Later, after a steamy shower, Malone helped me pack a big bag of clothes. He still wouldn't tell me where we were going. We swung by his place and loaded his Jeep with a suitcase and a duffel bag. Then we hit the road, headed north, away from the city. Last night's fluffy white snowstorm was reduced to mounds of ugly gray slush, heaped on the roadway by the early morning plows. So much for the image I’d had of a fresh new beginning. Malone drove along confidently, with the heater blasting and the stereo oozing Vivaldi’s "Four Seasons". Between the morning's activities and last night's binge, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. Sleep took me during "Spring".
It was late afternoon when we stopped and Malone nudged me awake. I let him prod me more than was necessary before opening my eyes. We were surrounded by snow. Not the dingy gray slop of the city, but tons of spun cotton candy. The Cherokee was parked beside an old Tyrolean inn, nestled in a hillside of pine trees. I expected to see strapping Austrian lads with flaxen hair and clear blue eyes, chopping wood and singing songs, but there was no one else in sight.
"Where the hell are we, Angus?"
"Boyne Falls. Why do I have the feeling you never get out of the city?" he teased.
“Because if I do, it’s to go to another city.” I rubbed my eyes. This had to be a dream. "What state are we in?"
He grinned. "Michigan, you dope. C'mon, let's go check in."
The desk clerk greeted Malone like an old friend, with a warm handshake and a quick pat on the back. He was a stocky man with a white goatee. The rest of his head was completely bald. Even his eyebrows were gone.
"David Erhardt, this is Jamie Richmond. She’s a writer, so be careful what you say. It might end up in a book."
Erhardt swooped over and kissed my knuckles. Nobody ever kissed my hand in greeting before. My face flushed as he did it, and I shot Malone an evil look.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear." Erhardt’s voice had a lilting European accent. "Any friend of Malone's is an honored guest to my humble establishment. Should you desire anything during your stay it will be my esteem pleasure to assist you."
"Got my room ready, David?" Malone eased an arm around my waist and drew me back beside him. Suddenly he was being protective.
"Room? We have no mere rooms. We have suites!" Erhardt nearly spat in disgust at Malone's comment. "Holiday Inn has rooms."
"Pardon me all to hell. Is my suite ready?" Malone was obviously having a hard time keeping a straight face.
"Of course," Erhardt said. "We run a first-class establishment, even if the majority of our clientele are neophytes, such as you. Follow me."
Erhardt slid his arm through mine and escorted me to a wide-carpeted staircase. He didn't offer to help Malone with our bags, but gave us a running monologue on the origin of each piece of antique furniture we passed. He paused at the last door on the second floor and swung it open with a flourish. My chin dropped. Suite was an understatement. This was bigger than my apartment. There was a parlor decorated with Queen Anne reproductions, a fireplace and a pair of beveled glass French doors leading out to a balcony. Another set of doors led to the bedroom where a canopied king-size bed awaited my bones. The bathroom had no shower, but a large oval tub big enough for two. Brass fixtures were everywhere, tastefully appointed. The towels looked thicker than the carpeting in my apartment. I wanted to transport the whole room back to Plymouth. I wanted to move in here permanently.
"Does it meet with your approval?" Erhardt asked me.
"Bet your ass," Malone chuckled.
I ignored him. "It's beautiful, David."
Erhardt opened the doors to the balcony and waved me out beside him. Malone peered over my shoulder. The view overlooked a ski resort. I saw dozens of skiers in colorful outfits flash by as they schussed down the hill. With the white backdrop of the snow and the deep green tint of the pine trees, it was picturesque.
"Now if you will excuse me, I must see to the preparations for dinner." Erhardt pressed my hand and thumped Malone on the arm.
“What’s on the menu?” Malone asked.
“We have several treats. The special is broiled elk tenderloin in a light cream sauce, with angel hair pasta and baby carrots. Perhaps escargot in puff pastry as an appetizer.” David was ignoring Malone, considering my reaction. “Do you approve?”
“Sounds heavenly.”
