Her Last Letter Part 35

I slid behind the steering wheel, then glanced uneasily at my sister.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"What?" I said, startled.

"That we were going telemark skiing. You must have read my mind. You never call that early in the morning."

"Yes ... strange." I watched Wolfgang through the rearview mirror. He was gunning the snowmobile, veering around in circles. "You know," I said, "the weather's looking really nasty. That road was in pretty bad shape."

"Funny. Wolfgang said the same thing, only he thought it was good, keep the others away."

I faced her, and was about to speak, when her door flew open. Wolfgang thrust his head inside. "Move your little b.u.t.ts, ladies, or I'll be the only one with first tracks."

"Well, you just do that," said Linda.

He grinned and shut the door, then began to pull skis off the roof rack. I got out and headed toward the Jeep. As I strode over, I could almost feel Wolfgang concentrating his full attention on my a.s.s. I remembered all those times when I was first getting to know him, how he would move in a little too closely, hug me a little too tightly, on all those special occasions when it wouldn't seem inappropriate. The same way he'd no doubt lured Kelly.

I brought my skis and poles out of the back of the Jeep and placed them on the snow. I sat inside and began pulling on my gear: hat and mittens, neck warmer and goggles, hooded waterproof ski jacket and pants with gaiters, to keep snow out of my ski boots. I grabbed my backpack off the rear seat and did a quick check. Inside were mohair skins for climbing, a compact first-aid kit, shovel and telescoping probe, plus a rope and digital avalanche transceiver. To travel in the backcountry with anything less could be suicidal.

I set the transceiver to "transmit."

Linda and Wolfgang stood waiting for me in full gear and backpacks.

"Linda," I said, "check my transceiver."

She nodded, unzipped her jacket, then lifted the device from a strap around her neck. She flipped the switch to "receive."

I walked toward her. "It's working," she said, her transceiver emitting a beeping signal that grew louder as I approached.

"Now you," I said.

I checked out Linda, then she checked out Wolfgang, though he insisted his equipment worked just fine.

I pointed in the direction of the snowmobile, figuring one of us would be riding it down. "No," Linda said, "not yet. I plan to take at least one trek up without mechanical aid, though I'll probably live to regret it."

The three of us cleared the snow from the bottom of our ski boots, then stepped into the cable bindings attached to the skis. We began trekking, poles in hand, Wolfgang in the lead, Linda following, me taking up the rear.

The ridge was fifty yards away on our right. To get to it, we had to first maneuver a narrow path snaking through the fir trees. It was relatively flat terrain here and up ahead on the ridge, but once over the edge, the mountain dropped off at a heart-stopping angle. No matter how many times I'd skied it, the sight of it always stopped me cold.

We finally reached the clearing, the ridge stretching wide, almost devoid of trees, a rocky inhospitable crest beneath deep layers of snow. Wind swept across the smooth white surface, unmarred except for a few rabbit tracks. Years ago, I'd driven up here on an early spring morning and taken shot after shot of this breathtaking panorama. Then, tiny plant shoots pushed their way between the scaly rock crevices. Now, all traces of that had been obliterated, buried beneath this ma.s.sive canopy of powder.

I glanced at Linda. My plan was to stop her once Wolfgang started down, tell her as much as was necessary, then rush her back to the car and fill her in on the rest.

But my thoughts were interrupted as Wolfgang let out a whoop, then charged over the side, snow flying as he raced down the slope.

I reached a hand toward Linda, but she managed to dodge me.

"Hey. Wait, Linda."

"No way," she cried out, quickly dropping over the edge. I could hear her laughter as she swooped down, carving an identical set of wavy tracks next to Wolfgang's. Now I understood. She'd planned to take me by surprise, beat me down.

I skied off after her. "Linda, wait up."

