Cheryl Bradshaw - Black Diamond Death

A few minutes later the teapot let out a familiar whistle. I poured the water and joined Lord Berkeley on the sofa and the two of us sat back and took in the stillness of the lake through the window. In the summer month’s water skiers, boaters, and fisherman filled the lake, but in winter it turned solid white and was ensconced with snow.

My phone rang to Louis Armstrong’s A kiss to build a dream on .

“Well good evening Detective Calhoun,” I said.

“I wanted to say thanks for last night.”

“It’s me who should thank you,” I said, “for the lovely evening, and the lovelier ending.”

“While we are on the subject, do you want to talk about it?”

“I thought we just did,” I said.

“You know what I mean.”

I sensed the disappointment in his voice and wished I could avoid the subject all together.

“Come on Sloane, you know how I feel.”

“And you know how I feel,” I said.

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I said the wrong thing.

“Are you serious? Every time I try to have the us talk, you shut down. To be honest, I have no idea what to think.”

“I don’t know what to say or what you want from me.”

“I’m ready and I thought you were too.”

In truth, Nick convinced himself that I was ready because that’s what he wanted. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about my feelings; he just thought he knew what was best for the both of us.

“You still there?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Try something for me, okay. Quiet all the chaos in your head, stop finding a reason to poke holes in everything, and give me an honest answer.”

In a world full of men who would rather shoot themselves with a nail gun than converse about the current state of affairs in their relationship, Nick was the one exception.

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “We should talk it out.”

“When?”

“I need some time,” I said.

“How much?”

“I’d like to at least sleep on it.”

“How about we meet tomorrow night for dinner and you can tell me where you’re at with everything.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

If only I meant those words. We set up a time and said our goodbyes.

The next step in the relationship consisted of cohabitation. The pooling together of two separate universes combined into one solid entity. Mi casa es su casa. Nick only saw things one way, point A to point B. In his mind, point B should have happened a long time ago. He made it clear that he wasn’t going to wait for me forever. It was crunch time, the bottom of the ninth, and I had exhausted all of my reasons about why we shouldn’t, and he had exhausted all his reasons about why we should. Nick always said he considered himself a why not person and that I was just the opposite, I always asked why ––why did we need to take the next step in our relationship and why couldn’t things stay the same way they always had. He was right; I did poke holes in things.

Lord Berkeley woke suddenly and barked at a rather large shadow out the window. The night had blanketed the sky, but it was too dark for me to see what ailed him. I tiptoed over to the window and peered out. In the soft glow of the street lamp I saw a mother moose and its baby cross the yard. She took a few steps and then turned to make sure the little one was still in tow. I watched them continue on their way until I couldn’t see them anymore and then turned to Lord Berkeley.

“It’s okay Boo,” I said, and I patted him on the head.

We sat back down together and I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. My phone rang again, but this time it was Marty.

“I’ve had you on my mind all day today,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

He paused for a time before he uttered a response.

“Actually my dear, it isn’t. It’s been a long day, and a tragic one at that.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “What happened?”

“It’s one of the skiers, she’s dead.”

CHAPTER 3

The morning sun shone its rays through the trees and melted away pieces of fallen snow that had rested on its branches. It was a mere eight degrees outside, and I was en route to my office. Nina Simone belted out a familiar tune, but my thoughts centered on my conversation with Marty the night before. The skier he spoke of died instantly, running chest first into a tree. To make matters worse, Marty knew her. Not in an intimate way, but enough to regard her as a friend. She was a local and an experienced skier, which didn’t make much sense. A tree should have been easy for her to avoid. Marty said she loved to go out alone first thing in the morning to take advantage of the fresh powder. A married couple found her motionless body beneath the tree and called Ski Patrol. When they reached her, she wasn’t breathing. The husband administered CPR until the paramedics got there, but it was too late, she was already dead and there was nothing anyone could do.

I switched gears and thought about Nick. My iPod changed songs and Nina sang just for me now, Don’t let me be misunderstood . Nick wanted an all access pass into my life. I knew what that meant and how it would change things. First move in together, followed by marriage, and then what, babies? Of course he wanted babies, but how many––and what if I couldn’t provide them?

My office sat on the North end of Park City’s Historic Main Street. I parked in my usual spot and noted the temperature on the console of my dash which had risen by a single digit. Nine whole degrees, yippee. I fumbled with my keys until I found the one to my office and eyeballed Lord Berkeley.

“Come on then,” I said.

I reached out for him, but he didn’t move. He looked out the window and then back at me and then out the window again.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” I said. “Come on, we’ll hurry. Promise.”

That did the trick. I snatched him up and made a mad dash for the door. Once inside I stripped off my scarf, gloves, and coat. I kicked my flip-flops over to the corner and tried to decide what I wanted to drink. Hot chocolate sounded good. With no appointments for the day walking around the office in my bare feet seemed like a wise choice. I squished my toes into the thick shag rug in the center of the room and breathed in the warmth of my office, all seventy-six degrees of it and then walked over to the thermostat and cranked it up a couple notches. Lord Berkeley made a beeline for his dog bed and settled in.

I sat at my desk and pressed play on the message machine. The first two were solicitations. A male caller reminded me I needed to take some time to consider advertising in the local phone book again. He listed the various sizes they offered along with their corresponding prices. I deleted it. The second caller was a female. She gave me a spiel about a great opportunity she had for me. I deleted it and then pressed play on the last message.

“Hi,” the caller said, “my name is Audrey Halliwell. I’m trying to reach Sloane Monroe. If you could please return my call, I would appreciate it.”

I jotted down her name and number and then picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end said.

“This is Sloane Monroe. Is this Audrey?”

“Thanks for getting back to me so fast,” she said.

“No problem, what can I do for you?”

“I got your number from Mr. Langston,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I’d like to hire you,” she said.

“What can I do for you?”

“I don’t want to get into it over the phone if you don’t mind.”

“Why don’t you stop by my office and we can talk?”

She paused.

“That would be…that would be great,” she said.