Chương 5
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“I’m not seven.”
“No. Seven-year-olds enjoy happiness.”
Claire turned.
“Dad.”
“Sorry.”
Owen took a sip.
Charles watched him.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d hate to solve all your problems with cocoa. Your mother would stop paying for therapy.”
Claire gave her father a look.
“We are not discussing therapy.”
“We’ve never discussed therapy. That’s probably the issue.”
Owen stared into the cup.
Then he said, “Mom thought I was crazy.”
Claire felt the sentence like a finger pressed against a bruise.
“I did not think you were crazy.”
“You told me to stop.”
“I told you to stop scaring Grandpa.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“To me it was.”
Charles looked between them.
Claire sat on the edge of the leather chair’s arm.
“Owen, I was on the phone trying to find out whether they could move Grandpa to the hospital.”
“You didn’t listen.”
“You were saying the boot sounded strange.”
“I said scratching.”
“I didn’t understand.”
“You didn’t try.”
Claire opened her mouth.
Closed it.
The heater clicked.
Owen flinched and glanced at the transport bin.
Claire saw him do it.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He shrugged.
It was the shrug she hated.
Her son had learned it sometime after his father left.
Not divorced and gone forever. That would have been cleaner. Daniel Mercer had moved to Seattle for work eighteen months earlier, after he and Claire had spent a year pretending their marriage was temporarily difficult instead of ending. He called Owen often. He visited every six or seven weeks. He sent pictures of ferries and coffee shops and mountains that Owen described as inferior Colorado mountains.
But the boy had begun shrugging when adults apologized.
It meant: You get to feel better now.
Claire reached for his knee.
He shifted slightly away.
She let her hand drop.
Charles stared at the ceiling.
“I didn’t listen either.”
Owen looked at him.
“You were asleep.”
“Before that. At the lodge. You told me the boot felt weird.”
“That was because it squeaked.”
“You said it felt like tapping.”
“I thought that was my sock.”
Charles turned his head toward Marcus.
“I told patrol the boot felt wrong.”
Marcus looked up from the chart.
“When?”
“Right after they put it on.”
“What did they say?”
“That swelling makes everything feel strange.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
Charles frowned.
“They changed the liner.”
Wes, who had been speaking quietly on his phone near the clinic door, stopped.
Marcus said, “Who did?”
“Patrol kid. Young guy. Red beard.”
“Jake Turner?” Wes asked.
Charles looked at him.
“I didn’t get his résumé.”
“Did his badge say Jake?”
“It might have.”
Wes ended his call.
“The initials on the inspection sticker are JT.”
Claire looked at him.
“You said you didn’t know the boot.”
“I said I needed to check.”
“And?”
“It was signed out from the Summit House patrol clinic at 6:18 p.m.”
Charles’s accident had occurred at approximately 6:05.
Marcus checked the chart.
“That fits.”
Wes continued.
“The boot was inspected at 2:40 this afternoon by Jake Turner.”
“Who is Jake Turner?”
“One of our seasonal patrollers.”
“Where is he?”
“Summit House.”
“In the same building the boot came from?”
“Yes.”
“Can he come here?”
“No.”
Claire laughed once.
It was not amusement.
“Of course.”
“The upper lift corridor is shut down. Summit House is isolated until wind drops enough for snowcat movement.”
“Convenient.”
“Not for the forty-three people currently stuck there.”
That stopped her.
Wes seemed irritated with himself for sounding defensive.
He rubbed his jaw.
“I can call him.”
“Do it.”
“Claire,” Charles said.
“What?”
“Let Marcus do the medical part. Let Wes do the resort part.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do?”
Charles looked at Owen.
The answer made her angrier because it was obvious.
She looked away.
Wes called Jake.
He put the phone on speaker only after getting permission from Marcus and Claire.
The connection was poor. Wind interference came through even though Jake was indoors.
“Yeah?”
“Jake, it’s Wes Garland. I’m at the lower clinic with the Mercer family.”
A pause.
“Mr. Mercer okay?”
“He’s stable.”
“Good.”
“We need to ask you about the orthopedic boot you fitted after his fall.”
Another pause.
“What about it?”
Wes looked at the specimen cups.
“There were several spiders inside the liner.”
Nothing came through the speaker except static.
Then Jake said, “What?”
“Five spiders.”
“That’s not possible.”
Owen muttered, “Everybody says that after it happens.”
Claire almost told him not to interrupt.
She stopped herself.
Wes said, “Did you inspect the boot today?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you remove the liner?”
“Yeah.”
“Completely?”
“Mostly.”
“What does mostly mean?”
“It means I pulled it out, checked the shell, checked the straps, put it back.”
“Did you inspect the liner itself?”
“Yes.”
“Both sides?”
Jake hesitated.
“I think so.”
Wes closed his eyes.
“You think so?”
“It was busy, Wes.”
“What happened to the original liner?”
“What?”
“Mr. Mercer says you changed the liner after fitting the boot.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.”
“Why?”
“The first one was damp.”
Marcus looked at the sealed boot.
“Damp from what?”
Jake heard him.
“Who’s that?”
“Dr. Hale.”
“Hey, Doc.”
“Why was it damp?”
“I don’t know. Melted snow probably. Somebody must’ve brought the boot in from a transport.”
“Was the liner already inside it when you inspected the boot at 2:40?”
“No. Wait. Maybe.”
Wes exhaled slowly.
“Jake.”
“I checked fifteen pieces of gear today.”
“Take a moment.”
Nobody spoke.
Owen finally drank the hot chocolate.
Jake said, “Okay. The boot was in the drying cabinet when I started inventory.”
“Which cabinet?”
“The old one by the storage wall.”
Wes looked up sharply.
“The cabinet that was supposed to be decommissioned?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?”
“It still works.”
“It was removed from service in October.”
“Then why was it plugged in?”
Wes’s face hardened.
“That is not the question I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
Marcus glanced at Claire.
There it was.
May you like
Not a villain.
Not a conspiracy.
