Tough Cookie

I laughed, then asked seriously, “Rorry, could I come over this afternoon? I might have some answers to your questions about Nate. But … I need you to claim his camera from Killdeer’s Lost and Found.”

“Someone found his camera? It’s in the Lost and Found after three years?”

“This fall, workers in the expansion area discovered it under a tree. They turned it in. Because it was valuable, it’s been in a safe there ever since.”

“I, I can’t.…”

“Please, Rorry.” I made my voice calm, comforting. “Please listen. You don’t have to do anything with the camera. But I need it, to see if there’s anything left of the tape Nate was making.” When she said nothing, I went on: “Four people have died after suffering accidents at that ski area. Nate, Fiona Wakefield, Doug Portman, and now a guy named Barton Reed—”

“The snowboarder? That guy who went to jail?”

“He died of a heart attack last night at Lutheran. After being in a terrible snowboarding accident.”

“But how can a tape that’s three years old … tell you anything?”

“I don’t know if it will,” I admitted. “But every time I try to figure out what’s going on, questions come up over what happened that day Nate died—”

“Have you found out who his girlfriend was?” she interrupted.

“No. Or if he even had one. But I did find out that he really was trying to make a sports video.”

“A sports video? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know exactly—”

“I’m not sure I want to see the film,” she interrupted me. “I mean, not if it can be viewed. Not with the baby so close. It’s like a snuff film. Of my dead husband. I can’t do it.”

“Rorry. Please. This is important. Because I knew that guy Doug Portman, because I was on my way to meet with him the day of Nate’s memorial, all kinds of nasty questions are coming up now about me. I may

never get my business back if I can’t figure out what’s happened—what’s still going on up at Killdeer. Losing my business is not as bad as what you’ve gone through in losing Nate, but it hurts. And I, too, have a child to think of.” She groaned. I continued desperately, “Just claim the camera with me, will you? Please? I’ll do the rest. You don’t have to watch a thing.”

She was silent. My heart sank. She was going to refuse. “Okay,” she said, to my surprise. “When will you be here?”

I told her I should arrive around one, that we could go up together to the Killdeer Lost and Found at Ski Patrol Headquarters. I remembered the state of her car, and promised I’d take her to work, too.

“You’re doing the PBS show at four?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s been rescheduled because of Christmas Eve. I don’t have to be there until three-thirty.”

“Why don’t you just spend the night here afterward? Then you won’t be driving back to Aspen Meadow so late. You could look at the tape, then take me to work for the four-to-twelve shift. I’ve got someone who’ll bring me home. You could do your show, and come over afterward. You’ll have the place to yourself until I get off at midnight.” She paused. “Unless you don’t want to stay in my ratty trailer, of course.”

I swallowed, thinking of “Reggie Dawson.” I didn’t care about staying in a trailer, but I was worried about Arch. And then of course, there was all the preparation I had to do at home tomorrow, Christmas Eve. But I was worried that Rorry needed company, especially right before the holiday. If Tom would agree to be with Arch around the clock, then I would stay with Rorry. I could leave before dawn tomorrow morning and arrive home early enough to thaw the turkey and find the stockings we always hang by the fireplace. “Sure, I’d love to stay with you. Thanks. See you at one, then.”

I left a message on Arthur’s answering machine detailing the exact menu graphic and food preparation I needed for our last show. Very easy, I assured him, in conclusion. See you at three-thirty.

It was going to be a full day. No time for lunch, anyway, so I made two peanut-butter-and-cherry-preserves sandwiches for Rorry and me. If the baby loved lasagne, he was going to flip for PB&J. While I was wrapping them in wax paper, I put in a call to Tom. Would he have arrived at the sheriff’s department by now? Did he have a meeting? Miraculously, he picked up.

“Hey, Miss G., I was just about to call you. Don’t panic. First of all, I left the boys off and they’re fine. I called Lutheran, too. Eileen’s doing better. They’ve moved her into her own room. She’s resting comfortably, as they say. The nurse told me Jack finally left the hospital and went back to Killdeer,” he added, “so he’s not sleeping on the waiting room sofa anymore. And those anonymous phone calls: Made from a pay phone in Killdeer, our guys tell me.”

Doggone it. I told him of my plan to do the show and spend the night at Rorry’s. Considering the weather, Tom replied, that was probably a great idea. And yes, he would pick up Arch and stick to him like epoxy until I came home.