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    Forbidden Book 6: Lady Sotheby's Curse
    Forbidden Book 6: Lady Sotheby's Curse
    Forbidden Book 6: Lady Sotheby's Curse
    Ebook499 pages8 hours

    Forbidden Book 6: Lady Sotheby's Curse

    By Mike Wells and Devika Fernando

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    About this ebook

    In the final book of the Lady Sotheby’s Curse trilogy, the grand opening of the restaurant is quickly approaching and Jayne is still desperately searching for the blackmailer. She makes more dangerous mistakes that compromise her chances of success. But things go from bad to worse as Jayne and Robert's relationship is threatened by the mutual suspicion. Can their love endure this test? Will they break under the pressure, or will they find the nefarious criminal and prevail?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMike Wells
    Release dateOct 27, 2017
    ISBN9781370888535
    Forbidden Book 6: Lady Sotheby's Curse
    Author

    Mike Wells

    Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

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      Book preview

      Forbidden Book 6 - Mike Wells

      Book 6 – Lady Sotheby’s Curse

      Mike Wells

      Devika Fernando

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2017 Mike Wells and Devika Fernando

      This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

      Chapter 1

      In summer, St. Moritz and the Engadin region of the Swiss Alps are transformed from a snowy, gray-and-white skier’s paradise into a spectacular display of color and contour. Rolling between the majestic backdrop of mighty glaciers and towering, snow-capped peaks are lush green alpine meadows, shimmering flowers, and the occasional mirror-like mountain lake.

      As Jayne drove her rental car up the winding highway, she was amazed at how different everything looked now. So idyllic and tranquil, as if nothing sinister ever happened here, or could ever happen here.

      She was so sore from her hellish mountain climb in Spain yesterday that her right foot occasionally shook on the accelerator pedal. As she turned the steering wheel, she glanced at the back of her hands—the ugly scratches on her skin looked like she might have tried to pick up a very unfriendly cat. Only gloves would cover that up.

      As her clothes were all but ruined, she had bought some new ones at the airport shops. Now she was wearing simple, straight blue jeans, a black cardigan over an emerald green top, and gray suede sneakers. She wanted to blend in with the other tourists here as much as possible.

      The tranquil summer Alps environment did relax her a little bit. While she was standing in line at the airport waiting to rent the car, she had read Prentice Montjoy’s online review of The Californian, which said pretty much the same thing he’d told her in person, but also praised the restaurant décor and atmosphere in his guarded way. Those four and a half stars were precious. At least something in her life was going right.

      She’d at least managed to stop thinking about Rob’s parents and the nasty idea Beatrice had sprung on her over the phone.

      Have you ever considered that it might be Rob’s parents sending these letters? His mother, specifically?

      During the flight here, she kept telling herself it wasn’t possible. Lord and Lady Astor were too cultured and sophisticated to engage in such debauchery...

      Or were they?

      What did she know about the private affairs of these obscenely rich, upper crust British people? She was an ordinary, middle class girl from Kansas, and still a little naive in the ways of the world. Or at least, she had been before she’d gotten to know Eleanor and Celeste Sotheby.

      How far would these uber-rich people go to achieve the outcome they wanted, particularly when it concerned the family name, reputation, marriage, wills, and so on? Did Rob’s parents loathe her so much that they would actually stoop so low to get their son away from her?

      Again, Beatrice’s voice chattered in her mind. It would also be clever from a financial point of view…the cash would just be flowing in a circle, staying in the Astor family…

      No, no, no, no, Jayne muttered aloud. She vowed to hold the terrible thoughts about Rob’s parents in check while she was here in Switzerland. Beatrice was certainly right—it was a possibility and something to consider, but not likely unless there was some real evidence to back it up. As far as Jayne knew, neither of them were aware that she had impersonated Celeste to cover the secret pregnancy…then again, maybe, at the end, when Eleanor began to lose her mind, she had told them. It would certainly explain their dislike for her...

      But Jayne’s goal on this trip was to either find some concrete confirmation that Eleanor Sotheby was indeed deceased, or track the woman down and deal with her.

      She needed to stay focused on that.