The bald head bobbed once. “Excellent. Dinner begins at seven. Enjoy.” He slipped silently out the door.
We stood on the balcony for a while, surveying the slopes. Malone tugged me back inside and closed the doors. The frosted glass panels allowed us to view the scenery from the cozy comforts of the room.
"Do you like it?"
"I love it. But there's one problem, Angus."
He shook his head, the little smile playing on his lips. "Wrong again. What could possibly be a problem?"
"I don't know how to ski."
"You'll learn. We'll take lessons in the morning. Tonight we'll have a leisurely feast, then curl up in front of the fire and relax." He gestured toward the hearth. "You wanted a fireplace."
"How did you ever find this place?"
He led me to the couch, where we had the option of the view or the fire. "I came up here years ago to go skiing. Erhardt crashed into me on the slopes. To this day, I don't think it was an accident. David insisted on buying me dinner after knocking me down. At the time, he was the manager here. Now he owns it and a good chunk of other properties around the city."
“Dinner sounds like a four-star treat, Malone. Do you go to such lengths often?”
“I rarely eat more than two meals a day. Erhardt must be pulling out the stops for your sake. He lives to impress the ladies.” His fingers were wandering through my hair.
"You are full of surprises, Angus."
"So are you, Jay."
* * * *
Saturday we spent on the ski slopes. Malone rented a set of equipment for me and accompanied me through a morning lesson, even though he’s an experienced skier. I have to admit, I enjoyed it. Gliding over the powder in the fresh air is invigorating. The only move I could remember was the snowplow, where you point the tips of your skis together to stop. Just don't cross the tips, or you'll end up on your head. It took me a while to make it down the bunny hill, and I only fell twice. We had lunch in the ski lodge and planned the afternoon.
Malone was going to join me for another lesson, but I knew it was boring for him. After assuring him I'd be fine on my own and we’d meet back at our suite when we were done, he set out for the advanced slopes. I went through another group lesson then took several trips up and down the bunny hills. There was a large crowd of skiers out and the majority of them did a good job keeping out of my way. I didn't even get frustrated at the nine-year-olds who were mastering the slopes with ease. I was having too much fun to worry about what other people thought of my own abilities.
I'd convinced myself to take one more run and was in line for the towrope when I saw her. We were at least fifty feet apart and the late afternoon sun was in my eyes, but I thought it was her. Clumsily, I skied out of line and worked my way toward the snack bar.
I'd swear it was Melissa Hatcher. She was wearing black ski pants and a gray down vest over a white turtleneck sweater. As I approached the lodge, a kid no older than five cut in front of me. It was either fall to the side or run the kid over. I fell. He fell too. By the time I got untangled and regained my feet, she was gone. Kicking off my skis, I ran into the snack bar looking for her. Vanished.
Maybe it hadn't been Melissa. Maybe it was someone who looked like her. After all, I'd only met her once. The slopes were jammed with young blonde snow bunnies.
My thighs ached and my buns were tired of kissing the ground. I returned my ski equipment and hiked along the path to Erhardt's. David met me at the door.
"You look absolutely radiant. I see the day on the slopes agreed with you." He was gushing with European charm.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror beside the front desk. My face was bright red. My hair was matted to my skull. Every square inch of my clothing was dotted with snow.
"Right now I could use a hot shower and a masseuse." I stamped the powder off my boots and shook out my hair.
"I would be more than happy to offer my massage talents, Jamie dear, but I do not believe Malone would appreciate it."
An idea hit me. "You've known Malone a long time, haven't you, David?"
"Many years." Erhardt made a little bow. "He is a good and generous friend, a fine man.”
I waved away his compliments. "What's his first name?"
Erhardt looked confused. "His name is Malone. That is the only name I know."
I felt cheated. What did Malone have to hide? "But everyone has two names. What about his credit card?"
"Malone pays with cash. Even in the lean years, when there is no snow, Malone has always come to stay. Usually every other month, between November and April, he stays three nights at least, every time."
"I give up," I said with disgust.
David started walking me toward the suite. "You must be very special to Malone."
