Page 31 of Cold and Bitter Snow

“Apology accepted,” she said.

The relief on his face was instantaneous. It made him look ten years younger. His hand found her hand and squeezed it briefly before letting go again.

As they passed the restaurant Laurie came bounding down the stairs. “Have you heard about the train crash?” she said in English. Her shrewd eyes took in Conor’s dirt-covered face. Conor pulled at his black sleeves to cover his hands.

“You’ve been there!” she said excitedly. “What happened? Was it another avalanche?”

Conor shrugged noncommittally. “We should let the police investigate, Laurie.”

“I’m sorry, Laurie, we have to head to the office. We’ll see you later?” Siena said, dragging Conor away.

Realizing she would not get more information from either of them, Laurie ran off to speak to somebody else.

“You do realize ten minutes from now she’ll know more about the crash than anybody else in town, right?” Conor said, smiling.

By now they were standing at the door to the town hall building. “This is me,” she said.

“I’ll go home and get cleaned up. Can I see you later?” Conor asked.

A younger version of herself she might have said no, let him sweat a bit—but if the last months had taught her anything, it was that life was full of surprises. Things could change in an instant, and she didn’t want to be the kind of person who missed out on life because she was busy holding a grudge. She nodded. “What’s your number?” she asked, memorizing it as he told her.

#

Siena

Three hours later Siena had gone through the camera feeds of every single camera on the slopes. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. She’d seen nothing that might help the authorities investigating the train crash.

An hour earlier Montgomery had walked into the office, his face drawn in concern.

“Are you okay, Markus?” she’d asked, using his first name for the first time.

He nodded. “It could have been much worse. The police are coordinating the clean-up on both ends, but nobody’s getting to or out of Le Miroir until tomorrow midday at the earliest.”

Laurent spoke up. “The grocery stores have already run out of milk and eggs. People are worried.”

Montgomery shook his head, groaning. “Let’s spread a message of calm. This is no different from a bad storm, and we get plenty of those every year.”

Siena looked out the window. It’d been snowing—lightly and persistently—since she woke up. Perhaps they’d get that storm as well.

A convoy of Porsche Cayennes lined up outside the gondola lift. Only four this time around. The princess and her retinue exited the vehicles. Siena looked at her watch. It was almost eleven thirty.

Five women and four men stepped out of the cars. The women were all dressed in royal blue except for the princess. Siena recognized her from earlier. She was once again dressed in immaculate white.

Somebody should tell her that’s the worst possible color to wear on the slopes.

One bodyguard stayed with the cars, while the remaining five women and three men walked side by side towards the gondola lift. The last man in line—carrying three pairs of skis—slipped once, twice, then a third time as he struggled to keep up with the group. His handsome face was marred by a scar that went from his eyebrow to his chin.

Marion came up behind her, sniffing delicately.

“Quelle semaine,” she began, sniffing delicately. “First the avalanche, now the train accident. And all while they are here …” she finished, pointing at the departing group. “No wonder Monsieur Laurent has such bad stomach problems.”

Siena nodded noncommittally and went back to her desk to work. Fifteen minutes later she stood up again and paced the room restlessly. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marion’s words.

Siena clicked back to the cameras. She had a sudden idea and clicked on a different sector—the one where she’d seen the crate land. She already knew there were no cameras on that exact spot, but this time she went to look at the cameras over the ridge.

The sped-up black-and-white image was grainy, even worse at night when it relied on infrared. But, finally, she caught sight or something. She slowed down the image to watch it real-time—three a.m. on the night after she’d seen the crate. And there, clear as anything, was the back-end of a snowmobile—dragging something heavy behind it.

Siena moved to the next camera in line but that one was offline. The last recording happened … three days before the avalanche.