"Oh, right. Is that today? You mean HawkHunter, don't you?"
"What's it all about?"
"Hmmm, I'm sorry to say I haven't followed it all closely enough to talk with any kind of authority. I've been working here since I started my break. Something about the Flattop."
"The Flattop?"
"The mountain — well, hill really — behind the resort. It's called that. Some of the elders seem to believe it was once a burial ground, I guess. I'd never heard that before, but I don't always pay as much attention to the old stories as I should. Anyway, HawkHunter's a lawyer, you know, and it's part of his contract with the tribe to represent their interests. They're afraid that somebody's going to build a ski lift and disturb the graves up there. When word got out that Bill Smith was at the point of selling the resort, I guess somebody got concerned that the new buyers would do something like that."
"But Mr. Smith wouldn't have?"
"Oh, no. Bill has always been good to the tribe and the tribe's been good to him. He's an old-timer, you know."
"I haven't met him. Is he elderly?"
"He is, but I didn't mean that. I meant in the sense of being an old-fashioned Colorado type. Live and let live. Mind your own business. Don't antagonize your neighbors. Help without asking for thanks. Don't try to reform anybody. It's a very distinct mind-set. Anyway, he has it. And if he'd wanted to build a ski lift and the tribe said there were graves there, he'd have just respected it without question. But nobody knows about some unknown buyer. The tribe's unhappy that Bill's retiring, but nobody would butt into his business."
"But HawkHunter is doing exactly that, isn't he? Butting in, I mean."
"Well, yes, I guess he is."
"Look, Linda, I'll be honest with you. The reason I'm interested is because my friend's husband is one of the investors who are considering buying the resort."
"Oh, I knew that already. But thanks for being up front about it."
"So what does HawkHunter want? What's the point of the demonstration down at the lodge? To scare the investors off?"
"Oh, no, I don't think so. All he wants is something attached to the deed — that's not the term, but you know what I mean — a rider or something that makes any subsequent buyers have to respect the holy significance of the land and not put up buildings or roads there."
"Is that legal?" Jane asked, not mentioning that this simple-sounding request wasn't what Tenny had said HawkHunter wanted.
"Well, I guess it must be. HawkHunter's a lawyer."
"Then why doesn't Mr. Smith add it to the deed? You just said he had a good relationship with the tribe and would respect their feelings."
Linda scratched Willard's ears and made him mumble with pleasure. "You ask good questions and I'm sorry I don't really have the answers. All I know about this is what I've overheard my mom and dad say. I think — but don't quote me on this — I think Bill doesn't believe there are graves up there. And my own guess is that he doesn't think it's fair to bind future owners to anything that the law doesn't already require. That's just based on what I know of him."
"The live-and-let-live, the-less-government-the-better view?" Jane asked.
"Exactly."
"What do you think of HawkHunter? What's he like?" Jane succumbed to the lure of gossiping about celebrities.
"Have you met him?" Linda asked with a grin.
"No."
"Then wait until you do, and ask me again if you need to."
"What in the world do you mean by that?"
"You'll see," Linda said, getting up and taking their empty coffee cups to the kitchen. "Now I really do have to get back to work."
Wearing a good deal less bulky clothing, Jane set out again on her walk. She had a short, pleasant visit with the green-eyed white cat, who prissily picked its way over some crusted snow, arched its back for a quick pet, and meowed dismissal before moving on. Jane couldn't imagine her slothful cats at home getting along in all this snow. She had to shovel a path for them to the back of the yard when it snowed or they wouldn't go out at all.
Jane discovered why the "mountain" was called Flattop as soon as she got a little farther up the road. It looked like a little mountain ridge that some gigantic hand had leveled off. The resort's only ski slope was on the near side. It was a learner slope with a mild, smooth incline. A mob of people, mainly children, were all over it like brightly clad, but very awkward, ants. A rope looped on a line of stakes enabled them to claw their way back up the slope to keep making practice runs. Among the learners, a trio of obvious experts busily gave advice, helped them to their feet, reattached skis, and generally taught the basics of skiing.
Jane, who had once tried to teach a troop of Brownies, including two left-handers, to crochet, was all sympathy for the instructors.
There were benches at the bottom of the slope, where the winded and discouraged could sit down to recoup. She joined a little clump of them and listened politely as one of the instructors gave some basic information. skiing, she discovered, sounded a lot easier than it looked. When the bench cleared, Jane waited for a bit, watching. A minute later, one of the instructors (who had, to Jane's certain knowledge, helped the same lanky teenager to her feet five times) came over and sat down to recover his patience.
"Wouldn't it be easier if there were a lift?" she asked.
He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "A lift? Here? What for? Half the skill they need to learn is how to get around when it's not an easy downhill slope. Besides, it would cost a fortune to put a lift on a puny little hill like this."
How odd, Jane thought. If a lift on this slope was such a useless idea, what were HawkHunter and his adherents carrying on about? Jane looked up at the hill, and noticed the same red-clad skier she'd seen earlier. He or she, for it was impossible to tell at this distance, was standing still at the very top of the slope, looking down at the resort through binoculars.
"Is there an easier way to get to the top?" Jane asked the instructor.
"Without skis? Oh, sure. See that path leading into the woods? Just follow that."
Jane checked her watch. Ten-thirty. By the time she walked up there to admire the view, it would almost be time for another meal. And walking up there would burn off the calories she needed to get rid of to justify eating again.
Ten minutes later, and not very much farther up the hill, Jane decided that walking halfway up would probably be enough to earn a good lunch. In fact, a third of the way would almost certainly be sufficient.
Chapter 5
Jane was back at the restaurant at noon, feeling pleasantly tired and very, very hungry. The thin, deliciously cold mountain air was very appetite-provoking. Although the restaurant was starting to fill up with the lunch crowd, there was no sign of Shelley yet. Jane took a table near the windows and ordered a cup of coffee to sip while she waited. The demonstration was over, and the only people out front now were skiers coming in for a midday break. Jane recognized a few of them from the bunny slope.
She glanced around the dining room again and was surprised to discover that HawkHunter and several of the tribe were among the diners. Strange that they'd feel comfortable on "enemy turf." But maybe not. HawkHunter could very well be a guest here. And the tribe, having always been on good terms with the owner, probably felt quite at home in the dining room. There were two young men, one very old one, and a woman at his table, all speaking intently.
HawkHunter was at the natural center of the group's attention. Jane vaguely remembered the picture of him on the dust jacket of his best-selling book. He had looked young and gawky then, as if he hadn't grown into his teeth yet. But that was fifteen years ago or more. Now he was an extremely handsome man in a very rugged way. And Jane was beginning to sense, even from this distance, what Linda Moosefoot had meant about meeting him and forming her own impression. Even from across the room, he exuded genuine, undistilled charisma. His gestures, a tad "actorish" were controlled but effective; his gaze was direct and penetrating, his body language subtle but macho.