"Why do you say that?"
He smiled softly and raised his hands, palms up, in what must have been a European version of a shrug. "In all the years I have known Malone, you are the first woman he has ever brought here."
"You're kidding!"
"No, Jamie dear, I am quite serious." Erhardt pulled a passkey from his pocket and unlocked the door. “The very first.”
“Almost like going home to meet his parents, huh?” I leaned against the wall and studied the innkeeper.
“Please, Jamie, do not misunderstand. I was merely making an observation.”
“Thank you, David. Why do I get the feeling this is an elaborate practical joke?”
Erhardt shook his head. “There is a control panel in your suite, next to the bath. Try number three. I believe it is exactly what you need. Malone always skis until dark. Perhaps another hour before he will return.”
Once in the room, I stripped off my wet jeans and the rest of my clothes. If Malone and I stayed together, I’d have to get some real ski duds. I filled the tub with the hottest water I could stand and bent over the control panel. Button number three activated a hidden whirlpool system. Gingerly, I lowered my body into the tub and let the heat relax me. I didn’t get out until half an hour later, when the water finally turned cold. Malone still wasn’t back.
I dressed for dinner in a black leather skirt and wool sweater, and went to wait for Malone on the balcony. Evening darkness filled the valley as I gazed out toward the slopes. I noticed a trail leading from the Inn toward the direction of the ski lodge. At the edge of that path, I caught a glimpse of someone. Malone was wearing a Kelly green outfit with a white stripe down the side. I thought I saw him enter the path, skis jauntily bouncing on his shoulders. Near an overhang of trees, I saw a figure stop and converse with him.
The distance was too great for me to get a good look at either of them. With the sun gone, I wasn't even positive it was Malone. The sky was black. The nearest streetlight was in Detroit. It was getting too cold to hang around the balcony, so I stepped inside the French doors and warmed my buns by the fire. I could still look out the window and see most of the path. The two people continued their discussion. The one without the skis kept gesturing wildly with his arms, and the other one nodded enthusiastically. I sat by the fire to wait. A few minutes later my phone rang.
"Hey, Jay," Malone said warmly in my ear.
"Where are you?"
"Making arrangements for tomorrow. The slopes are jammed on Sundays. I’ve got some other plans in mind."
"What's the matter, Claude? Afraid I'll wipe out a bunch of Sunday school kids on the bunny hill?"
"It crossed my mind," he was chuckling softly. “Tell David to send up some hot appetizers to hold us until dinner. I’ll be there in ten minutes, but I want to clean up.”
"You owe me a thorough body massage to recover from the lumps I took today. I'm not used to all this healthy exercise."
"I'll see what I can do. Bye, Jay."
"Bye, Claude."
I jiggled the hook and got the front desk, relaying Malone’s request. He came through the door with the room service waiter, who placed the tray on a low table before the fire and bowed silently out of the room. Malone gave me a frozen kiss and popped the lid off the tray.
“What the hell is that?” I asked.
A circular loaf of dark bread rested in the center of the tray. The top of the loaf had been cut into sections, like wedges from a pie. Malone pried one up and bent closer to the bread, sniffing. When he looked up, I caught one of those killer low voltage smiles. It made my spine tingle.
“Well?”
“It’s shepherd’s bread. Knowing Erhardt, it’s probably filled with cheese and some kind of sauce.” He dipped the edge of the bread into the goo and extended it toward me. Now I could smell it. I tested the sample.
“What do you think?” Malone was waiting for my reaction, another wedge of bread dangling from his fingers.
“If Erhardt made this himself, you might be replaced before morning.”
Malone sat on the floor and scooped some onto a plate for me. We didn’t talk much while we devoured the appetizer. Malone nodded, admiring my outfit.
"Give me a minute to get cleaned up, and we'll go down for dinner." He struggled off the floor and headed for the bedroom.
"What about my rubdown?"
"Patience, Jamie, patience."
