“I’m not sure I see the problem, then,” I admitted.
Gail let out a puff of air and lay back on the bed to speak directly to the ceiling. “Because there’s got to be more to life than being politically involved. I don’t really have a family anymore, I haven’t talked to my parents in so long. I have no husband, no kids, I stopped living with the only man who could put up with me for more than a week. I sometimes feel that in exchange for this new life, I’m about to lose everything else. And then I’ll just be somebody wearing a suit and cell phone.”
I stretched out next to her, propped up on one elbow. “I’ve worried about losing you, too.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“Remember when I was accused of stealing that jewelry and that jerk from the attorney general’s office tried to hang me? He described me to the court as an over-the-hill flatfoot trying to compensate for living with an attractive, younger, upwardly mobile woman he was worried would leave him behind.”
Gail reached out and squeezed my hand. “Oh, Joe. None of that was true. The man was an idiot. He’s not even a lawyer any more, he was proven so wrong.”
“Maybe so, but it hurt. You are all of those things.”
“But you aren’t compensating for it.”
“I joined VBI.”
Her mouth half opened in astonishment.
“I love what I’m doing now, too,” I explained further. “But part of the reason I took the job was to earn your respect.”
She rolled over and hugged me. “My God, Joe. How could you think I didn’t respect you? You’re the love of a lifetime. Christ, what a screwy idea.”
I kissed her. “No, it’s not. And it worked out beautifully. You’ve found something to do that really floats your boat, and I got the kick in the pants I should’ve given myself years ago. We’ve never been a conventional couple. Why should that change now?”
“So, you’re okay?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you don’t mind living apart?”
“Sometimes,” I answered her honestly, “but it’s got its up sides, too.”
She smiled at me then. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Being with you now, stretched out on a motel bed.”
She chuckled and her hand traveled across my chest. “What’re your plans for the rest of the evening?” she asked softly.
I kissed the corner of her mouth. “I have a meeting with Sammie later. But I’ve got an hour at least.”
She reached up and touched my bearded cheek. “So I can play with this?”
“You rented the room.”
A little more than an hour later, I was crossing Tucker Peak’s employee parking lot, moving from one halo of light to another, the first fat flakes of a long-anticipated storm barely starting to drift by like albino moths, indecisive and tired.
“Joe?”
It was a man’s voice, quiet, vaguely familiar, belonging to a shadow that stepped out from behind a parked car some ten feet ahead of me. The light being directly overhead at this point, his face was shaded in the darkness cast by his baseball cap. His hands, however, were in plain sight and empty.
I stopped and tried to sound innocent first, although I suspected it would be useless. “Who?”
He stepped nearer, still speaking very softly. “It’s Win Johnston. You okay to talk?”
I glanced around, both relieved and surprised. It looked like we were alone. “For a minute.” Win was a private investigator, an ex-cop, and a friend. But I could only guess that his appearing from behind a car in the dark of night was going to cost me some peace of mind in the midst of an already complicated case.
“I thought I saw you a couple of days ago, but I guessed you were undercover. Your heroics on the chairlift clinched it, though. Nice beard. How’ve you been?”
We shook hands and stood closely together, almost whispering. “Okay. You working on something here?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“What can you tell me?”
Unlike in the movies, such a question of a good PI was well within the rules. Cops weren’t fond of the profession, that much was true, but the antagonisms, at least in a rural place like Vermont, weren’t played up. Win had been a state trooper, had retired in good standing, and was self-employed now because it kept him in the game without forcing him to kowtow to too many bosses. I trusted his integrity and had even worked with him in the past, since PIs could often do things and go places we couldn’t.
“Checking up on an employee, seeing if he’s aboveboard.”
“Oh, oh,” I said. “Sounds like embezzling.”
He quickly held up a hand. “No, no. It’s much vaguer than that.”
“But still interesting to someone with a big problem and a lot of money,” I suggested, “like maybe the resort brass?”
His vanity prompted him to admit half an answer. “I’m not cheap.”
“So, it’s serious.”
He wobbled his head from side to side. “Could be. I haven’t found anything yet.”
“I don’t guess you’d tell me the target.”
“Sorry.”
“Would it have anything to do with that chair breaking loose?”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked.
I considered being as coy as he was but didn’t see the point. “No. That came out of the blue. We’re here on a string of condo rip-offs.”
He looked surprised. “You were just working on that killing in Brattleboro. Is there a connection?”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded him.
He took my own evasion in stride. “About the chair? I don’t know. A contact at the Tramway Board told me it was tampered with. But it’s a puzzle piece I haven’t been able to place yet.”
“No… me neither. Win, do me a favor, okay? Keep me in the loop as much as possible. There’re a couple of things going on here, and to answer your question, I don’t know if they connect or not, but you already know one woman’s dead and another was almost killed. I realize you have confidences to protect, but pay extra attention, all right?”
“Sure, Joe. What’s your cover name again? Max something?”
“Lambert. And Sammie Martens is a ski instructor named Greta Novak-bottle-blonde.”
He laughed gently. “Some name. I saw her, I think. Looked like she was having a ball. Didn’t recognize her. She’s very attractive.”
“And very serious, as always.”
He shook my hand again. “Keep your head down, Joe… Max. I’ll let you know if I find anything interesting.”
He turned away, passed between two SUVs, and was gone, leaving me to wonder what else might fall into my lap.
Sammie was waiting for me where we’d met the night before, checking her watch as I walked up.
“I thought we’d have to scrub this,” she said.
“Sorry. Ran into Win Johnston in the parking lot. He’s working here, too, looking into an employee. I’m guessing one of the management types, given his standard rate, but he wouldn’t fess up. The interesting thing is that he’s bothered by the chair sabotage, meaning it might play a role in what he’s investigating.”
“An employee trying to do in the company?”
“He doesn’t know, says it doesn’t fit, but it makes more sense than the TPL doing it. I asked him to keep an eye open.”
“You trust him?” Sammie knew Win only to say hi and shared the common police prejudice against his profession.
“To report anything outright criminal? Absolutely,” I told her. “He’s proved himself enough times. Plus, he thinks you’re very good looking.”
“I think he needs to lose weight.”
I left it at that. “I also had a private chat with Roger Betts this afternoon.”
She gave me a surprised look. “How’d that happen?”
“He’s worried some of his folks might be getting a little overenthusiastic.”
“As in screwing around with chairlifts?”