      Chapter 2

      Painful memories rushed back at Jayne as she turned into the entrance of the Leo Trippi luxury chalets where she and Robert had stayed.

      Since it was low season in the Alps resort, the whole area seemed almost uninhabited compared to how it had been when she and Rob had come here on their fateful skiing holiday.

      She found a parking space right in front of the resort’s main entrance, and then rolled her carry-on towards the reception building. Despite it being summer, the temperature wasn’t more than seventy degrees, with a chilly breeze that raised goose bumps on her underneath the cardigan.

      Jayne entered the posh, tastefully furnished reception area, and a handsome middle-aged clerk immediately said, Good afternoon. May I help you? He spoke with a cultured European accented, giving her a million dollar smile.

      She smiled back and rolled her suitcase up to the desk. I would like to rent Chalet Number Eight for one night.

      You do not have a reservation? he said, glancing at his computer screen.

      No, but it’s not exactly the busiest time of year, is it?

      You have friends or family joining you, I suppose… He clicked some keys on his computer.

      No, it’s just me.

      He glanced back at her, surprised. You are aware that Number Eight is a six bedroom unit, with private cinema, sauna, hot tub—

      Yes I know, I’ve stayed in it before. She set her credit card and passport on the desk. I just want it for one night.

      The clerk nodded, more than happy to take her money, and began checking her in.

      * * *

      Jayne reached the front door of the chalet alone, having to practically beat away the bellhop who tried to help her with her one small suitcase.

      Folded in her sweaty hand was the credit card receipt—all the clerk had done was put a hold on the deposit, but Jayne had been afraid even that would blow the limit on her account. The chalet was ridiculously expensive, but worth a one-night investigative stay, she reasoned.

      Start at the scene of the crime, she thought, as she slid the plastic room key into the door reader. One night here was surely a drop in the bucket compared to the amount of money that Robert was paying Schröder.

      When she stepped inside the chalet, the familiar smell of cedar filled her nose and triggered more unpleasant memories. She slowly walked through the ground floor of the chalet, those horrific last few minutes she was here rushing back at her like a bad dream.

      She glanced at the living room floor, at the spot where Eleanor had kneed Robert in the chest, and his head had slammed against the coffee table. And, then, moments later, Eleanor was on top of her, snarling like a rabid animal.

      Jayne unconsciously raised her hand to her cheek, remembering how her crazed biological mother had scratched her face.

      She shivered and moved on through the downstairs, which was quiet as a tomb. Stopping momentarily in the hallway outside the bathroom door, she mustered up her courage and stepped into the room.

      She could almost see herself and Robert standing side by side, next to the hot tub, after Eleanor had forced them both to strip naked. And Eleanor sneakily removing the passport from Jayne’s purse and substituting Celeste’s, so that when Jayne’s body was found, it would be mistakenly identified as her twin sister’s…

      Jayne shuddered again and glanced across the large, elegantly furnished bathroom, at the sink. The blow dryer that Eleanor had tried to electrocute them with was still there, or one exactly like it, sitting in a quaint wicker basket along with some other sundries.

      Enough, she muttered, moving quickly back out into the hallway. This is too masochistic, she thought, and reminded herself she was here on a mission.

      She walked back through the living room and went over to the sliding glass door that led outside, to the deck. Of course, there was no snow covering the deck’s wooden flooring, and she slid open the door and stepped outside. The breeze was much stronger here, seeming to come up from the gorge, and again she felt goose bumps on her arms.

      In her mind’s eye, she could still see Eleanor darting out the open door and leaping into the air, with both hands supporting her on the railing, like a gymnast, disappearing into the nothingness below.

      She walked straight over to the part of the railing Eleanor had sailed over, and she gazed over into the abyss. Instead of a gulch carpeted in blinding white snow, the steeply sloping crevasse was green with pine trees and patches of grass. It dropped off almost straight down, and Jayne had to take a small step back because the sudden view of the vast, open valley, and the looming snow-capped peaks far in the distance, made her dizzy.

      She cautiously moved closer, looking straight down over the edge, butterflies in her stomach. Her hands gripped the railing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She leaned out a little farther, trying to see underneath the deck.

