The Fall That Kills You Page 3

  The muscles in his arms and his chest strain the fabric of his dark blue uniform shirt. The look on his face is his serious cop face. I know trouble when I see it. Trouble looks like that face.

  “Kevin, hi. Good to see ya.”

  “Might not think that when you hear why I’ve come over.”

  That voice is his father’s as well. Pure Aussie, with long vowels and consonants slurred in all the right places. The leather in his duty belt creaks as he walks up to the counter. I don’t like that he has to carry a gun to work, because I am his mother after all. At the same time, I’m glad he has it. He’s saved my life more times than I can count. I’ve returned the favor once or twice.

  “Oh wait,” I say to him, now that thoughts of life-threatening escapes are rolling around in my mind. “This isn’t one of those things, is it? Am I going to have to go into witness protection or change my last name or something?”

  “I hope not,” he says, a hint of a smile easing the lines on that face. “I like you as Dell Powers.”

  Behind him, Lachlan makes a gagging motion with his finger down his throat. The ghost may not say a whole lot, but he sure gets his point across. However, Malik Brewster may have a point. Some people may need a refresher in manners.

  With a glare from me, Lachlan fades back into the wall.

  Kevin is oblivious to the exchange between me and our resident con man ghost. He knows I can see ghosts. I’ve told him that much. Still, he doesn’t need to know every time one’s hanging about. He’s obviously got something on his mind just now that’s more important anyway. I’m waiting for him to get on with that. Leaning his hands down on the front counter, he glances over at the check-in book. We’re practically face to face. “You have a guest named Mark Anderson staying here, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” I don’t have any reason not to tell him. It’s not like there’s some sort of sacred Innkeeper-guest privilege I have to uphold. Besides. All he’d have to do is sit in the dining room for a few hours and wait for Mark Anderson to come down from his room. I’ve never understood why people can’t just be honest with the police anyway. Saves ages of time all the way round, if you ask me. “He’s upstairs. Why?”

  “Which room?”

  “Kevin, if you’re going to arrest one of my guests—again—I think I should know what your about before you go up and cause a scene, don’t you?”

  “I’m not arresting him.”

  “But you need to see him?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  I can’t help but feel a little frustrated. “What is it, then?”

  “It’s his brother.”

  “You arrested his brother?” I remember Mark saying something about his brother being delayed. “Is that why he isn’t here yet, because you arrested him?”

  “No, Mom. I didn’t arrest him. It’s worse than that.”

  “Kevin, what are you talking about?”

  Even as I ask, I realized I knew what he was going to say.

  “Mark’s brother isn’t coming here, Mom. Ever. He’s dead.”

  Chapter 2

  “I don’t understand.”

  It was the fourth—no, fifth—time that Mark Anderson had said that. Truth be told, I was feeling rather the same way.

  Mark and I and Kevin were sitting in Mark’s room. Or rather, Mark was sitting on the bed, and I was sitting in a cushioned armchair in the corner. Kevin was standing with his thumbs hooked into his belt over by the door. We’d been here for an hour or better while Kevin told Mark the circumstances of his brother’s death. I hadn’t planned on staying for any of it. I wanted to just drop Kevin at the door and then go back downstairs because I’ve had enough of murder and death in my time, that’s for sure. But Mark had asked me to stay, and Kevin had asked me the same thing silently with a glance, and so here I am.

  If my being there made Mark feel more comfortable for some reason, then my son wanted me to indulge him while he told his tale and asked his questions.

  I’ve heard the story three times now, with varying degrees of detail, just like Mark has. His brother’s name was Craig. He was found late last night by the Tasmania Police at the base of Hartz Peak. A couple of hikers had stumbled across his body and called it in. Like I think I mentioned before, those mountains are just to the west of us. In fact, to get there, people turn off the Huon Highway at Geeveston, and drive right through Lakeshore.

