Death in the Dolomites David Wagner (each kindness read aloud .TXT) 📖

Neither appeared ready to push off, they stood leaning on their poles watching skiers on either side of them start the descent. They also took in the view. They were at the highest point of Campiglio’s system of interconnected trails, the saddle between two jagged peaks. Ahead in the distance was La Presanella, an isolated set of mountains under a snowcap year round. Behind them was Monte Corona and other smaller crests in the Gruppo Brenta. To the east, far out of sight, the terrain opened for the Adige River that had started near the Austrian border. It flowed past Trento and through Verona before veering left to make its own way to the Adriatic rather than losing its water and name to the mighty Po.

Cat finally pushed off, slowly sliding from the shelf where they had stood. Rick watched her make a first turn before following in her tracks while keeping his eyes on her back. Even in the bulky ski suit, the shape of her body was evident. He stayed behind her for a few more turns before moving next to her, and together they crisscrossed the slope until reaching the bottom of the run where other skiers were getting on a chairlift for the return to the top. It was the spot where he and Flavio had met Gina Cortese two days earlier, but he didn’t mention this to Cat.

After a few days of skiing with Flavio, Rick was familiar with the trails, so he led the way as they continued down. They glided between the trees, though the trail was still broad enough for easy, wide turns. Most of the skiers had stayed on the higher runs which still caught the afternoon sun, so they had the trail almost to themselves.

They came over a hill and descended into a small valley where a four-seat chairlift raised them to the side of the mountain that descended into Campiglio. As Rick remembered, there were a few steep drops before the trails between the trees widened and smoothed out, and he pointed the way for Cat. It was on the second drop that Cat’s ski stubbed on a mogul and she tumbled for about twenty meters before coming to a stop. Fortunately, Rick was behind her, and he was able to stop to pick up the loose ski before pulling up next to her. She was brushing snow from her goggles when he came to a stop.

“You okay?”

“Fine, nothing broken.” She massaged the thigh on one of her legs. “Everyone has to fall once in an afternoon, don’t they?”

He pulled her to her feet and dropped the ski next to her. “At least once. You’re not testing yourself unless you take a few tumbles. You have to push the envelope.”

She stamped open the binding of the rogue ski and then stepped into it. “I wasn’t pushing anything, Rick, I just fell.”

“Mogul mugging. It happens all the time, Cat. But take it easy the rest of the way, you may have twisted something.”

She took his words to heart, bending less and making wider and slower turns. Rick hung protectively behind her in case she fell again, but she stayed on her feet and he decided she’d been unaffected by the tumble. Even so, when they reached a fork in the trail, and stopped for a rest, he recommended they go for the easier final descent.

“That way is less steep, Cat, and it has some beautiful views once we get through the opening in the trees. Let’s take it.”

“Sure, Rick, lead the way.”

He turned his skis toward a trail that dipped down and to the right, Cat behind him. They were the only skiers choosing the easier route; everyone else continued down the more challenging main trail which was also a faster way to reach the chairlift to the top. The incline on this trail was about perfect for easy skiing. Rick dropped his arms and let his poles drag in the snow, allowing gravity to push him forward. Beyond the trees, they burst into an open field, the trail cutting through its center. The left side was open and flat enough to land a small plane in summer. To their right, the ground rose steeply and steadily until it reached a few clumps of trees after a hundred and fifty meters. Jagged peaks rose dramatically in the distance behind.

Something wasn’t right.

Rick turned his skis, coming slowly to a stop so that he was facing back toward where they had just come. Cat slid down next to him, her skis pointing in the opposite direction from his.

“It’s beautiful, Rick, this was a good—”

“Just a second, Cat.” He held up his hand and turned his head toward the mountain. “It sounds like…but I thought they weren’t allowed up here.”

What had started as a soft purr somewhere up on the mountain changed to a louder hum before bursting into a rattling roar. Then a dark snowmobile shot out from one from the clumps of trees high above them and started weaving its way downward. It bounced along like a child’s toy, but with each second became larger. Behind the handlebars crouched a black-suited figure who scanned the valley below him while he gunned the engine. Rick looked back at where they had come from and then down the trail.

“Let’s go, Cat. I don’t like the looks of this.”

“But, Rick—”

“Move, Cat. Fast.”

She moved, pushing hard on her poles. Rick turned himself around and followed her, looking up every few seconds at the snowmobile. Fortunately the snow was deep, and it was having trouble getting through. The driver revved the motor as he cut his sharp turns, the afternoon sunlight glinting off his windshield. He was now about a hundred meters above, and even though a helmet covered the driver’s face, Rick knew he was looking straight at them. Cat apparently knew it, too, since she was struggling to gain speed. The soft incline, which had made the trail inviting, now worked against them. To