      The police had told her that it wasn’t clear whether Eleanor had intentionally tried to commit suicide, or if she was unaware of the drop and thought she would land in a snow bank right underneath the deck, and could somehow escape.

      Jayne wanted to see what was underneath the deck, but of course climbing over the railing to get a better look was out of the question.

      Then she had a better idea. She pulled out her phone, opened the camera app and set it in Movie mode, then squatted down and put her arm in between the rails, all the way up to the shoulder, until she was lying on her side. As she did this, her whole body protested, especially the tender muscles in her thighs. Careful not to drop the phone—that would be the end of it if it slipped from her hand—she pressed the start button, heard the beep, and then slowly moved it around in a semicircle, hopefully making a video of the entire underside of the deck.

      When she finished, she sat in a slightly more comfortable cross-legged position on the wooden floor and reviewed the result. There was nothing under the platform but a number of thick wooden supporting beams that were cemented into solid rock which slanted down at a steep angle, to the very top of the crevasse.

      Could Eleanor have somehow grabbed onto one of those beams right after she went over the rail?

      Impossible, Jayne thought—she had seen Eleanor sail over the side with her own eyes, her body flying far out into empty space with the momentum she’d built up during the sprint across the deck.

      That was, unless Eleanor had planned it all out and had a rope or bungee cord or some other safety device that she’d grabbed hold of, where she would have been able to scramble up under the deck and then somehow escape, with everyone thinking she’d plunged to her certain death…

      No way, Jayne thought. Eleanor was clever, but not that clever. It would take a gymnast to pull that off.

      Her instincts told her that her biological mother had come to the chalet on an angry impulse, had been at her wit’s end, and when she failed to accomplish her goal in killing her biological daughter and would-be son-in-law, she wanted to end it all rather than go to jail.

      With a grunt, Jayne climbed to her feet and gazed over the railing again, remembering how the crevasse had looked when it was covered in deep snow—then, even the trees had been half-buried and hard to make out.

      Could Eleanor have landed in one of them, the branches breaking her fall, and then landed in one of the snowbanks?

      Yes, Jayne said. She felt more confident of that possibility as she actually saw the gorge again in real life.

      It was definitely possible. Not at all probable, but certainly possible.

      It was time to go talk to the St. Moritz police and find out exactly where and how they’d searched.

      Chapter 3

      The St. Moritz Police Station, or Kantonpolizei St. Moritz, as it was called in the local language, was located in a modern little three story building on the hill overlooking Lake St. Moritz, not far from the center of the village.

      A new set of unpleasant memories rushed back at Jayne as she drove around the narrow streets above and below the police headquarters, looking for a parking space. After the incident at the chalet, both she and Robert had been interrogated separately for a couple of hours, and then together. At about four a.m., they were driven back to the resort but told not to leave St. Moritz until further notice, and a uniformed policeman was assigned to the chalet to make sure they didn’t go anywhere. By then, the forensics team had finished their work inside and out on the deck.

      One of the things that Robert and Jayne had been smart enough to do, even though there had been no time to collaborate, was to keep mum about Celeste Sotheby being pregnant or Jayne impersonating her. They had both explained to the police that Lady Eleanor Sotheby was hell bent on having her daughter Celeste marry Robert Astor, so that Robert and his wealthy family would be obligated to bail her out of her dire financial trouble, and that when Jayne had spoiled her plans for that, Eleanor was furious. Robert later told Jayne that it was fortunate that the police didn’t know any more than that, because it would have complicated matters. Jayne wholeheartedly agreed.

      In any case, their two stories matched perfectly and the forensics evidence collected at the chalet corroborated everything they had told the police. It was the chief of police, Colonel Walter Hens, who had put forth the most plausible theory about why Eleanor had intended to substitute Jayne’s passport with Celeste’s—he discovered, after making some calls, that Celeste had a large trust fund set up by her long-deceased stepfather, and that upon her death, the entire contents—many millions worth of stocks and bonds—would go to her mother, Eleanor Sotheby. Since Celeste had been missing at the time all this happened, Colonel Hens assumed that Eleanor might have murdered her and disposed of the body. Celeste’s death by electrocution in the hot tub with Robert in Switzerland would have indeed appeared as an accident, and working fast with a high paid lawyer, Eleanor Sotheby might well have absconded with the money before anyone figured out what had really happened.

