and cook them up in some sort of native ritual?"

"Doc, you wouldnt believe it if I told you. But I will anyway. We stand around a groundhogs hole and watch it pop its head up to see if it sees its shadow."

"I shudder to think."

"Its more common in the east than out here. Whats up, Doc?"

Childishly he always loved to say that to Doctor Shirley Lee, the pathologist. She never got the joke. Doctor Lee had lived in Canada since she was eight years old but, so sheltered had she been by a rich, insular family, there were plenty of cultural reference she didnt get. She didnt even know about Groundhog Day.

She said, "Ive stopped the autopsy on Mr. Williams."

Winters sat up. Ewan Williams had gone into the Upper Kootenay River on the early hours of Christmas morning. In the company of Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth and a yellow SUV. Both men had been trapped in their vehicle, in the ice-coated river, for more than thirty minutes before being pulled out. Cause of death should have been easy to determine: drowning and hypothermia. Which was why thered been no big rush for the autopsy over the holidays.

For Lee to stop an autopsy meant shed found something significant.

"Why?" he asked.

"I did Mr. Wyatt-Yarmouth first. I found what I expected to find. Healthy, well-fed male in his early twenties in excellent physical condition. Judging by the muscles of his arms and legs, he was a keen athlete. Death by drowning, no doubt about it. Ma.s.sive trauma to the hands and forearms as he attempted to bash and claw his way out of the vehicle. I recommended that the body be released to the family. Ive withdrawn that recommendation."

"Whyd you do that? Because of Williams, Id guess. Whats funny about Williams?"

"Ewan Williams had been dead for twenty-four hours, at a minimum, before he went into the water."

Chapter Five.

Molly Smith floated into work on a cloud of champagne powder. Although not literally; the big storm had ended by mid-morning on Christmas Day, and nothing but a dusting of snow had fallen in the valley since. Shed come back to work early, having agreed to take someone elses shift, but shed spent two great days on the ski hills. Doing run after run; double black diamond after double black diamond. The snow was so dry and light they called it champagne powder. Shed been at the resort when the day began, leaving the slopes when the unlit hills closed down at four oclock. Holiday time, and the parking lot of Big Sky resort had been full to overflowing, the lines for the lifts long. But the weather was good, the sun bright in a blue sky, and the powder deep and fresh on the hills.

Graham had been the ultimate outdoor adventurer. With one exception. He consistently refused to go skiing with her. Shed tried to talk him into it, a.s.suring him that she wouldnt laugh, shed show him the ropes-in school shed been a skiing instructor and worked ski patrol. He refused to even try it, and one wet winters evening in their apartment in Victoria, the night before she was to go up-Island to the slopes of Mount Washington with friends, hed finally confessed he was afraid. Hed skied as a child, taken a bad fall on a grade four trip, and dislocated his shoulder. Rather than letting him get right back onto the proverbial horse, his skittish mother had gone on and on about what a dangerous sport skiing was, and shed refused to sign his permission slip for the next trip, when the shoulder was back in place. Her fear had made him fearful.

Hed never been on skis again, and he wouldnt try even for Molly.

Other than her work, skiing was the one thing that took Molly Smith away from the ghost of Graham Buckingham.

"Anything happening?" she asked Jim Denton, the day dispatch officer.

"Quiet as a mouse. One guy in cells. Picked up last night for drunk and disorderly. Tisk, tisk. We should start getting busy tonight as folks practice for a big New Years blow out. You can be glad youre on days, Molly. It should be a nice, Q, shift."

As superst.i.tious as actors who never mentioned the name of the Scottish Play or wished each other luck, break a leg being the accepted alternative, police never said the Q word, afraid it would bring on the opposite and the shift would be anything but quiet.

"But not too calm." John Winters appeared out of nowhere, and both Smith and Denton jumped. The Sergeant could walk on cats feet sometimes. "Ive been reading the report of an accident that happened on Monday. Car went into the river. Two males who didnt survive. You were at the scene, Molly?"

"Yes. h.e.l.l of a shift. We answered more traffic calls in that night than we usually have in a month. The big storm. My dad said nothings been seen like it in the Kootenays for decades. Why?"