In my nervous eagerness to catch her, I hooked a ski tip and tumbled forward into the snow. I came to rest covered in powder, and could only watch as Linda continued down and out of sight. Laying my poles in an x-pattern beside me on the snow, I placed my hand where the poles converged, then pushed, floundering to my feet. I positioned my skis again and started down.

By the time I caught up to her, Linda had rejoined Wolfgang.

"Wasn't that fantastic?" she said. She smiled impishly. "Beat you."

"Yes, you certainly did."

Wolfgang looked over at me. "I doubt you'll let that happen again. Nice line by the way. But this time, try not to leave such a huge crater in the snow." He broke out in laughter.

"Let's get started back up," I said.

I removed one of my skis and stuck it tail first into the snow, then took the mohair skins from my backpack. I pulled the adhesive sides apart, careful not to let the skins fall into the snow and pick up debris. Hooking the skin to the tip of my ski via an elastic strap, I smoothed it down over the bottom of the ski. Finished, I did the same with the other ski.

I glanced at them. Wolfgang was ready, and Linda was just finis.h.i.+ng up.

I waited for her, then started up the slope, breaking trail. But Wolfgang would have none of that, and came around in front of me. Fine, I thought, maybe he'd wear himself out, make it easier when it was time to run.

We moved steadily up the mountain next to the tree line, heels lifting off the skis, boots attached only at the toe. We climbed straight up, like climbing stairs, mohair skins gripping the snow. I could feel sweat forming in my armpits and at the back of my neck.

Halfway up, I heard Linda groan behind me. "Can we just stop for a minute," she gasped. "I need water." We stopped, and Linda reached around for her bottle in a pouch at the side of her pack. "G.o.d, is this cold," she said, gulping the water down.

A spray of wind-driven snow hit me across the face as I also tipped a bottle up to my mouth. "The wind," I said, "it's getting worse."

Neither Linda nor Wolfgang replied.

We again began our ascent.

At the top, Linda threw her pack to the ground and plopped onto it. "Okay, where's that snowmobile? I've had it with this climbing." She glanced up at Wolfgang.

"My wife is wimping out already. What about you?"

I shrugged. "With the weather so bad ... yeah, I think I'll ride up too. Get more runs in that way."

"The both of you ... wimpy women. I'm disappointed."

"Just get the snowmobile," said Linda. "When we want your opinion of us, we'll ask."

He laughed loudly at this, the sound echoing across the ridge. He turned and trekked off into the forest.

I considered telling Linda now, then changed my mind. Wolfgang might notice a weird look on her face when he returned. Or Linda might lash out at him, completely forgetting how vulnerable we'd be alone out here on the ridge. Better to first use the snowmobile as our means of escape. Leave Wolfgang far below. Then tell her.

Wolfgang roared back out of the trees. He stopped, left the snowmobile on idle, then dropped his skis from under his arm onto the snow.

I skied over and nodded at him. "I'll take it down first. Let you guys get a run."

"No," said Linda. "I can take it. I don't mind."

"Next time," I said.

I planned to take the snowmobile much farther below than we'd gone previously. The more time it took for Wolfgang to march back up, the better.

I straddled the machine and started off. "See you guys at the bottom." I guided the snowmobile down, staying close to the trees. When I stopped, I could see neither Wolfgang nor Linda. I waited, watching for them to appear. Then, off on the far right side of the ridge, I spotted loose snow tumbling down, and my heart rate quickened. I searched for any sign of them, then glimpsed a speck, someone skiing down fast toward me.

Linda.

Still far up the mountain, she fell in a burst of snow. Faintly, I heard her calling to me. I turned back up the slope and raced toward her.

"Gwyn," she gasped as I slid to a stop. "We have to ... help him." She pointed in the direction of the slide.

"Where? Show me."

She tossed her skis and hopped on. I hit the accelerator and we leapt from the snow, charging across the slope. "I told him not to go," she shouted over the engine noise. "He wouldn't listen. Oh G.o.d. Hurry, Gwyn. You know what's down there."