      But then Celeste was located, somewhere in France, alive and well. She asked that the police not reveal her whereabouts to anyone, including Robert and Jayne.

      Robert’s parents showed up in St. Moritz the following day and were somehow able to convince Colonel Hens to declare Eleanor’s actions a cut-and-dried suicide and to drop any further investigation of the incident at the chalet. What was the point? The woman was dead now and couldn’t be prosecuted, and Celeste Sotheby was no longer missing. The arrangement was handled privately, between Lord Astor and the police chief. Jayne had heard that the Swiss were incorruptible, so she assumed that Hens had agreed because he thought it was in the best interest of the resort, to avoid bad publicity which might hurt tourism.

      Jayne finally found a parking space near the lake, and she sat there in the car for a moment, trying to clear her head of all the swirling, troubling thoughts from the past. She had to get her act together—she was about to talk to the police again, after all this time, and she had to be careful. The last thing she wanted them to know was that she and Robert were being blackmailed. She had considered posing as Celeste again, like she’d done at Les Fleurs, but since she would be talking to law enforcement personnel, she was afraid she might be asked for identification.

      She locked the car and headed up the hill towards the small police station. By the time she reached it and stepped inside the lobby, her legs were trembling, and she was badly short of breath. She had forgotten that she was now at a very high altitude and the air was much thinner—she would have to adjust. St. Moritz was almost six thousand feet above sea level.

      Is Colonel…Hens…in? she wheezed to the short-haired female cop at the desk.

      Do you have appointment? the officer said. She spoke in a thick German accent, barely looking at Jayne—she was typing some kind of report on a computer.

      No, I don’t. Jayne took a couple of more breaths. I’m here about a case from last year—my name is Jayne Clark?

      The desk cop looked at her blankly. Colonel Hens does not see people vithout an appointment. No exceptions.

      Can you please just tell him I’m here? Tell him I’m Jayne Clark, Lady Eleanor Sotheby’s daughter.

      Apparently the title Lady caught the cop’s attention. She glanced at Jayne’s outfit, then picked up the phone and pushed a button. After a moment she started speaking German. Jayne heard the two names rattled off among the harsh-sounding gibberish.

      The cop hung up the phone, looking surprised. Yes, he vill see you—go up ze stairs and turn left.

      * * *

      A moment later, Hens’ secretary ushered Jayne into the plushly furnished office. The colonel was a tall, slender man in his fifties, looking a little thinner in his well-cut blue uniform than Jayne remembered.

      Ms. Clark, he said, smiling graciously, and he stepped around his desk to shake her hand. To what do I owe this great pleasure?

      Jayne smiled back uneasily. I wanted to—

      Please, please, sit down. He rushed in front of her to turn a swiveling leather guest chair in her direction. Would you like some coffee or tea?

      No, thank you, she said, seating herself. She now remembered how warm and polite he was, which wasn’t a surprise—as the head man here, he probably was as much politician as policeman.

      He settled back into his desk chair, still smiling, and waiting for her to continue. There were a number of civic awards on the wall behind him, along with photos of him standing with politicians and a few Hollywood celebrities who often frequented St. Moritz.

      I’m here about the death of my mother. My biological mother, I mean. Eleanor Sotheby.

      That was a tragic incident, I am so sorry, Ms. Clark… He glanced at his computer, clicked on the mouse, scrolled, clicked again, then looked back at her.

      She wondered if he had pulled up a case file.

      Jayne had carefully prepared her story in advance. I’m here because, well, we want some closure.

      Closure? Hens looked confused. I am not sure I understand…English is not my native language.

      You speak it like a native. Brownie points never hurt, she thought.

      He smiled again. You are too kind.

      What I meant is, it’s rather awkward that my mother’s…remains…were never found.

      Ah, I see.

      She had some very specific burial requirements in her will.

      The colonel nodded with understanding.

