LITMIR.BIZ

       8

      Patrick Transom lived with his wife and four kids in a four-thousand-square-foot log home in Vail, thirty minutes from Breckenridge. Bob drove slowly up the steep curved drive and parked.

      ‘Wow,’ said Ren, getting out of the car. ‘Nice.’ She kept her face neutral in case anyone was looking out the window.

      ‘But as my mother used to say – for all their money …’

      ‘Yup,’ said Ren. She buttoned the top of her jacket and stuck her hands in her pockets.

      They walked up the steps and rang the bell. A man in a blue plaid shirt and jeans opened the door.

      ‘Patrick Transom?’ said Bob.

      ‘Yes. What can I do for you?’

      ‘I’m Sheriff Bob Gage, Summit County, and this is Ren Bryce with the FBI.’

      Transom stared back and forth between the two of them. ‘Okaay …’

      ‘Can we come in?’ said Bob.

      ‘Sure, but … I’m sorry, what’s this about? You can come in, but … you’re making me nervous. Is everything all right?’

      Bob put a gentle hand on the door and sidestepped Transom. Ren walked in after him.

      ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ said Bob.

      Transom moved quickly to the sofa and sat down. His eyes were pleading; a sixth sense had taken over.

      ‘You may have heard,’ said Bob, pulling a chair out for Ren, taking the one beside her, ‘that a body was found on Quandary Peak.’

      Transom nodded. ‘I did, yes.’

      Bob looked him right in the eye. ‘I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, but we believe it was the body of your sister, Jean.’

      ‘But … but the body is gone,’ said Transom. ‘I heard it on the news. There is no body.’ He looked like he was about to stand up. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘There is no body.’ He raised his hands like that was that – no body, no Jean, no grief, no heartbreak.

      ‘Here,’ he said, pulling his cellphone off his belt and flipping it open. ‘Here.’ He hit number two on his speed dial. He held the phone out to Bob. Bob’s mouth opened, but didn’t move. ‘Here,’ said Transom, holding the phone to Ren. She took it from him and saw Jean’s name flashing on the screen. She closed it gently.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Patrick, but it was Jean,’ said Ren. ‘The County Coroner, Denis Lasco, identified her body before the avalanche hit. He found her FBI credentials. The last time she was seen was ten days ago. She had gone on vacation, as you probably know. That’s all anybody knew. Following the avalanche, Sheriff Gage, Undersheriff Mike Delaney, and the coroner, Denis Lasco, went through what they had seen of the body and the clothing. They met with Jean’s colleagues from Glenwood Springs, they studied photos, and they all agreed that it was Jean.’

      Bob had shifted forward in his seat, but hung there, mute. Transom was looking at him as if he would disagree with Ren. Ren spoke to draw his gaze back to her. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said. ‘So sorry. I wish I wasn’t sitting here having to tell you this.’

      Transom was rigid. His eyes were running everywhere. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking back to them both, ‘I don’t mean to be … I’m just wondering … are you sure?’

      The front door opened and four kids in ski suits ran in, trailing snow behind them. The last one slipped on the wet floor and slammed his head into the side of the sofa. He burst out crying. Ren was the first to make it to him, lifting him up gently from the ground.

      ‘You’re OK, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘That silly snow, making a mess on the floor.’ He looked up at her through his tears, wondering who she was and why she was carrying him. Ren looked past him, waiting for his mother. An over-made-up brunette came in the door, leaning down, rubbing snow off a giant black Newfoundland.

      Ren was already walking toward her with her crying son.

      ‘Mrs Transom?’ said Ren.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, reaching out and taking her child in her arms. She looked around the room at everyone. She gave Ren an extra up-and-down.

      ‘Who are our guests, Patrick?’ she said.

      He turned to the kids. ‘Hey, guys. Straight to bed, OK? You’ve had a late night. Take care of the little guy.’

      The eldest girl went to her mom and took her little brother.

      ‘This is my wife, Ellie,’ said Patrick, when the kids had all left.

      Bob stood up. ‘Hello – Sheriff Bob Gage from Summit County.’

      ‘And I’m Special Agent Ren Bryce with the FBI.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Ellie.

      ‘Jean’s dead,’ said Patrick. His voice was flat.

      Ellie looked at him like it was his abruptness that had caught her off guard, not what he was telling her.

      ‘Your sister, Jean?’

      ‘Of course it’s my sister, Jean,’ said Patrick. ‘Who else would it be?’

      ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she snapped.

      Ren stared at her. What the hell is wrong with you? ‘He’s in shock, Mrs Transom. Please, sit down.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never … he’s just not like that.’

      A real Southern belle. Manners over all. ‘I’m sure he isn’t,’ said Ren.

      Ellie walked around the back of the sofa and

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