Andrew Gross - One Mile Under

“Just be glad that it was Trey you were with and not me,” John Booth said, grinning; “otherwise you’d still be down there.”

“Funny.” Rudy sneered at his friend, taking a swig of beer.

“I actually saw him at Starbucks, just after that,” Alexi, the ski rep, said in his French accent, but with a completely straight face. “He said he left you back there and asked should he go back and dig you out? I said, ‘Aw, what the hell.’ He asked if he should bring you a latte and I told him, ‘Look, don’t go all crazy now …’”

“That was Trey,” Artie, his ski tuner in the shop, said.

They all clinked mugs again.

“It just makes no sense.” John Booth shook his head. “Where this happened. The Falls, maybe. Or even Catapult. Trey could do the Cradle with Petey on his lap.”

“Or why he was out there without a helmet?” Dani said.

“Trey didn’t wear a helmet,” John Booth said. “Off-terrain maybe, or if he was doing tricks.”

“You’re wrong,” Dani said. “I saw him lots of mornings out there. Since Petey was born he damn well did wear one.”

“Anyone find one?” John Booth looked at her. “The rescue team was all over the place out there.”

Dani shrugged. She had waited around to see after she gave her deposition to the police. “No.”

“So there you go. Probably trying a one-eighty or a rollover, or something, and all that water got to him. Maybe his reactions were a little dulled from the night before, who knows? Anyway, here’s to my man.” John raised his mug. “To Charles Alan Watkins the Third.”

“To Trey!” Everyone at the table joined in.

Through the crowd, Dani saw Geoff Davies come in.

Geoff was the owner of Whitewater Adventure, where Dani worked. He was thirty-four, from Australia, had a master’s degree in psychology, and had moved out here from L.A. after a divorce and bought the business. He built it up, with a clothing line and videos and state-of-the-art equipment. He and Dani had been seeing a bit each other for the last few months. Not a big thing, and probably not the smartest. either. Taking up with the boss. But it was only now and then, and Geoff was an upbeat, good-hearted guy, and smart. And anyway it wasn’t like this was some Fortune 500 company and there was a whole corporate hierarchy where it could get around. Whitewater Adventures had eight full-time employees.

“I heard this was where you could lift one up to Trey Watkins?” Geoff came over to the table.

“That it is,” John Booth said. “One more round,” he said, motioning to Skip behind the bar. A few of them had already had four or five, and that was becoming clear. “Sit right down.”

“Thanks.” Geoff grabbed the empty chair next to Dani. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She shrugged back. Though everybody probably already knew, they always kept things cool and gave each other just a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“So how’re you doing?” He gave her an affectionate stroke to her hair, which Dani had tied back in a thick ponytail. He had wiry brown hair and soft, gray eyes.

“Hanging in there. Everyone get back okay after Rich picked them up?”

“Not exactly how we normally like to end our deluxe Roaring Fork River Thrill Experience … But yes. I gave them all a full refund, of course. Not that anyone really wanted it. Up until then they all had a terrific time and they all said you were great. And how you handled it. They even left some tips for you. It just seemed the right thing to do. Especially with the kids in there.”

“I think it was the right thing.” Dani squeezed his thigh under the table. “That was nice.” The new round of beers arrived and they all toasted Trey one more time, Geoff as well. Dani downed a long swig, maybe a quarter of the mug.

“I heard his father’s coming down tomorrow,” Geoff said. “He’s a farmer from up north somewhere.”

Rudy nodded. “Trey always said he came from a small farm. He mentioned once that lately it had fallen on hard times.”

“There’s been a pretty long drought up that way,” John Booth added.

“Two or three years.”

“Sometimes your luck just runs out.” Rudy shook his head, enough beer that he was growing melancholy. “He just hit a rock the wrong way and … Just a freakin’ accident. Could happen to any of us the same way.”

“It wasn’t no accident.” They all heard a voice ring out from behind them.

Everyone looked around. A guy named Ron was at the bar—Rooster, everyone called him, because he had long, straggly hair, a pockmarked face, and a pointy chin. He was a balloon operator for one of the sightseeing companies in Aspen that took tourists up for a view of the valley. Rooster was in his fifties, a heavy drinker, who was always running his mouth off somewhere. No one cared for him much.

“What are you talking about?” Rudy shifted around.

“Just that it wasn’t no accident,” Rooster said again. His eyes were bright and kind of intense, either from the beer or with mischief, and he sat there, looking at them, seeming kind of pleased. “All I’m saying.”

“What do you mean, it ‘wasn’t no accident’?” John Booth said, mocking Rooster’s grammar. “What the hell was it then?”

“Not for me to say.” Rooster shrugged. “Just that he wasn’t alone.”

“ Wasn’t alone …” John shook his head and rolled his eyes. “And you know this, how, Rooster …?”

“’Cause I was up there. This morning. Just after light. And I seen it. I seen what happened.”

There was silence. “You got something on your mind, Rooster, better let it rip,” said Rudy, shifting around in his chair.

For a moment, Rooster puffed out his chest like he was about to. The guy was always a weird duck. He always said he’d been a roadie for the rock group Boston; clearly they’d invited him to the party room one too many times. He didn’t have a whole lot of friends and mostly hung out alone. Dani had seen him drunk once or twice and it wasn’t a pretty sight. He’d been let go from his job by the owner of the tour company, but one of the operators had quit and it was summer, so apparently he was back on a temporary basis. Mostly, she just felt sorry for him.

“We’re waiting, dude …” Rudy tapped his finger. Rudy was large and had had a couple, and was known to have a short fuse. It had been a long day, and they had all lost a friend. It wouldn’t take much for him to let it go. “Now would be the time …”

“All I’m saying is, you didn’t see what I saw.” Ron backed down. He glanced around, looking for a way to get himself out of trouble. “He just wasn’t alone out there, that’s all.” He sat there, bouncing a leg against the barstool, as if thinking, maybe this wasn’t the smartest thing.

“You’re saying someone did this? So who was with him?” John Booth pressed.

Rooster saw that he was sliding headfirst into a mess. He cleared his throat, and stammered a second, evading the question.

“ Ron …? ” Dani pitched in, seeing he had gotten all nervous. “It’s okay. What did you see …?”

“Nothing,” Rooster finally said. His eyes hung, seeming both shot down and defeated, and they seemed to settle on Dani’s with a kind of contrite, regretful smile. “Nothing more to say.” He raised his glass to Rudy and John. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“C’mon, Rudy, that’s the end of it …” John Booth pulled his friend back around by the arm. “Just Rooster being Rooster. Sit back down and have a wing. We’ve all had a bunch to drink.”

“I ain’t drunk,” Rooster chimed in again. “Been clean for fifteen days now. It’s ginger ale. See …?” He held up his drink. “Anyway—to your friend.” He tilted his glass.