      It’s very unsettling, Jayne went on, to have her just disappear and never find out what happened to her.

      Yes, but she did not simply ‘disappear.’ Hens glanced at his computer screen again—apparently he did have the case files, or a summary, open. She committed suicide—she jumped off the terrace, into the crevasse.

      Yes, I’m well aware of that—I saw her do it, if you remember.

      Yes, he said, reading something else on the screen. He looked back at Jayne. Forgive me for having to review the case details. He hesitated, looking her over. I am a little uncertain about the purpose of your visit…

      We want to know for certain that she died. I—do you think there’s any possibility that she’s still alive, that she could have somehow survived the fall?

      The colonel frowned. No, I regret to say. Impossible.

      Jayne pulled out her phone, opened the video she’d made, careful to keep the backs of her hands down so he didn’t notice the ugly scratches she’d gotten yesterday. She started the video playing and slid the phone across the desk to him. I wonder if she could have somehow hidden under the deck and escaped.

      He frowned again, looking at the video, then back at Jayne’s face. Where did you get this?

      I made it a little while ago. I’m staying at the chalet right now, the same unit.

      Hens’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then he chuckled. You are conducting your own investigation, Ms. Clark?

      Jayne shrugged. I would hardly call it an investigation. I’m just trying to find out exactly what happened to my mother. How can you be so sure she’s actually deceased unless you’ve found some evidence?

      Now his expression changed to one of curiosity. Why are you asking me this? Do you have some reason to think she may still be alive?

      No, Jayne said, but she thought she said this a split second too quickly.

      Hens narrowed his eyes. Someone has been threatening you anonymously or—?

      No, no, Jayne said. It’s just an issue with our family. We want closure.

      Hens looked back at his computer screen. By family, you mean yourself and your sister…

      Jayne fought the urge not to squirm in her chair. Yes. She hadn’t expected him to dig into so much detail.

      Glancing once more at the screen, he said, From what I see from our records, Eleanor Sotheby was your biological mother but you were given up for adoption at birth, and you hadn’t even met her until a few months before this tragic incident occurred.

      Yes, that’s true.

      Hens gazed at Jayne for a moment. So why this sudden interest in ‘closure’? It seems to me you hardly knew the woman, not to mention the fact that you claim she tried to murder you and your fiancé.

      She did try to murder us.

      Yes, and the evidence showed that to be true, so we dropped any further investigation. So what is this business about ‘closure’?

      Jayne thought fast. "I’m mainly here representing my twin sister, Celeste. She was close to Eleanor, but she wasn’t here in St. Moritz when the incident happened, and she keeps asking me why our mother’s remains haven’t been recovered."

      Jayne said, Where exactly did you search for her?

      The colonel didn’t need to look at the records to answer. We searched the area of the mountain several hundred feet below the terrace, including the area directly under the deck, as you just showed me in your video. We are the police—we think of things like that, too.

      Jayne ignored the jab. How did you search? Using what kind of equipment, and so forth?

      The colonel snickered. Ms. Clark, do you really believe your mother could have survived a plunge off a mountain top?

      Well, I just think—

      If she had managed to survive—which would have been a miracle—she would have had to crawl to the nearest village,—another miracle—unless someone happened upon her in that snowstorm, a skier, perhaps. Don’t you think we would know about that?

      Jayne wanted to say, You have no idea what Eleanor Sotheby is capable of, but didn’t, of course.

      If we found her, Hens added, she would be behind bars right now for attempted murder.

      Can you just tell me exactly what search activities you conducted?

      The colonel sighed, as if his patience was being tried. The weather prevented any helicopter flight around that area, because the sudden updrafts and downdrafts can be fatal—helicopters and snowstorms don’t mix. So we sent search teams to rappel down the face of the crevasse, checking treetops, etc. They searched for twenty-four hours straight and found nothing. But the snowfall was so heavy that the…remains were probably covered in a few hours.

      I see. All of which leads to one big question mark.

      Are you implying we did not do our job properly?

      Not at all. I simply think that assuming my mother is dead is jumping to a conclusion.

      Even after all this time?

      Even after all this time.

