Читать книгу A Sister Would Know - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 10

“MR. THORLOW?”

Grant raised his head from his paperwork and saw the face of a dead woman. Helen Fremont.

He dropped his pen, stiffened his back and stared.

It was her—exactly. Long blond hair, even features, crystalline blue eyes. Had they made a mistake? Had she and Ramsey managed to ski out of that bowl and disappear together for over a week?

Then he saw the boy at her side. He had the same coloring as the woman, and his expression was openly curious, not particularly somber.

The nephew.

The prickles, which had danced along the skin on his face and neck, subsided. Not a ghost after all; this had to be Helen’s sister.

“We were identical twins,” she said. “I take it you didn’t know.”

Her voice was different from Helen’s, not as high-pitched; or maybe it was just that she spoke slower and more quietly. One thing that was the same, however, was the slight German accent.

“No. I didn’t know.” But he sure as hell wished he had. He stood and offered his hand. “I’m Grant Thorlow.”

“Yes.” Her hand and words were cool. “I’m Amalie Fremont and this is my nephew, Davin.”

He noticed the tiny emphasis she placed on her first name, and inwardly shrugged. He was aware he’d made a bad impression over the phone. But she’d been so damn unreasonable, insisting on traveling all this way, and for what?

He realized the kid was staring at him. “Hey, Davin.”

“This place is totally awesome.”

Amalie took a small step forward. “Davin is my sister’s son.”

Whoa. Helen Fremont had had a kid? He would never have guessed, had never heard anyone refer to a child.

“Officially, I’m his mother. I adopted him at birth.”

Which meant Helen had deserted him at birth. Now, that he had no difficulty believing.

“Well, I’m sorry about your mother, Davin—and your sister.” He looked back at Amalie, jolted yet again at the resemblance between the two women. And this time by the difference, as well. It was in the eyes, he decided. Helena’s had been the blue of a shallow pond. Amalie’s held the intensity of a deep mountain lake, glacier fed.

“We haven’t heard from Helena for a while. But last I knew she was living in Seattle. I can’t imagine what could have drawn her to this place.”

He took the insult to his home without a blink.

“And I certainly can’t picture her skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Amalie placed her hands on his desk, her blond hair swinging forward as she leaned in toward him. “Helena was a timid person, and she was never very athletic.”

Timid? Grant thought of the woman he’d seen several times in the local pub. Clearly tipsy, dressed provocatively and hanging on to the arm of first one man, then another. She’d danced with wild abandon and drawn most, if not all, eyes to the dance floor. If this Amalie wasn’t so exactly like her sister, Grant might have thought they were referring to different women. He took Helen’s wallet from his drawer and passed it over.

“This was your sister’s.”

Amalie blinked. “Where did you find it?”

“In an overnight camping hut on the Asulkan Ridge. She and Ramsey Carter skied in Saturday and spent the night there.”

He swallowed, remembering the shock of finding out that it was Helen Fremont on the mountain with Ramsey, then seeing the horrible swath the avalanche had cut down the side of the mountain and knowing his friend was buried beneath it.

As if she was sharing his memories, Amalie’s face, already pale, grew whiter. She reached across the desk to open the soft, light-brown leather packet that had belonged to her sister. Inside, he knew, was only a social insurance card, a bank card and five dollars cash.

“Oh, Helena.”

The whisper was laced with pain. Damn, but the woman looked ready to faint. Grant hurried around the desk to find her a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

He brought two small paper cups—one for the boy, as well. They both emptied them, while he watched, fascinated, almost freaked out by the resemblance between the two sisters.

When she was done, Amalie tossed hers in the trash. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can tell you what we think happened. We went up to investigate when Ramsey didn’t return at the expected time—all overnight skiers have to register with the warden’s office. Unfortunately, we weren’t on the scene until about eighteen hours after the avalanche occurred.”

He led her to a topographical map pinned to the wall. “Here’s the Asulkan Hut, where they spent the night. Late Sunday morning we figure they traveled in this direction.” He traced a path south alongside Asulkan Brook.

“They were relatively safe up on this ridge, but for some reason they approached the lip of a steep mountain bowl we call the Pterodactyl. The slope, covered in fresh-fallen snow, would’ve tempted an inexperienced skier.”

He crossed his arms, thinking of Ramsey, who was a doctor, not an avalanche specialist, but who’d grown up in mountain country and was definitely not inexperienced. Which meant Helen was the one who’d made the mistake, compelling Ramsey to follow after her.

“We think Helen went first,” he said, “triggering a hard-slab avalanche with a path length of around 1,500 meters.”