"What with the holiday season, and vacations, and the flu outbreak at the Seniors Residence, and the apparently obvious cause of death resulting from the car in the river, the autopsy wasnt done until today."

"So theyve been busy and understaffed at the morgue. Nothing new about that," Denton said.

"Apparently?" Smith said.

Winters hid signs of approval. Molly had zeroed in on the right word. She had a long way to go, a very long way, but she just might make detective some day.

"Appearances are sometimes deceiving. Youre with me, Molly. Whos the shift sergeant?" he asked Denton.

"Peterson."

Peterson. Who never left an 'i undotted or a 't uncrossed and would never let a new constable off the beat without an argument.

"Ill call Al from the car. Lets go."

"Where?" she said.

"Trail. The hospital. Doctor Lees stopped the autopsy pending my arrival. As you were there, at the scene, I thought youd want to be involved."

"Gee, thanks, Id like that. But, well, whyd she stop the autopsy?"

"An autopsys performed in any unexpected death, you know that. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, its none of our business. But this time, Shirley stopped in the middle of it. Left the cadaver sliced open on the table. She backed away and told her a.s.sistant to pack him up as is. Why would she do that?"

"She found something that made her think its our business?"

"Yup. Jim, find out where they took the wreck of that car. I want it confined until we can look into it."

They took the unmarked van, heading for the hospital in Trail, about an hour from Trafalgar. Most of the trip pa.s.sed in silence.

Smith wasnt going to break the quiet by saying anything. Shed learned that Sergeant Winters didnt care for idle chatter or useless speculation.

It hadnt snowed in town for a few days, but the trees lining the mountain road were heavy with fresh powder. Easy to see why evergreen trees were conical: their branches drooped under the piles of snow dragging them down. Every once in a while something, a puff of light wind, a pa.s.sing animal, a settling bird, shook a branch, and the snow drifted down in a white cloud all of its own.

The road, slick with patches of ice or hard-packed snow, twisted and turned through the mountain pa.s.ses. The sky was heavily overcast, and as they drove past the airport at Castlegar, she couldnt see the mountains. No planes were likely to be getting in or out today.

"Do you know what they call Castlegar, John?" she dared to ask.

"No."

"Cancel-gar." Long pause. "Cause of the number of flights that are cancelled 'cause of the weather."

"Thank you, Molly, I understood the reference."

She concentrated on the road. The last thing shed want would be to put the Sergeant in a ditch, and have to wait for a tow while he called the RCMP to come and get him.

She hadnt liked John Winters much the first time shed worked with him. In fact she hadnt liked him at all. But he was kinda growing on her, and she thought they were getting on okay. As long as she didnt screw up. She was more afraid of John Winters displeasure than that of the Chief Constable or Staff Sergeant Peterson.

"Uh, John?"

"What is it now?"

"I dont think you called Peterson."

"Why would I do that?"

"About taking me off the road?"

"Right." He pulled out his cell phone. Nearing Castlegar, he had a signal.

She could tell by the one side of the conversation she was party to that Peterson was arguing. But as long as he wasnt arguing with her, it was all okay.

Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth leaned on her poles and looked down the hill they called Blonde Ambition. Then she took a deep breath and pushed off, swallowing her fear. Shed constantly avoided taking this midlevel, or blue, run despite Jason and Ewans nagging, but today she decided to ski it. Some sort of tribute, perhaps. Or maybe just to prove to Jason, for the last time, that she could accomplish something.

When Jason had suggested spending their Christmas break skiing in the Kootenays-for the powder, hed said-shed agreed, thinking that Blue Sky would be like Whistler. Her parents gave her a holiday in Whistler as a high school graduation present, and shed loved every minute of it. Whistler was full of the sort of restaurants that were featured in Gourmet magazine, designer shops, luxury hotels. And, incidentally, good skiing.

Blue Sky was full of good skiing. Period. The so-called lodge was nothing other than one long, low, two-story building with a cafeteria, a twenty-seat bar, and plenty of room for people to sit on wooden benches to enjoy lunches carted in in paper bags, backpacks, or family-sized coolers.

Despite the death of their friends, the group had decided to continue their ski vacation. They had to do something, or theyd go nuts just hanging around waiting until it was time to go home.

