Cheryl Bradshaw: Black Diamond Death

“My favorite kind.”

The phone made a distinct cracking noise. At first I blamed it on a bad connection until I recognized the sound of Maddie chomping away on a piece of gum like a cow chewing its cud.

“Did you hear about the skiing accident at Wildwood a couple days ago?” I said.

“Nope.”

I filled her in on the details and got her up to speed.

She popped a bubble into the phone. At times it was hard to believe she graduated college at the top of her class.

“Do you believe her? I mean, that sounds kind of far out, you know.”

“I don’t know what to think yet. But there’s a disgruntled ex so I already have a good place to start.”

Maddie laughed.

“Isn’t there always?”

“Can I count on you to help me out then?” I said.

“What do you need and how soon do you need it?”

“They’ve transferred her body to the funeral home. Your team can do the autopsy there.”

“Didn’t the ME order one?”

“He did and so did she, but no one knows when the results will come back, and let’s just say weeks don’t register in her vocabulary.”

“Not the patient type, eh?”

“Not in the least,” I said.

“You two should get along famously then.”

“I figure I’ll poke around and see if there’s anything that can back up her suspicions, and if I don’t find anything, at least I can give her some closure.”

“Did they find anything on the body?”

“Right now it looks like an accident,” I said.

“I’ll get my boys over there right away.”

“The funeral is in two days,” I said.

“We’ll work it in, no worries.”

“You’re the best Maddie.”

She popped another bubble into the phone.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Listen, I need to run, but let me know what you find,” I said.

“Will do,” she said, “and give Mr. Studly a big kiss for me.”

CHAPTER 8

Marty stood at the front desk and looked out into the parking lot. His eyes had deep-set bags under them and he looked tired, but he did his best to muster up a smile when I came through the door.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said.

“Not at all, I always have time for you my dear.” He gestured toward his office. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

Marty’s office resembled the rest of the place. I sat across from him in a chair that was designed more for its looks and less for comfort.

“I wanted to talk to you about Charlotte Halliwell,” I said.

He nodded.

“When Audrey came to me and asked for your number, I expected I’d hear from you again.”

“I met with her yesterday,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“She wanted to talk about what happened to Charlotte.”

“It’s a shame, really. Charlotte was such a sweet girl. I’ve known the family for years. Her father was a big supporter when I ran for mayor and donated to my campaign. Not long after that he passed away from cancer.”

I transferred the weight from one of my butt cheeks to the other. It didn’t help.

“That’s what I came to talk to you about,” I said. “Audrey believes Charlotte’s death wasn’t an accident.”

Marty’s eyes broadened. He leaned all the way back in his chair and hung there for a brief time before he moved his body forward again.

“I don’t understand. What happened here was a tragedy, a horrible accident. What proof does she have to suggest otherwise?”

“That’s what she hired me to find out,” I said.

“Do you think she’s just in shock and doesn’t want to accept what happened to her sister?”

“It’s hard to say,” I said.

He shook his head back and forth a few times.

“I don’t know what to say. What can I do?”

“Can I take a look at the crash site?” I said.

“I doubt it’ll do much good.”

“Did Charlotte keep a locker?”

He nodded.

“Her sister will be in later to gather Charlotte’s personal effects.”

“I’d like to take a look at it too before I go,” I said.

“Alright.”

“And I have one more request. I would like to talk to your staff and find out if anyone interacted with Charlotte the day she died.”

Marty ran his forefinger and thumb across his jaw a few times. He examined a picture that hung on the wall of a skier plowing his way through the trees. He stared at it for a minute and then looked back at me.

“Can you hold off on that last request for now?” he said.

“I suppose, it sure would help me though.”

“I’d like to keep your investigation under wraps for the moment. We opened not long ago and I don’t want a bunch of different stories going around about this place before there’s proof about what happened. I don’t believe you’ll find she died any other way, but for the sake of your investigation, I don’t want to worry anyone unnecessarily. You understand Sloane, don’t you?”

I was disappointed, but he had a good point and I agreed to hold off––for now.

Marty escorted me out of his office and toward the gondola lift. The sun peeked through the trees and did its best to accommodate me. I bundled up like a stay-puff marshmallow, but the pricey snow gear designed to keep me warm did a half-ass job at best. Marty threw a thick black jacket over his suit and changed out of his dress shoes into a pair of snow boots and followed me out the door. And we were off.

Charlotte’s crash took place near the bottom of a steep ski run. We took the lift most of the way down and then trudged through the snow on foot to the area where the accident occurred. A new batch of fresh powder concealed any indication that skiers had been there before us.

“Here we are,” he said.

“Impossible to tell anything happened here.”

He shrugged.

“Snow groomers came around last night and flattened it all out,” he said.

I turned my attention to the tree. The exact spot where Charlotte hit appeared unharmed. I found it odd that she ran into it at all. From the center of the run, it stood twenty plus yards away. There were a few other trees in the immediate vicinity, but it was sparse at best.

“What about possible problems with her equipment?”

“None that I know of,” he said.

“And no one was around to see it happen?”

“Not a soul,” he said.

I threw my hands up in the air.

“I guess I’m done here then.”

We returned to the main entrance and Marty retrieved the key to Charlotte’s locker.

“It’s through those doors,” he said. “133.”

“Did she rent this for the day only?”

He shook his head.

“Charlotte came in about two or three times a week, sometimes more. I gave it to her for the season, but told her she could have it longer than that if she wanted,” he said.

Locker 133 was separated into two compartments. The top shelf contained a pair of jeans. I checked the pockets and found nothing and then pulled out a black studded belt, a red sweater, white socks, and a pair of black boots which proved just as exciting. The second shelf contained one item, an oversized handbag. Inside was a real estate book of some kind. I flipped it open. On the left was a pocket that included a small monthly planner with the names and numbers of all her appointments. I flipped to the back of the book and checked the other pocket. It was empty. The rest of the bag had all the usual items: a brush, hand mirror, lipstick, and her cell phone. I took it out and slid it open. There were three phone messages and two text messages. Two of the calls were from her missed appointment that day. A husband and wife with the last name of Duchene called to find out why she was late and then tried back a second time thirty minutes later. The third call was from her assistant Bridget who said the Duchene’s got in touch with the office when she failed to show up and Vicki went to meet with them and not to worry. I checked the text messages. Both were sent by Parker Stanton. The first came at 9:15 AM that morning and contained three simple words, I miss you . The second message arrived ten minutes later and said, why are you ignoring me––return my call! You’ll regret it if you don’t . I shoved the cell phone inside my jacket and closed the locker and took the key back to Marty.