“What do you mean, hard slab?” Davin’s eyes were round.

“When the snow releases on a mountain sometimes it scatters into powder as it cascades down the slope. Other times it breaks into big chunks like the ones we saw in the debris of this avalanche. There’s a lot of power behind the huge hunks of snow as they tear down those slopes. Enough power to uproot huge trees, that’s for sure.”

Amalie was getting paler by the second. She reached out to her nephew, as if an arm could shelter him from the awful reality. “But until you’ve found the bodies, we won’t know for sure….”

The woman obviously had no idea what they were dealing with. He tried to break it to her gently. “I’ve got a lot of experience with snow and mountains. Worked at Avalanche Control here at Rogers Pass for over ten years.” He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest. “In my opinion, there’s no doubt your sister is dead.”

Along with Ramsey Carter. A good man who hadn’t deserved to die.

Amalie remained skeptical. “What if someone stole Helena’s wallet? Maybe she was never on that trail.”

“Then why didn’t she show up for work the next day?”

Amalie’s gaze circled the small office. “She could have moved on.”

“How would she have left? She sold her car shortly after she got here, before Christmas. We’d know if she took a bus or chartered a plane.”

“Stop!”

Amalie had her hand to her forehead, and he immediately saw what an ass he was being.

“I’m sorry. I realize it can’t be easy.” He stared past the visitors, reminding himself it wasn’t their fault Helen had been so careless, so foolish. These people were suffering, like him, like Ramsey’s family.

He tried to explain. “I just don’t want you to have false hopes.” What they couldn’t know was that he’d been through this so many times before.

“I understand.” Amalie Fremont’s voice sounded bleak. “But if you’d known my sister.”

She’d said that to him before, during their phone call. But he felt he had known her sister. At least, her type. He sat back at his desk and picked up his pen to sign the requisition forms in front of him.

Amalie returned to the chair, leaving Davin by the map. He sensed her presence as she leaned over his desk, and finally gave in and looked up. In a low voice she said, “You didn’t like Helena very much, did you?”

Now, there was an understatement. He’d first met the woman shortly before Christmas, and found her flighty, brittle and insincere, qualities he detested in anyone, whether male or female.

He liked her even less now. Undoubtedly, her reckless skiing had caused that avalanche. Ramsey Carter was dead because of her.

If only she’d never passed through their quiet mountain community. Her brand of trouble belonged in the big city as far as he was concerned and he was sure plenty of others would agree with him.

As far as the twin sister went, though, he wasn’t so sure. Amalie’s gaze held qualities of intelligence and reserve that he’d never glimpsed in Helen. Plus there was that inexplicable buzz he’d felt from just shaking her hand. Not once had he felt that sort of attraction to Helen.

“I can’t deny—”

“Is that why you won’t search for her body?” Amalie pressed her finger down inches from his pen, compelling his attention. As if she didn’t already have it.

“Listen, Amalie.” He’d remembered not to call her ma’am, but she didn’t appear too impressed.

“I am listening and it seems to me that if you really cared you would’ve done something about recovering her body days ago.”

He set down his pen. “My best friend was on that mountain with your sister. If I could have done anything to save them, believe me, I would have.”

“Your best friend? I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize.” She closed her eyes, pressing her hands hard to her temples.

Something about the gesture got to him. He didn’t like weak people and Helen had been weak. But Amalie struck him as a strong person at a vulnerable point. He wondered if she had someone to comfort her back home in Toronto. She didn’t wear any rings.

Surprised by his newfound sympathy for this woman, along with his unexpected interest in her love life, Grant gave himself a mental kick in the butt. He knew where his thoughts—and his hormones—were leading him. Of all the times and of all the people…Was he trying to prove he could be as big a fool as Ramsey?

Davin came back to the desk. He’d been wandering out in the adjoining room, reading charts and examining photographs. “Wow. This place is wicked. Do you really use a howitzer to set off avalanches on purpose?”

Grant nodded. “That’s part of our program to control the snow on the mountains.”

“Awesome.”

“We have a video at the information center you ought to see if you’re interested—it’s called Snow Wars.”

Davin glanced at Amalie. “Can we?”

She smiled indulgently. “Of course. We’ll be here long enough.”

How long? Grant wanted to ask, but figured the question would be rude. Instead, he glanced at his watch. On a normal day he’d be heading home about now. He’d have a peaceful beer by the television, then a stroll down to the local pub for a steak sandwich or maybe over to Blaine’s restaurant for pizza.

“Where are you folks planning to stay?”

Amalie looked surprised by the question. “At Helena’s.”

