Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

Fred O'Connor sat in the parlor, a Sue Grafton novel in his lap, snoring softly. It was one-thirty. The return trip from Grand Junction had taken Dean twice the usual two hours, a slalom of ditched autos, snow plows, ice and stopped traffic. It snowed for the entire trip, but all but a few other drivers had the sense to remain home for the last fifty miles. Fred awoke, rubbing his eyes.

"Just nodded off a second ago," he grumbled.

"You didn't have to wait up," Dean said, as he slumped into a corner chair.

"I figured you needed bringing up to date," he muttered. "Cynthia called from Denver. She made it that far at least. Sheriff Weller spent half the night here. He wants to talk to you."

"That's no surprise. Jake probably thinks I kicked Shipton over the side. How did the accident happen?"

"There's a bunch of different stories, but I'm not sure anyone knows. I was downstream, on the other side of the bridge, watching Penny and by the time I noticed the crowd and got there, they were getting ready to haul Shipton out. He was climbing alone, something I guess you're not supposed to do, especially if you're a beginner like Shipton was. Mountain Rescue had him on a litter, all wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. They took Edith along, too."

"Where's everyone else? Ryland and Donnie passed me on the way to Grand Junction."

"The others are upstairs. The climbers are checking out of Bird Song tomorrow. Gladys is happy as hell about Shipton's swan dive. She darned near did a jig and couldn't wait to write about it-didn't even take time to dream it. I'm not sure Claire Quincy isn't just as pleased as Gladys. Effie is plain bewildered."

The front door Dean had neglected to lock opened and Sheriff Weller strolled in without knocking.

Dean scowled. "You know, Jake, at least you could give it a rap. That doesn't seem out of order, wouldn't you say?"

"I saw your car. I knew you were back."

"Is your watch broken? It's pushing two o'clock in the morning. I just drove two hundred very nasty miles and I'm going to bed. Why don't you come back in the morning? Say, about eleven?"

Weller ignored Dean and his sarcasm as he flopped down on the sofa. "Evening, Mr. O'Connor. Staying out of trouble?"

"Always," Fred answered.

Weller turned to Dean, "I thought you might be interested in the welfare of your guests."

"From what I hear, one ex-guest doesn't have any more welfare and the welfare of the rest of the group can wait until morning."