Blood Runs Cold

‘For whatever use it was. It cost a lot of money and now, because we always need to make so much money, the floors are usually covered in rails and the walls are covered with T-shirts and sweatshirts and jackets …’

Ren looked down at the floor. It was mosaic-tiled in pretty shades of gold, green and red. ‘Let me help you,’ she said, pushing some of the boxes out of the way and opening up the floor. ‘That really is beautiful,’ she said.

He nodded.

‘Where’s your son today? said Ren.

‘He’ll be along.’

‘OK.’

He looked up at her.

‘I guess I should get going …’ she said.

‘Thanks for stopping by.’

Mountain Sports was between a beauty salon and a jeweler on the mezzanine level of a group of stores. It was open and empty.

‘Hello?’ said Ren, walking in.

‘I’m out back,’ shouted Maria. ‘If you need any help, let me know.’

Ren walked to the back door and out on to the balcony. ‘Maria Nordberg?’

‘Yes,’ she said, standing up, blowing a stream of smoke away from Ren. She was in her fifties, freckled and blonde with her hair tied up under a faded floral scarf. ‘I brave the heat for my cigarette.’ She stubbed it out in a pot of sand. From the next-door basement garden, a pre-school teacher stared up as she rubbed sun block on to tiny noses.

Maria rolled her eyes at Ren. ‘As if my one cigarette a day …’ She shook her head.

‘Some people …’ said Ren. She looked out over the Blue River to the mountains where the ski trails wound down smooth and green. The terrace below was filled with people sitting under red umbrellas. ‘What a beautiful day.’

‘I love it here.’

‘Me too. But, sadly, I’m here for work.’ She smiled and showed her badge.

Maria smiled back, but it was different.

And then I go and spoil it all … ‘I’m Ren Bryce with the FBI. I’m looking into the death of Agent Jean Transom.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Maria. ‘I’m sorry about your colleague. It must have been a relief to find her remains.’ Her accent was that happy, sing-song Norwegian that made Ren think of her old boyfriend – he could be saying, ‘I’m depressed and I want to kill myself’ in Norwegian and it would sound like he was telling you he was in a bath of coke with four supermodels.

‘Thank you,’ said Ren. ‘I know you’ve already spoken to the Undersheriff about what you saw – or didn’t see – back in January, so that’s fine, I’ve re-read that. I was wondering, did you have any other staff members around that time, anyone casual? I don’t see anything in the notes. Or anyone that may have seen anything recently. Because the body has been … found. And we need to make sure …’

‘No,’ said Maria. ‘Back when my husband and I opened this place, we couldn’t really afford to hire anyone.’

‘Right,’ said Ren. ‘It’s always hard starting out. And how has it been working out for you?’

‘Very good, very good. There are so many visitors to Breckenridge. We are very lucky. And we are taking someone new on.’

‘I’m sure you can have your pick of college kids around here.’

She smiled. ‘We’ve gone with someone a little more experienced.’

‘From here?’ said Ren.

‘From Wardwell’s,’ said Maria, with a twinkle in her eye, a sense of validation. ‘The son.’

‘Ah, he’s defecting,’ said Ren, smiling.

Maria smiled back. ‘Sjurd and I were wondering …’

‘Maybe he just wanted a change of scenery,’ said Ren. She looked again through the back door and out over the mountains. ‘Beautiful,’ she said.

Maria nodded.

‘OK,’ said Ren. ‘I will let you get back to your work. Here’s my card. And please do call me if you think of anything.’

57

Ren walked down Main Street under a blazing sun. The mountain breeze struggled to cut through the heat. The sky was cloudless. She went into the quiet cool of the Crown, put in her order and took the sofa. She grabbed one of the Breckenridge tourist maps that were stacked in businesses all over town. She drew a circle over Reign on Main. It was the place where Jean Transom ate her last meal. Dead woman walking. Ren remembered Jean’s refrigerator, filled with healthy food. And all the snacks in her desk drawer were healthy. The last night she was seen, she ate at five p.m.; too early for Reign on Main to have been a last resort. And if someone who eats healthy wants to have a junk-food blow-out, they’ll pick quality junk. At the very least, they’ll choose McDonalds. Does any of this matter?

Ren wondered if all this thinking, the inability to switch off her brain, was the thing that one day would take her down. Something so terrible would happen that she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it, and she would implode. Shut up. She looked at the map again. On the west side of South Main: Wardwell’s. One block north – Mountain Sports. On the east side of South Main, opposite Wardwell’s, Reign on Main. She grabbed another map and traced the line from Breckenridge south to the Brockton Filly and Quandary Peak. Jean didn’t make or receive any calls on her cellphone from that time, but if she’d had a throwaway phone, this wasn’t relevant – she could have made calls, then dumped it or someone else could have dumped it for her.

Ren ate her Cinnamonster in half the time it should have taken her. She used a sticky thumb to dial Mike.

‘Hey, it’s Ren. Where would I find Salem Swade if, say, I wasn’t quite in the humor for hiking up Quandary?’

‘Easy,’ said Mike. ‘Between nine a.m. and eleven a.m. at the Gold Pan. How lazy are you?’

Ren laughed. ‘Thanks. Gotta go.’ She checked her watch. It was ten a.m.

Salem sat in the Gold Pan reading the Summit Daily News. It was in every bar, restaurant, hotel and inn all over the county. He nodded when she walked in.

‘Hello …’ he said.

‘Hello, Salem. Remember me? Ren? Nice to see you.’

‘My pod is out of juice,’ he said. It lay dead beside his plate.

‘I can charge it for you,’ said Ren, pulling out her laptop.

‘Thank you,’ he said. With suspicion.

‘It’s safe with me,’ she said, plugging it in.

Salem nodded. ‘That’s good news. I’ve a long walk ahead of me.’

‘I could give you a ride.’

‘No thank you. You going to have breakfast?’

‘Just coffee. Mind if I join you?’

‘No, ma’am.’

The waiter came by with coffee.

‘This place is great,’ she said to Salem.

‘This place was built the same year they struck gold in the Blue River,’ he said. ‘Oldest bar around. Never even closed in Prohibition times.’