Grant thought of the landlady he’d interviewed Monday afternoon. Heidi Eitelbach had made it clear what she’d thought of her former tenant. She wouldn’t be pleased about having the sister show up on her doorstep.

“Yeah, well, your sister rented a two-bedroom apartment not far from where I live, in Revelstoke. That’s a little ways farther down the highway from here. If you want to follow me in your car, I’ll introduce you to the landlady. We’ve still got your sister’s key. It was with the stuff we found at the cabin.”

He retrieved the sleeping bag and knapsack they’d brought back from the hut and tossed them to Amalie.

“Ready?” He pulled his own keys from his pocket, then shrugged into his jacket. As he led the pair through the narrow corridor, he noticed Ralph Carlson was back in his office.

“I think you should meet this guy,” he told Amalie. “He works for Parks Canada and is officially in charge of any rescue mission into the back-country.”

Introductions went quickly, and Ralph reiterated Grant’s own conclusion—that a recovery mission couldn’t be implemented at this time.

Out in the parking lot Amalie’s blue Jetta stood out in the line of four-by-four trucks. Grant was glad to see she had new-looking winter treads on her tires. Too many drivers underestimated road conditions on this stretch of the highway.

He waited as she unlocked the driver-side door. In the back seat he could see two rolled-up sleeping bags and pillows, a large cooler and stacks of books and papers.

“Is your trunk full, too?” he asked.

Amalie glanced over her shoulder to see what he’d been looking at. It didn’t take long for her to get his point. “Yes, it’s full. We’re planning to stay as long as it takes. I’ve taken a leave-of-absence from work.”

“What about his schooling?” He nodded at Davin, who was just sliding into the front passenger seat.

“I’ll home-school him while we’re here. Thanks for your concern.”

The sound of her slamming car door still rang in his ears by the time Grant reached his own truck. Obviously, he’d made a second impression even worse than the first. He supposed he hadn’t come across as very sympathetic. Or very welcoming, either.

Well, that was too bad. She wasn’t the only one grieving over someone. And hadn’t he warned her not to come in the first place?

THE TIRES of Amalie’s Jetta crunched in the snow, as she slowed and pulled over to the side of the street behind Grant Thorlow’s truck. They were just two blocks from the Columbia River, on Mackenzie Avenue. The three-story apartment block was a Bavarian-styled structure of stucco and stained wood, with balconies on every unit.

A nice enough place. But Helena was a city girl. And this town—while prettier than Amalie had expected—was no Toronto or Seattle.

And it was so cut off from the rest of the world. Those mountains! Amalie had never seen anything like them. She knew she ought to be impressed with their beauty, but instead she found them oppressive, frightening.

Just by Golden—the last town they’d passed before Rogers Pass—the mountains had felt like prison walls. The curves in the road had tightened, and the sheer rock face on her left had seemed close enough to touch from an open window.

The view to the right was worse—she hadn’t dared look at the valley below. The short concrete guardrail had seemed to offer woefully inadequate protection against a sheer drop into nothingness.

“Is this the place?” Davin asked.

“I guess so,” she said. Grant was already at the front entrance, pacing impatiently as he waited. Amalie turned to Davin. “How are you doing?”

“Sick of driving. Sick of this car.” Davin got out and slammed the door behind him.

Amalie followed more slowly. Her neck and shoulders were tight from hours of concentrating on the snow-covered, winding roads, and she had a dull ache in her lower back.

Ahead, Davin ran up to Grant, his young voice raised in yet another question. Whatever he said, it made Grant laugh.

Snow had begun to fall when they were leaving the Rogers Pass compound earlier; now it covered the road with a clean white film. Amalie could see clearly the footprints of the two people who had preceded her. The smaller, even-treaded prints were from Davin’s sneakers, while Grant’s rugged hiking boots had left behind large, deeply grooved tracks.

She couldn’t quite figure what to make of him, this Grant Thorlow. In his office, as on the phone, he’d been cool, broaching on rude. She didn’t know where he got off. Did the man not have a shred of compassion in him? His stiffly offered words of sympathy about her sister’s death had felt like an insult. Obviously, he wasn’t happy that she’d ignored his advice and driven here, either.

It was evident that he’d disliked Helena. He’d expected to dislike her, too. The message had been plain.

Well, she’d be happy to return the favor and dislike him back.

Except…It wasn’t fair that he was so ruggedly attractive. She never met men like him in the city. His features weren’t anything special; he wasn’t even well groomed. His hair looked as though he cut it himself, a button was missing on his faded blue shirt and his collar curled up from lack of a good ironing.