  Craig Anderson was supposed to meet his brother Mark here, at the Pine Lake Inn. The Federal Police believe he decided to go climbing first. Drove past the Inn, and went up Hartz Peak. He got to the top, and slipped, and fell over the edge.

  There hadn’t been much left of him, if I’m reading between the lines of what Kevin’s saying to us, but apparently it took an ID in Craig’s wallet to identify him. That, and the fact that his rented green Jeep was in the car park.

  “That’s his car, right?” Kevin asks him. “It was rented under his name at the airport. Green Jeep with a black roll cage?”

  “What?” Mark blinks, trying to focus on the question. “I have no idea. We arrived in Tasmania separately. The car I rented is outside the Inn. Does that help?”

  Kevin nods patiently. “Let’s set that aside for now, Mark. Anyway, that’s why it took the news so long to get to you. They had to track you down. Imagine their surprise when they tried to contact Craig’s next of kin in America, only to find out you weren’t in the States at all but right here at the Pine Lake Inn. That’s when they reached out to my office to make the death notification.”

  “We came here on vacation,” Mark says. “I just… I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t either,” I had to say. Something about all of this is bothering me. “There hasn’t been a climbing death in the Hartz Mountains since, well, I don’t know since when.”

  “Never,” Kevin confirms for me. “There’s never been one. Near as I can tell Mark’s brother was the first. Even the sons of Osborne Geeves back in 1897 died from hypothermia, back when they were first prospecting the mountain. Not from a fall.”

  Good old Osborne Geeves was the founder of Geeveston. His family was one of the important ones in Tasmania back in the day. Right now, Mark couldn’t care less about the history Kevin and I are bantering about. The only family he’s got on his mind is his dead brother.

  “My brother fell?” There’s a crack in his voice on that last word. “Off a mountain? He fell off a mountain?”

  Kevin looked at me, but I can only shrug. Mark was hit pretty hard by this news, and it’s like his brain shut down. He just isn’t hearing anything. “Yes, Mister Anderson. Craig fell.”

  “Can I… see him? Can I take him home? They’ll let me take him home, won’t they?”

  “Yes, eventually. For now, he’s already been transported to the Royal Hospital in Hobart. You’ll need to contact the Federal Police for more information, but I can help with that, whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’ll need to identify him.” Mark blinks and shudders, obviously upset at the very thought. “I mean, won’t I have to identify him? Isn’t that how it works?”

  My son’s expression tightens. “That’s not going to be necessary. From what I understand… well to put it bluntly, there’s nothing left to recognize.”

  Mark stares at him, his face slowly going pale. “Oh.”

  “The dolerite in those mountains is pretty unforgiving. Your brother fell quite a ways.”

  “Oh,” Mark says again.

  “Kevin,” I say in a loud whisper. “It’s definitely time to change the topic.”

  “Er, right. Mark, did your brother have a lot of experience with climbing?”

  “Some. Sure. We both did. We’re from New York State, right up by the Adirondacks. There’s all kinds of mountains to climb there. Whiteface. Coney. Azure. Lots of mountains. My brother loved climbing. He must have gone climbing. Sure. He must have.”

  “And you, Mister Anderson? Do ya like to climb?”

  “I do, yeah, I guess. Not as much a
s Craig. We were planning on hiking Jacob’s Ladder over in… where is that? I can’t remember how to pronounce the name.”

  “Ben Lomond National Park,” I answer. Some of the steepest mountain climbing in Tasmania can be found there.

  “Right. That place.” Mark waves a helpless hand. “So, sure. We like to climb mountains. I might never do it again, I can tell you that. Not if Craig died from a fall.”

  Kevin nods, and even though he’s not writing any notes down I know he’s memorizing every word, and every syllable that Mark speaks. “So why did Craig get into town before ya? Just because he liked to climb mountains more?”

  Mark’s head swivels around fast at that. Mine did, too. The way I remembered it, Mark had told me that his brother was running late. That he’d been delayed.

  How did he get here ahead of Mark without him knowing it?