Dinner was suitable for a state dinner. Erhardt’s dining room was small, with room for only forty people at discreetly positioned tables. A harpist played softly in the corner by the door and all conversations were muted and refined. I felt like royalty. We dined on Wisconsin cheese soup. Broiled scallops with lemon butter and triple chocolate torte for dessert. Plus enough freshly baked bread to add two inches to my hips.
After dinner we got our coats and took a walk through the streets. Music blared from the bars and cafes, audible through the doors. A number of shops displayed handmade crafts and collectibles. Malone left me outside a health food store and came back with a small package and a goofy grin. We held hands and wandered about. I liked it. Boyne Falls is a long way from Detroit, in more ways than one. I've been a big city girl all my life, silently scoffing at any metropolitan area smaller than five hundred thousand people. But I could get used to small town living.
Back at the inn, Malone made me wait by the fire for a minute. He came back with the top sheet from the bed and spread it on the carpet.
"You can't be serious," I giggled.
"I promised you a rubdown. And I try to always keep my promises." He turned me around and slowly undressed me, folding my clothes over the back of the sofa. Shyly, I slid to my knees, and lay down on the sheet.
"Be gentle with me, Claude. I've had an exhausting day," I mumbled.
Malone let out a low whistle. "That's an understatement. You've got a bruise back here the size of Montana." He fingered a spot on my right hip.
"That must be where the kid knocked me down."
He removed a bottle of avocado oil he’d bought at the health food store and began working it into my flesh. My weary muscles began to relax as he kneaded them. My god, he had strong hands. As he worked, I let my mind wander, seeing the girl who looked like Melissa Hatcher. Lately, I hadn’t given her much thought. But it seemed like Kleinschmidt was never far from my mind. Malone rolled me over and began massaging the tendons in my ankles and the arches of my feet.
"Where'd you learn how to do that?"
"Self-taught with years of practice." His voice was soft and deep, just the way I like it. I tried to see his eyes, but they were cast down, focused on my feet.
"You certainly know how to rub a woman the right way," I groaned.
"It's all in the wrists." Malone worked his way up to my calves. Somehow, the massage was relaxing and erotic at the same time.
"Wish I could stop thinking about Kleinschmidt," I mumbled with my eyes closed.
Malone rocked back on his heels, pulling his hands off my legs. I waited for the rubdown to continue. When it didn't, I opened my eyes. I had to prop up on my elbows in order to see him. There was a dark, disgusted look on his face.
"You're impossible. I'm trying to relax you and treat you to a romantic weekend and all you want to do is talk about Kleinschmidt. What’s the matter with you?" Malone got to his feet, rubbing his slippery hands on a towel. "I give up, Jamie."
"Hey, Claude."
He ignored me and went to the window. I scrambled to my feet and came to stand beside him. Large overhead lights illuminated a few of the slopes near the lodge. Hundreds of people were playing follow the leader down the hill. From here it looked like a gigantic neon snake as the lights reflected off the various colored outfits. It looked like fun.
Malone pulled away when I touched his shoulder. I slugged it until he faced me.
"Don't tune me out, Malone," I snapped angrily.
He grabbed me by the shoulders. It was cool over here by the window and I was still naked. I wanted to be back by the fire, cozying up with him. Why was he suddenly being so crazy about this?
"Let it go, Jamie. You're obsessed with Kleinschmidt and the shooting. I don't know if I can keep hanging around if you don't stop." His eyes were darkly serious.
"I'm sorry, Malone. Sometimes when I get caught up in a problem, I have a hard time not thinking about it."
He drew me to his chest, pinning my arms against my sides. "Let it go."
How could I refuse him? Besides, he was right. I was haunted by something I could do nothing about. It was like trying to fly because I was holding a chicken wing in each hand. It made no sense at all. "Okay, I'll forget it ever happened. Except for one very important thing."
He loosened his grip until we could see eye to eye. "What's that?"
"If it wasn't for that night, would I have ever met you?"
He smiled a thin one. "Good point. Just forget about the bad stuff with Kleinschmidt."
"Who?"
"That's more like it." He reached down and patted my bottom. "Your ass is freezing."
"Maybe you'd better help me warm it."