What did details like those matter, though, when a man was tall and well built, with browned, slightly ruddy skin and sharp blue-gray eyes. When Grant moved, he clearly had total command of himself, and when he spoke, his words might not be phrased tactfully, but they carried the ring of uncompromising truth.

No, in all honesty she couldn’t say she disliked the man, even though he manifestly had no use for her.

“I’ve buzzed the landlady,” Grant explained when she was almost beside him. “She should—”

He dropped the end of his sentence as a thin woman in her fifties, with sharp features and her hair up in curlers, pushed open the security door.

“Don’t just stand there, Thorlow. You’re letting in the cold.” She stood back, surprised when not one but three of them entered the warm vestibule. Her piercing gaze skimmed right past Grant and Davin to settle on Amalie.

“Ohhh!” She sucked in a breath and stared.

One corner of Grant’s mouth curled in amusement. “Identical twins.” He leaned against a bank of metal mailboxes. “Heidi Eitelbach, this is Amalie Fremont. And her nephew, Davin.”

Amalie stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Eitelbach. My nephew and I were hoping to stay in Helena’s apartment while we—while we settle my sister’s affairs.”

“If you’re planning to settle her affairs, you can start right now.” Heidi Eitelbach stamped a small slippered foot on the linoleum flooring. “Your sister was three weeks late on her rent, and if you’ll be staying more than a few days, you’ll have to pay for the whole next month, as well.”

Amalie hadn’t counted on this. “How much?”

“Four hundred and fifty per month.”

Times two. She’d have to transfer funds from her savings. Oh, Lord, what was she doing? “Fine. I’ll write you a check now.”

The landlady appeared surprised. “I want you to know we’re real strict around here. No parties, no loud noise after ten.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

The woman wasn’t about to take her word. “Any sign of trouble and you’re out. And don’t think just because you have a kid—”

Was everyone in Revelstoke this callous? Amalie had to struggle to keep her tone civil. “There won’t be any parties, Mrs. Eitelbach. Even if I knew anyone in this town—which I don’t—my sister has just died. I’m hardly about to start celebrating.”

Grant intervened quickly. “Amalie has a key, Heidi. I’ll take her and the boy up, then come back with your check.”

“Don’t let her sweet-talk you out of it.” Heidi pointed a finger at Grant’s chest. Right about the spot where that button was missing.

“I won’t.” Grant opened the door to the stairwell. “Up one floor.”

Amalie followed Davin, with Grant behind them both. The landlady had been downright rude, and not a word of condolence about her sister’s death. Obviously, she shared at least some of Grant’s antipathy toward Helena.

A sudden urge to cry was almost overwhelming. Amalie faltered and grabbed at the railing.

“You okay?” Right away Grant was beside her, and she wondered how he could be concerned about her tripping on the stairs, when he didn’t seem to care a whit about her sister’s death.

He put a hand under her elbow as she regained her balance. Lord, he was big. His presence loomed like the mountains. Solid. Unyielding.

And very masculine.

“I’m fine.” She picked up her pace, despite the pounding of her heart, which had accelerated rather than abated during her brief pause.

At the top landing, Grant gave directions again. “First door on the right.”

Davin rushed in as soon as Amalie twisted the key. She let him go ahead, while she hesitated on the threshold with Grant.

“This is just a hunch, but I’m guessing Mrs. Eitelbach didn’t care much for my sister, either.”

Grant leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His posture was relaxed, but Amalie felt that he was watching her keenly.

“She’s a sharp old bird,” he said, “but she didn’t mean any harm. She had a lot to put up with.”

Amalie pulled her checkbook out of her purse, then searched for her ballpoint pen. “I suppose you mean from Helena?”

His gaze unwavering, he didn’t say a word.

Quickly, Amalie wrote out the check for nine hundred dollars, unable to stop her hand from shaking as she added her signature. It was so much money. Her parents would really think she was crazy if they knew.

When she was done, she contemplated her companion. The hall light overhead cast long shadows across the lower portion of his face. She noticed a mark now, under his bottom lip, where he might have cut himself shaving that morning.

“Just what is it you have against my sister? What did she ever do to you?”

Grant stepped away from the wall. “It’s not so much what she did to me as what she did to my friend.”

“Oh?”

“The man she was skiing with?”

She tried to remember. “Ramsey—”

“Ramsey Carter.” The name came out short, clipped with anger. “My best friend. My married best friend.”

Amalie stared at him. “You can’t mean—”

“Your sister was having an affair with a married man. Now he’s dead, and his widow will have to raise their two children on her own.”

Grant took her check, holding it between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it were something he’d rather not touch.

“That’s one of the things I have against your sister.”