  “What are you saying, Senior Sergeant?” Mark’s voice was cautious. He knew there was more to that innocent question just like I did.

  “I saw the sign-in book at the front desk. Seems like ya got in just today. Your brother was climbing up Hartz Peak yesterday. Didn’t the two of ya travel together?”

  “No, actually, we didn’t. We had to buy separate plane tickets. I arrived at the airport in Hobart today. The last thing I heard from Craig was that he was going to be delayed for a day. Remember, Dell? Remember when I came in and told you my brother was going to be late?”

  “That’s true, Kevin.” I remember that clearly, although I’m not sure it means anything. “He asked me to put his brother through to his room when he called.”

  “Did he? Call, I mean?”

  My son’s question is simple enough. “Well, no. Of course not. If he had, I woulda told you.”

  His smile, at least, is reassuring. “I know, Mom. Mister Anderson—”

  “Please, call me Mark.”

  “Okay. Mark. Can you show me the message from your brother saying he’d be delayed?”

  Sitting there, Mark’s eyes narrow. “Why? Senior Sergeant, what’s this all about? You’re here to tell me that my brother—”

  His voice catches and he has to stop, and take a breath, and start over.

  “You’re telling me my brother is dead, and now you’re asking me all these questions. I’m upset, and I think I have a right to be, but this is sure beginning to sound like an interrogation.”

  I try to communicate with Kevin, with just a look, that maybe now isn’t the best time for him to be a cop. A man who just lost part of his family needs compassion more than he needs good investigative technique.

  The look Kevin returns to me is something along the lines of What? I’m just being me.

  Too right.

  “This is just routine.” His voice softens, though, and it seems to relax Mark to hear a gentler side of the Lakeshore Senior Sergeant. “The Federal Police could come and ask ya the same questions, but we don’t want ya to have to go through this more than once. Let’s get all the uneasiness outta the way, all right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure, why not,” Mark mumbles. He fishes around in his front pocket and comes out with a mobile phone. “My brother’s dead and you want to look through my texts. Sure.”

  “Just the one, if ya don’t mind,” Kevin says. “I’ll be able to tell the Federal Police what I saw and then if there’s anything else they need… well, no plans of leaving town, right?”

  Mark stares off into the distance. “No. I suppose not. I’ll have to make arrangements to get my brother back home. I don’t even know how to do that. I guess I’m stuck here till I figure all that out.”

  “I can help you with that,” Kevin offers. “No worries. When you’re ready, I mean. Before I leave I’ll give ya the number to the Federal Police and to the hospital where they took your brother. My office number, too. That way, if there’s any questions, I’ll be there to answer them for ya.”

  After a moment, Mark nods, and swipes his phone unlocked. A few more touches brings up the string of text messages. He slides through the list, and then again, and then he shrugs. “I deleted it, I guess.”

  “Did ya now.” Kevin doesn’t look happy about that. Not at all. “Well, no worries. I often delete messages soon as I get them myself. It’s too bad the two of ya missed each other, when here you were, and there he was.”

  Mark’s shoulders slump. His whole body just seems to deflate as the reality of his situation has finally hit home, I suppose. His brother is dead. Here in the Lucky Country, his brother most definitely had run out of luck.

  I remember when I found out that my husband, Richard, had died. I remember when we found out that he had been murdered, and how twisted up inside that had made me feel. Losing someone who is so much a part of your life can be traumatic. Almost a physical pain. It can feel like a piece of you has been cut right off, and no matter how hard you look, you can’t find what’s missing.

  From behind me, where I’m sitting in this chair, I feel the ghostly weight and warmth of an arm resting around my shoulders. That’s my Richard. Still around, still watching out for me. It’s there and gone again, just enough to let me know he’s here.

  My life’s better knowing that he loves me enough to watch over me from the grave, and even more so that he loves me enough to let me move on with my life.

  I wonder if Mark’s brother will come back to him as a ghost as well. Did those two have that much love between them?