      The colonel wet his lips. I am sure you are aware that your fiancé’s family put a great deal of pressure on us to drop any investigation and to assume your mother intentionally committed suicide. The Astors are a prominent family in England.

      Yes, I am.

      Since all the evidence supported the information you gave us, we saw no reason why we should not comply with the Astors’ wishes. Hens studied her for a moment, his brow furrowed. Is there some legal issue, perhaps with her will, that requires you to have some concrete evidence of her death?

      No. I told you, it’s just a matter of being sure about it ourselves.

      My dear Ms. Clark, I do not like having to speak about these, how shall we say?—gruesome details—with family members. It is inappropriate and awkward, not to mention insensitive.

      I can take it.

      He looked surprised, and he chuckled. Fair enough—I will be blunt. Your mother is dead, gone, departed, no longer in this world. Even if she would have slammed into some trees first to slow her descent, and she landed in the snow and survived, she would have quickly frozen to death due to the extremely cold temperatures.

      I agree.

      You—do? Hens said, confused.

      "Yes. My question is, why hasn’t her body ever been found?"

      At this point, I doubt there would be much…material to recover. With a grimace, he said, The weather has been warm for a long time now, the snow has thawed, there are animals…

      But at least there should be some bones, shouldn’t there? A skeleton?

      Yes, but—

      And what about jewelry and clothing? I clearly remember her wearing a necklace, a bracelet, and some rings that night.

      All your points are valid, Ms. Clark, but I must remind you that in the wintertime the Alps are covered in glaciers, huge frozen masses that are almost living, breathing organisms, constantly in motion, carrying whatever…material they collect quite long distances. There are frequent avalanches—

      Wouldn’t her remains mainly travel downhill, into the valley? As Jayne said this, she picked up her phone and looked at the map of this area, which was already open.

      This time she hadn’t been careful with how she’d positioned her hands, and Hens noticed the scratches

      Yes, it is true that the remains would move mostly downhill. And one day, Ms. Clark, some unfortunate hiker will stumble across them in the valley at the bottom of the crevasse, which covers several kilometers. It could be months, years, even decades. The colonel paused. My advice to you, and to your sister, is to move on with your lives and forget about this aspect of this unfortunate incident. Consider your mother lost at sea, if you will—you should not ever expect to find any remains.

      * * *

      Jayne left the St. Moritz police headquarters frustrated and angry. She didn’t know exactly what she’d hoped to accomplish by talking to Colonel Hens—she’d thought that maybe he would at least inform her that some item of Eleanor’s clothing had been found, or maybe a ring or her watch—something that might at least hint that she indeed tumbled all the way down the mountainside and was dead. That would eliminate her as a suspect in this blackmailing nightmare as far as Jayne was concerned.

      She also thought maybe she could get Hens to organize another search for the remains, since it was summer and the weather was good, or that she could narrow down the search area.

      But she was no closer now to confirming Eleanor’s death than she was before she talked to the man. She thought she was actually worse off, because she felt she might have made him suspicious.

      When she reached her rental car, she unlocked it and stood there with the door open, gazing across the beautiful, perfectly still Lake St. Moritz, the mountains reflecting on the surface from the far side, the sky an idyllic deep blue, with fluffy white clouds gliding across.

      She pulled out her phone and, squinting in the sunlight, studied the map of the area behind the Leo Trippi resort.

      The nearest village to the bottom of the crevasse was a village called Zelitz.

      Jayne searched for information on it, but found very little about it. Merely one of many hundreds of such hamlets scattered throughout these parts.

      On the spot, she made a decision.

      It was a crazy idea, but she had no choice—she had come this far, so she might as well take advantage of the opportunity.

      She was going to spend the rest of the day searching for Eleanor, or Eleanor’s remains, herself. She knew the flight schedule and could easily get back to Oxford mid-afternoon to prepare for the grand opening.

      * * *

      When Jayne Clark left Colonel Hens’ office, he sat there at his desk for about thirty seconds, debating about what to do.

      He picked up his telephone and called one of his underlings.

      A young woman just stepped out of my office. Name is Jayne Clark, American. She says she’s staying at one of the Trippi chalets.

      Yes…?

