Cheryl Bradshaw - Black Diamond Death

“Any luck?” he said.

“I don’t think so.”

Marty was like a father to me, and I didn’t want to worry him if I didn’t need to.

“I almost forgot,” he said. “I wanted to give you something.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets for the Jazz vs. Lakers game.

“I planned on taking the Mrs., but she’s tied up for another two days in Houston,” he said. “And there’s never a dull moment around this place. Besides, I know if there was a team you wanted to see….”

CHAPTER 9

I woke the next day to the sound of my cell phone. It was Nick.

“Chief wants to see you,” he said.

“What about?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say. He wants you here right away though.”

I recalled a time as a child when my mom forced me to sit at the table for hours after I refused to eat the last few pieces of mushrooms on my plate. I didn’t care how long I sat there or how cold the mushrooms became. The hours ticked by and I didn’t budge. I wasn’t going to eat them no matter how much she coaxed me. Driving to the station I had a similar feeling of disdain. Except this time I felt like it was my duty to go whether I liked it or not.

A year earlier when Wade Sheppard became the new police chief he suggested I learn the ropes and become a cop. I declined. After working for myself for so long I couldn’t imagine going through all the training just to be put on beat for several years before someone deemed me worthy enough to make detective. I preferred life on my own terms without all the red tape. Sure, I stepped on a toe or two now and then, but I only answered to one person––myself. And freedom like that wasn’t worth giving up, at any price.

Coop was perched by the entrance when I walked in with his body hunched over the coffee machine.

“Well, well, Miss Monroe.”

“Coop,” I said.

“Hear you got yourself a new case.”

“That’s right.”

“Do yourself a favor.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Quit while you’re still ahead.”

Before I had the chance to respond, Chief Sheppard took one step out his door and lined me up in his sights.

“Sloane, my office, now.”

Coop sounded off in the background.

“Good luck, you’ll need it.”

The chief’s office was in its usual disheveled state. The drawers to the file cabinet were open to various degrees and files were strewn across his desk. In the center on top of a heap of paperwork rested the day’s paper. He paced back and forth and then grabbed the paper and hurled it in my direction.

“What in the hell is this!”

Plastered in the middle of the front page was a picture of Charlotte and the headline, LOCAL GIRL DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT.

“Well?” he said.

I tossed the paper back on the desk.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

He took the paper and placed it in my hands and stabbed at the article with his index finger.

“Read it, all of it.”

The article offered the usual information. It cited the date of Charlotte’s death and where it took place followed by a brief mention of her career and her stint as a professional skier. It sounded like the usual hum drum until I reached the end. The cause of death, while accidental, has not yet been determined. Audrey Halliwell, sister of the deceased, had this to say. “I don’t believe my sister’s death was an accident. She was an experienced skier. I tried explaining this to the local police, but they didn’t take me seriously, and in my opinion there’s some kind of cover up going on. The cops had a good laugh at my sister’s expense which left me with no choice but to take it on myself to see that justice is served .”

I folded the paper and placed it back on the desk.

“Tell me you’re not involved with this unbalanced woman,” he said.

“I assume you know I took her case since you called me here. She believes there’s more to it than just an accident.”

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and I braced for impact.

“More to what? How does a damned accident make the front page as a possible homicide?”

“She hired me to do a job and I intend to see it through, whatever the outcome.”

“I want you to drop it.”

In all the time I knew him, he had never interfered with my work.

“May I ask why?” I said.

“My phone hasn’t stopped ringing all day. I’ve got reporters crawling all over me for an interview about what happened to this woman.”

“I didn’t speak to the media.”

“But your client did,” he said. “She’s a loose cannon who can’t deal with the fact that her sister is dead. Talking to the press won’t change that.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I said.

His expression relaxed a little.

“So you’ll tell her you can’t proceed?”

“Not yet.”

“It was an accident Sloane, nothing more.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem if I check it out,” I said.

He clenched his fists in a ball and slammed them down on the desk. The coffee in his cup splashed into the air and dispersed liquid in every direction.

“Damn you Sloane, and damn your client too! I’m giving you an order.”

“With all due respect Chief Sheppard,” I said, “I don’t work for you.”

He pressed both hands into his face with so much force I thought it would pierce his skin and then he grabbed a file from his desk and waved me out of his office.

“We’re done here, you can go.”

On my way out I glimpsed Coop in the corner with his fellow officers. They were all in hysterics. He broke from the huddle and looked over at me.

“Shall I call the tree in for questioning,” he said.

The two officers next to him erupted in laughter which added fuel to his fire.

“Yes, uh, Mr. Tree, where were you between the hours of say 10 am and 12 pm? And you didn’t move all day, you say?”

The chief wasn’t the only laughing stock.

I walked past Coop without saying a word. I wanted to slap the smug look off his face, but more than that, I wanted to get the hell out of there.

CHAPTER 10

The real estate office of Ellis & Marshall sat smack dab in the middle of Old Town right next to one of the transit bus stops. Skiers gussied up like big poof balls with their skis in tow waited in anticipation for the bus to make its rounds. Next stop for them, the slopes. And for me, a chat with Charlotte’s real estate partner.

I entered the office and was greeted by a flat screen television with an on-screen display of homes in the current flavors of the month. Located behind it was an entire wall full of photos, most in the I-could-never-possibly-afford-you-in-a-million-years range. Still, one in particular I couldn’t help but take a closer look at.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

An older woman around fifty in a fitted dress stood next to me. Her shoulder-length hair was styled in a bob and looked like she had stuck her finger in a light socket for a few seconds. It was an ashy blond color, but her roots were grey, and plastered across her lips was the brightest cherry-colored lipstick I had ever seen.

“I’m just looking,” I said.

Cherry lipstick lady grabbed the photo I admired and took it off the wall.

“This one’s a real charmer, and just reduced too.”

Reduced to a mere million and a half, no thank you , I thought to myself.

“You know, Deer Valley is one of the nicest areas in Park City, and this little beauty, well––between you and me, it won’t stay on the market for long.”

The more she talked the more she reminded me of a starving piranha.

“I’m looking for Vicki Novak,” I said.