  No way for me to ask that question without seeming like a gossip. I’m sure Mark doesn’t want my well-meaning platitudes. Not right now. Give the man some space, I told myself. He’ll need to come to terms with his grief, first.

  Kevin catches my eye, and motions toward the door with a nod of his head. He was thinking the same thing, obviously, and together we slip silently out of Mark’s room. As I was closing the door, I could hear Mark begin to cry. Poor man.

  In the hallway, I give Kevin’s arm a slap and lower my voice to a whisper. “You could’ve been nicer, you know.”

  He rubs at his arm, where I’d hit him, as if his forty-something mother could’ve hurt those rock-hard biceps of his. “I was as nice as I needed to be, thanks. When someone starts lying to me, I don’t usually sit there and ask them to tea.”

  “What? Kevin, he’s a grieving man. You must’ve seen that. You can’t blame him for getting the details mixed up a bit.”

  “Sure, Mom. But in my experience, when someone starts lying right out of the gate like that, they’ve usually got something to hide.” Taking me by my hand he walks us both along the hallway to the top of the stairs going down. The stairs to the top level are at the other end. For the moment, we’re alone. “Mark in there lied about being here to go hiking. I didn’t see a scrap of climbing equipment anywhere in that room. Whether it’s Hartz Peak or Ayers Rock, ever hear of anyone going climbing without at least a backpack? Or a canteen, for the love of God?”

  I thought back to when Mark had checked in. I remember thinking how light he was travelling, for someone coming all the way here from the United States. “Maybe they had just planned on sticking to the walking trails. That doesn’t require anything more than shoe leather.”

  Kevin’s shaking his head even as I say it. “Craig fell from somewhere near the top of Hartz Peak, from what the Federal Cops are telling me. If someone’s going to climb up that far, they bring stuff with them. Even the crazy tourists we get through here bring equipment with them. No, especially the crazy tourists. They usually overdo it. They bring too much, not too little.”

  I have to admit, he’s right. The number of times I’ve seen a tourist walk out of here with everything from a string of piton spikes dangling from their belts, to a full tent stuffed into their backpacks, makes me worry for the fate of the human race. Still, that doesn’t mean that this American tourist wasn’t smarter about hiking than most of the people who came here.

  “You know I trust your instincts, Kevin, but I think you might be looking for trouble where there’s none this time. So, he does
n’t have a lot of climbing gear with him. So what?”

  “So that makes me wonder.” He settles one shoulder up against the wall, looking back down the hall to Mark’s room. “If he wasn’t here to hike, then why was he here? And, why would his brother come a day early but not tell him? Then there’s that whole matter of him deleting the text message from his brother. How’s that make sense?”

  “He’s here for the New Year’s celebration,” I explain. “He told me so himself when he checked in. He was even asking about things he could do here to celebrate. He’s a big fan of Alfonse Calico too, apparently.”

  Kevin chuckles when he hears that. “I didn’t know Calico had any fans in the States.”

  “His solo album did really well. I heard you whistling that one song of his the other day. What’s it called? A Sweeter Side Of Love.”

  “Okay, okay, ya got me there. Fine. There’s probably nothing to this at all, but still. I’m going to look into Mark and his brother. See if anything just sort of stands out for me.”

  “You’ve got your job to do, I suppose. You don’t even know this was anything more than an accident though.”

  “That’s true. So, sure, maybe I’m just so used to things going sideways here in Lakeshore. This could be just an accident.”

  I pat his face lovingly. “You work too hard, Kev.”

  He hugs me, which is something we still do, even now. “I doubt that you’d care about me like ya do, if I didn’t do me job right. After all, I was raised by the great Dell Powers.”

  “Too right,” is what I say to that.

  “So. Thanks for your help in there with Mark. I’ll be heading back to the office. I’ll need to call the Federal Police and fill them in on what I heard but that won’t take long. We still on for dinner tonight?”