Mountain Ice (David Dean Mysteries)

"Let's ask her," Said Fred. But before they could do so, they were interrupted.

Gladys Turnbull, wrapped in a scarlet robe, stuck her head in the room. "Oh, she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "I thought Mrs. Shipton was back." Before they could answer, she turned on her heels and stumbled back to her quarters, diagonally across the hall.

Dean frowned, perturbed at being discovered scrounging through Shipton's belongings, but he continued. However, his endeavors were unsuccessful. The pair returned to the first floor where they located Janet O'Brien dusting the parlor. While she denied any knowledge of her phone number being in Shipton's room, Dean questioned if she was telling the truth. He and Fred retired to Dean's quarters, having made no progress.

"I figure the killer planted the knife, just to throw the cops off the trail," Fred said as he slumped on the edge of the bed. "She cut the rope, then high-tailed it back to the bridge."

"Without being seen by anyone?" Dean asked, more to humor Fred than anything else.

"Maybe she wore a disguise," Fred offered as the phone rang. It was Cynthia.

"She looks terrible," she said when he asked about her mother. "She has all these tubes and wires coming out of her. It was really upsetting. But then she woke up and smiled at me. That was worth the trip. The doctor says the next few hours and days will tell the difference. They are yet to assess the amount of damage to the heart."

"I wish I could be there with you," he answered. He didn't tell her of his escalating concerns over the Shipton case, nor, surprisingly did she ask about it. They spoke for a few moments and she promised to call again in the evening when, perhaps, she'd have more information.

Dean decided to take matters into his own hands. He left Bird Song, telling Janet where he was going and together with Fred, hiked up to the ice park to where Shipton had fallen. The crowds were lighter than yesterday, due to the heavy snowfall making not only climbing difficult, but viewing a wet and laborious task. A yellow police tape blocked off the area where Shipton had belayed for his ill-fated drop. The pair tramped further to the next closest point where they could see his line of descent to the river far below. A large outcropping of rock made it impossible for a climber more than just a few feet below the edge, to see anyone above him. The location was somewhat isolated from the rest of the path and climbing area.