And Wendy did not want to spend any more time with her parents than she had to.

Theyd left home the day after Christmas, as soon as they could get a plane heading west. Theyd flown to Calgary, where they sat, fuming, for a day because Castlegar was socked in. They could have taken the Greyhound bus, but Doctor (PhD) and Doctor (MD) Wyatt-Yarmouth did not travel on buses. And now they sat in town, at a third-rate hotel because it was the only place with a vacancy, both of them fuming some more, and her father complaining to everyone whod listen, and many who didnt particularly want to, about the incompetence of small town policing.

They tried demanding that Jasons body be released for them to take home, but the police were still waiting for the result of the autopsy.

Didnt they know that Doctor Wyatt-Yarmouth Number One was on the board of the Halton Regional Police Service?

The Trafalgar City Police, apparently, didnt give a flying f.u.c.k.

Soft white snow flew into Wendys face, and she almost smiled. Her smile died when she remembered why her parents were here. To take Jason, and her, home. Yes, she wanted to go home. Get through the ordeal of loading Jasons coffin onto the plane, making the arrangements, the visitation, the funeral.

Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Ewans parents, were spending the holidays sailing in the Caribbean. No one had been able to contact them. Jeremy and Rob decided to stay in Trafalgar until things were settled. Alan didnt seem so sure. At first hed said he was leaving, but then he changed his mind. Which might have had something to do with the fact that Sophie, who hadnt met Jason until this trip, most definitely wanted to finish her vacation.

Wendy reached the bottom of the hill, and pulled off her goggles and helmet. Alan and Rob had headed immediately for the Black Diamond runs. Shed gone up the hill with Jeremy, who was the same level of skier as she, but shed lost him soon after stepping off the lift. Sophie, lucky Sophie, was spending the day at the spa. Wendy would have liked to join her but she was afraid of running into Doctor Wyatt-Yarmouth Number Two (aka Mom) whod announced a similar intention. Also, as Wendy didnt care to admit, even to herself, she couldnt afford a spa day. If Jason hadnt bribed her into coming by paying for a good chunk of her expenses, including room at the B&B and a two-week ski pa.s.s, she couldnt afford to be skiing either. She had barely enough room left on her credit card to go shopping in Toronto for ski clothes. The ones shed worn to Whistler three years ago were so out of date.

She joined the cafeteria line, picked up a tray, and ordered a chicken Caesar salad. Shed waited until close to two oclock before coming inside for lunch in order to snag one of the wooden benches that served as seating.

She handed her money to a strikingly beautiful woman with a trace of Asian features and grabbed a place by the window. The air was heavy with the scent of soggy clothes, damp woolen hats, exposed socks, fragrant food. She munched on her salad and watched people enjoying the days skiing.

A woman threw her tray onto the table next to her. Wendy looked up, mildly annoyed. There was plenty of room, why couldnt the woman sit somewhere else?

"Mind if I join you?" The interloper sat down without waiting for a response. She wore a knee-length purple sweater over a black T-shirt that emphasized her most valuable a.s.sets and snugly fitting blue jeans. Every piece, Wendy couldnt help but notice, looked pretty high-end.

Although nothing at all like one would wear for a day on the slopes.

Wendy speared a slice of chicken and turned her head to the window.

"Good skiing?"

"Its okay. I was expecting a better quality of resort."

The woman laughed. Her teeth were straight and unnaturally white. Her long black hair was gathered into a wild bunch at the back of her head. "Youre not here for just the powder then?"

Wendys head turned. Something was not quite right about this womans appearance or her demeanor. She was not here to ski, nor did she appear to be all that interested in the beef stew on her tray.

"Im afraid I have the advantage of you, as they say in the cla.s.sic English novels. Youre Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth."

"For my sins, as they say in the more contemporary English TV shows. Who the h.e.l.l are you and what do you want?"

The woman smiled. She held out her hand. "Meredith Morgenstern. Trafalgar Daily Gazette, for my own sins. My condolences on your loss."

"Thank you."

Wendy hadnt accepted the handshake. The woman didnt seem put out and picked up a whole wheat roll. "If you dont mind, Id like to ask you about the death of your brother and his friend."