I certainly did. And only a fool would venture close to that side of the ridge. Below the line of trees, where the snow acc.u.mulated in deep endless drifts, lay a set of cliffs that angled down, the first, a steep narrow step called, G.o.d's Hands, to catch the unwary before the mountainside plunged straight down toward the valley.

Loose snow slides were a frequent occurrence near the cliffs, but this was untended backcountry and nature made its own rules. The possibility always existed that an entire slab could tear off and break away. A few big avalanches had been reported over the years, along with the occasional casualty. The locals were aware and kept a respectful distance.

I slowed, glancing uneasily uphill before crossing the slide, but the snow appeared to have settled. I could see no sign of Wolfgang, his tracks obliterated. I clicked on my transceiver, crossed the compacted snow and continued moving in the direction indicated, closer to the cliff. I slowed again, checked the digital readout, the numbers dropping steadily.

Wind whipped and whistled high above us in the trees. "Where is he?" Linda cried out, her voice shrill, competing with the wind. "Wolfgang! Wolfgang!" I could feel her body quiver against me as she began to sob.

I drove closer to the edge of the cliff, following it down.

Up ahead, I glimpsed a small dark object sticking out of the snow. It looked as if it might be a gloved hand. Linda saw it too. "What's that?"

I approached, holding my breath. But it was the tip of Wolfgang's ski, the remainder hidden beneath the snow.

"It's not him," I said, "only his ski, not according to my transceiver. Unless ..."

"Unless what?" Linda squealed in my ear.

"Wolfgang wasn't wearing his transceiver under his jacket like us. Maybe it got ripped off in the slide."

"Oh G.o.d. I told him. Should we dig here? Should we?"

"The beacon says he's still up ahead of us. What do you want to do?"

She hesitated. "Keep going ... I guess."

The signal drew us closer to the periphery of the cliff.

"Take it to the edge," Linda said.

I shook my head. "No, we're already too close. It's not safe."

"Take this thing to the edge so I can look down."

"No."

"Do it, Gwyn." She made a grab for the accelerator.

I swiped her hand away. "Are you crazy? Stop it."

"Do it. Or I will."

"No. Listen to me. He's not worth risking our lives. He murdered Kelly."

"What?"

"He killed her. He did it."

"No. No, he didn't. What are you talking about?"

"Linda, I have proof."

I winced as her fingers dug deeply into my flesh. "I don't care what kind of stupid proof you think you have. Now you get this thing moving. Do you understand me?"

"He was having s.e.x with her. I found photos."

For an instant, she didn't say a word, and then her voice, low and cold at the back of my neck, murmured, "That doesn't mean he killed her. Now you get this G.o.dd.a.m.n thing moving or I'll push you off and go find him myself."

"Linda-don't do anything stupid. You'll kill us both."

"Then don't make me."

I continued inching forward, easing the snowmobile nearer the periphery. A slab of snow broke off and slid over the rim, cras.h.i.+ng down. "That's it," I said. "We've got to stop. I don't know where the cliff ends."

"Fine, stop here. I'll take a look." She stood, hands on my shoulders, and peered over the precipice. "I don't see anything. Keep going."

A low groaning came from below us in the snowpack, a sound that sent chills streaking up my spine ... nothing human this sound, but a warning of rifts forming layers below. "Sit down, Linda."

I slowly guided the snowmobile along the edge, following the signal.

She called out again. "Wolfgang. Do you hear me?"

Suddenly we both looked up, though at first I wasn't certain of what I'd heard.

"Over there." She pointed.

We crept forward, and Linda stood again. "Yes, I can see him."

"Sit," I said, standing myself and venturing a look. He was partly buried on the narrow ledge, mere inches from the vertical face. "We can't go out there. The snow is too loose. It could let go, and we'll all go down with it."

Wolfgang looked up at me. He shouted over the wind. "My foot is caught. It's the ski. My leg is twisted. I can't get to it."