      Have one of your people tail her until further notice.

      Jayne Clark—isn’t that Lady what’s-her-name’s daughter, the one who jumped off the balcony last winter?

      Yes, the very same.

      What’s going on?

      I don’t know yet. Observe her movements and activities and report back to me.

      Chapter 4

      Jayne drove around the village of St. Moritz until she spotted a sporting goods store that seemed to specialize in hiking and camping equipment, with tents and other items displayed in the windows. She refused to venture out hiking unprepared, like she had in Spain.

      When she went through the shop’s door, a bell tinkled overhead. She found one earthy-looking German girl managing the place.

      The clerk smiled and stepped from around the cash register. She was wearing a short denim jumpsuit over a V-neck shirt, her long, curly blonde hair woven in a thick braid that went halfway down her back and looked as coarse as a piece of rope.

      "Guten Tag. Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"

      "Guten Tag. She started to speak French after the greeting, but changed her mind. Do you speak English, I hope?"

      The clerk smiled. Of course.

      I’ve decided to go hiking today, but I forgot to bring my gear along.

      Today? the girl said, glancing out the window.

      Jayne looked out the window, too—with the lovely weather, she hadn’t even thought to check the forecast.

      "Forty percent chance of…Gewitter." the girl said, apparently not knowing the English word.

      Thunderstorms?

      "Ja."

      Having grown up in Wichita, Kansas, smack in the middle of America’s Tornado Alley, Jayne knew a thing or two about thunderstorms. I’ll risk it.

      What items do you need to buy?

      Jayne smiled. Everything.

      * * *

      The clerk, who apparently owned the store with her boyfriend, was delighted to sell Jayne everything she needed. She scurried around the store, her Birkenstock sandals clopping across the wooden floor. She made recommendations and helped Jayne pick out a backpack, two moisture-wicking tops, two pairs of hiking trousers, a lined windbreaker, socks, hiking boots, lightweight gloves, two water bottles, a dozen energy bars, and various other accessories, including some bandages in case the new shoes rubbed blisters on her feet.

      Oh, and a hat and some sunscreen, Jayne said, remembering how sunburned she might have gotten yesterday.

      Jayne felt a little sick as the girl scanned all the tags. She prayed the total wouldn’t blow her credit card limit.

      She wandered around the rest of the store, browsing through all the sporting goods equipment, her mind in brainstorm mode. She needed to narrow down the search area around the crevasse, but how?

      She stopped when she saw a display of kites in the corner, and her eyes zeroed in on a basket filled with large rolls of twine.

      She picked one up and read the label.

      150 METERS.

      A meter was about three feet, so each roll held was roughly six hundred feet of string.

      She picked up four of the rolls, then looked around the store and found another corner with some random tools and accessories, where she spotted a roll of duct tape.

      She grabbed it, too, and took it and all the string to the cash register.

      The clerk glanced up at her face, as if she wondered what the hell she was going to do with it all, but silently scanned those items, too.

      The total will be—

      How much are those? Jayne said, pointing at a display case. She had just spotted a compact pair of binoculars.

      One hundred and twenty euros.

      Jayne winced at the price, but they might come in handy. I’ll take them, too.

      * * *

      Jayne held her breath while the clerk ran the credit card purchase through, and was relieved—and a little amazed—when the little machine started printing out the receipt.

      The blonde girl loaded everything into a large plastic bag and handed it to her.

      Now, if you can spare another minute, Jayne said, I need some hiking advice.

      Certainly. With pride, she said, I know the area very well.

      I want to hike the gorge that’s behind the Leo Trippi resort.

      Ah, that is part of the Muottas Muragi. Very beautiful.

      Is there a hiking trial there?

      "Ja. The girl stepped over to a rack that Jayne hadn’t noticed, pulled out a map, and unfolded it. The trail goes down the mountain but as you can see…" the girl made a snaking pattern with her hand.

      It zigzags, Jayne said.

      "Ja. Zigzag all the way down to the bottom."

      Is it steep?

      The girl shook her head, her braid swinging behind her. It is an easy hike.

      How long does it take?

      Four, five hours. She pointed at the map. "There is a village

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