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

make things worse, the warmth of the afternoon had turned powder into slush in some spots, slowing them even more.

“Who is it, Rick?” Cat yelled as she worked her poles and skis.

“I don’t know,” he called, “but somehow I doubt he just wants to ask directions.”

Rick knew that once they passed through the field the trail went into more woods before rejoining the main trail. And in the woods the snow would be in the shade, so slicker and faster. There would be other skiers on the main trail, and, if they were lucky, also a stray pair from the ski patrol. Strength in numbers. Could they get there? He looked up and saw that the snowmobile had bogged down in the deep snow. The driver had gotten off his seat and pushed the handlebars from the side, while gunning the motor, making the tread spin and kicking up a wide, white plume. With him stuck, we might just make it, Rick thought. They were now only about seventy-five meters from where the trail cut back into the trees.

He was watching Cat struggle to make more speed when a different sound came from above. It was a low groan that slowly drowned out the raspy noise of the snowmobile’s motor. Rick’s eyes jerked up and saw that their pursuer had disappeared behind a curtain of powder now moving in their direction. A thought flashed through Rick’s head that the snowmobile’s intent all along had been to cause an avalanche. Just as quickly, he forced himself to forget intent—what mattered now was saving their skins.

At least they were pointed in the best direction. He’d heard many times that outrunning an avalanche was futile, and they were on just the right diagonal line toward the trees. Would they make it? Only about fifty meters left. Fortunately the effect of the danger on Cat was to push her to go faster; he couldn’t see her face but her taut body showed intensity. Twenty-five yards. She was forcing herself to look straight ahead, but Rick kept one eye on the descending wave of white. Ten. If Cat’s bad leg didn’t give out, they would reach the trees in time.

Cat shot into the clump of trees just as the avalanche reached the trail, but the edge of it caught Rick and tried to turn him around. He fought the force of the snow and was barely able to escape it, managing to tumble into the protection of the trees. His body rolled twice before ending up against the base of a tree. He looked back and saw that the trail behind them was obliterated.

“Rick, are you hurt?” Cat’s voice came in gasps. She lay on her side, skis still attached, her chest heaving.

“I’m okay.” He struggled to his feet, shuffled to her side, and flopped on his back. “That wasn’t exactly the way I had pictured our last run of the day.”

“It was a run, all right. But what…?”

Rick had raised his hand and lifted his head from the packed snow of the trail. The sound of the avalanche had stopped when it reached the level field below the trail. There had been silence, but now they could hear a very faint rumble of a motor. They exchanged looks and quickly got to their feet. The sound did not seem to be coming closer, but they couldn’t be sure.

“Let’s hope he’s buried under a few feet of snow, Cat, but we’d better not wait around to find out.”

***

Luca snapped shut his cell phone, dropped it into his jacket pocket, and took a long drink of beer. “The ski patrol has not found the snowmobile, and probably won’t. He was lucky not to have been caught up in the avalanche. Had it started above him, they might still be trying to dig him out. There was a large indentation where you saw him get stuck, and tracks that showed he’d managed to get back into the trees above the hill. They followed the tracks, but when they merged onto a service trail, there was no way to differentiate them from those of other vehicles. They’re checking registrations, but with so many of them, it’s almost impossible to know whose snowmobile it is. And it could have been borrowed or stolen.”

“I should have gotten the license plate number.” Rick nursed a snifter of cognac, not his usual late afternoon drink, but the situation called for it.

“Don’t tell your uncle,” Flavio said. Like Luca, he was drinking beer, but an imported brand. “The lovely Caterina has come through this brush with danger as well as could be expected?”

“She was relatively calm when I dropped her off at her apartment.” He watched the cognac as it swirled in the glass. “It’s strange, I felt a certain exhilaration when we beat the avalanche, perhaps she was feeling it too. Now it’s worn off.”

“That’s a typical reaction,” said Luca. He took another drink of beer and stared at the wall of bottles behind the bar. “Riccardo, there is the possibility that this was just some snowmobiler out where he shouldn’t have been. Got lost, didn’t know he was in a restricted area.”

Rick was sitting between the other two. He shot a look at Luca and shook his head. “The guy was looking right at me, Luca. Even through the tinted mask of his helmet I could feel his eyes on me.”

Flavio coughed softly. “You realize that doesn’t make sense.”

Rick slapped his hand on the bar. “Look, Flavio, I—”

“Calma, Riccardo,” Luca said. “We don’t doubt you. We’re just trying to understand what happened and figure out why. There is no doubt in my mind that whoever it was, they were attempting to intimidate you, Signora Taylor, or both of you.”

“Yankees go home,” Flavio said in English, bringing a chuckle from the other two and breaking the tension.

Luca brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Who would have known that you two were skiing this afternoon?”

Rick swirled the brown liquid in