“It’s all right,” Wendy said. “Take it easy. You probably just hit your head.”
In truth, Gabby felt fine, which she shouldn’t have because that was a hell of a tumble. She could have—should have, in fact—broken several bones. Even her board was still attached to her bindings, her feet locked into place.
Just then the ski patrol arrived. Thank God. The first man unclipped his skis and carefully made his way down to her. At her side, he stopped and stared. “You.”
She bolstered her courage to smile at the detective—also ski patrol, it seemed—who only yesterday had told her not to leave town, while they investigated her and the tarot card mess. “Uh, hi. Sorry about all this.”
He snorted. “What the hell was that all about? I saw you start down the mountain. Then you went nuts. That was incredibly irresponsible. You’re lucky to be alive.”
She shuddered, shrank as small as she could, and said, “I don’t know what happened.” She could almost see a sneer forming on his face. “It wasn’t me,” she rushed to add. “I was pushed.”
His gaze sharpened. He studied her, as she lay here, not daring to even breathe deeply, in case that shifted her balance somehow. “Who pushed you?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
She looked up at him and whispered, “A ghost.”
*
“A ghost?” Damon muttered for the umpteenth time, as he paced outside the curtained-off room in the ER area, where everybody, including him, insisted that Gabby be checked over. Although it was just good common sense, it was taking way too long. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “So?”
Just then the white curtain was thrust back in front of him. Gabby sat on the side of the bed, fully dressed and looking completely fine. The doctor, however, stared at her, clearly puzzled. Damon looked from the doctor to the patient and back again, then said, “Well?”
“She’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Not only is she fine but she’s better than fine.”
“How can she be better than fine?” Damon asked in confusion.
“For somebody who took a great tumble, like you all say she did,” the doctor said, “it’s amazing that no damage was done.”
“So you’re just saying that she’s lucky?”
“Maybe lucky,” the doc said slowly.
Damon gritted his teeth, as he waited for the aged doctor to finally cough up whatever bothered him. Dr. Mitchie McGonigi had been in practice for what must be at least fifty years, it seemed—making him, counting all the years in training, close to eighty years old—and the man didn’t seem to be slowing down or inclined to retire. But he had a wealth of experience he wasn’t reticent about putting to use, and today was no different.
Apparently something nagged him about this case, as he continued to study Gabby, and the doc would tell Damon what that was whenever he was good and ready, not a moment before.
Finally the old man released a heavy sigh and said, “She should be bruised. She should be in shock. She should have signs, physical signs, that she went through what she went through.”
“And she doesn’t,” Damon said. “So what does that mean?”
“I don’t know what it means,” he said in frustration. “My brain isn’t quite the same as it used to be, but I think I’ve seen this before.”
“Seen what?” Damon asked in frustration. “So she got lucky and walked away unscathed. We’ve seen that time and time again with many people—from car accidents to any other kind of an injury. This is no different. She’s just lucky.”
What else could it be? He glared at Gabby, who still sat here. As soon as she saw him, she immediately wiped the smile off her face. He upped the wattage of his glare. He wanted her to know that she wouldn’t get away from here without talking to him.
“Well, she’s certainly fine to go home,” the doctor said. He turned back to Gabby and said, “Now, if you get any delayed symptoms, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll be sure to call if anything changes.” She hopped off the bed and tried to brush past the detective.
He shook his head and said, “Oh no, you don’t.”
“I have nothing more to say. I told you that I don’t know what happened.”
“No, I disagree,” he said. “So instead of taking responsibility for going out-of-bounds and almost killing yourself,” he said, “you immediately tried to mock the rest of us by saying a ghost made you do it.”
She appeared slightly tongue-tied, as if not knowing what to say, and he liked that. He hated to think that she was getting off being smug and difficult, when she should be thanking everybody around her for saving her. They all were put into dangerous positions themselves, trying to get her off the mountain.
But the doctor turned to her and said, “Did you say, ghost?”
She flashed a grim smile. “Well, maybe,” she said, but, even to her, her tone sounded lame.
The doc nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s what I remember.”
“That’s what you remember?” Damon asked. “What are you talking about, Doc?”
“It was the other case.”
“What other case?” he snapped, striving for patience but wanting to pull out his hair.
“The one I thought of earlier,” he said in a pensive tone. “It was fifty-plus years ago. … No, maybe even longer. It’s hard to remember the exact dates. I’ll look up the details. But a series of odd murders remind me of something similar, but, like I said, I can’t remember all the details.”
“You do that,” Damon said. He watched as the doctor moved toward his office. Then he returned his attention to Gabby. “Again? Really? A ghost?”
“Look. I wasn’t trying to be irresponsible. It was the last run of the day,” she said in an earnest tone. “I don’t know what happened, but I was pushed.”
“Nobody was behind you,” he said.
“It felt like I was being pushed,” she corrected. “I didn’t see anybody either.”
“And, if you didn’t see anybody,” he said, “how do you explain what happened?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she said, her jaw shoving forward and her gaze snapping at him. “I don’t have an explanation. I told you that.”
“Well, at least that’s honest,” he muttered. “Something really weird is going on with you right now,” he said. “I haven’t decided if you’re just a charlatan or a busybody or one of those no-good crystal readers who’s looking to cause chaos wherever you go.”
She stared at him, her eyes dark and deep. “I’m none of those,” she said. “I’m just somebody spending a winter here in Colorado. I told you before that my boss asked me to do something to bring more business into the store. So, on impulse, I picked up that pack of tarot cards. That’s it.”
“Then you go snowboarding today,” he said, “and, on the very last run of the day, you headed straight across the mountain, even the uphill part, so that you could end up hanging on that peak.”