To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater

how long that would take. She seemed to know the place, as if they’ve had trouble here in the past. So, did you find this snowboarder?”
    â€œNo, but I have a name, Boyd Naylor, and a description from the young women over there.” She tilted her head toward the quartet at the bar.
    Judy walked up beside Roger, her beer glass already half empty. “Oh, good. You found Mom. Nail-It seems to be here. The girl behind the coat-check counter found a hat that looks like his.”
    A young man in baggy black jeans and a T-shirt with a marijuana leaf on it stepped out of the men’s restroom and walked toward the billiard room. His fuzzy blond mop looked like a whole family of gerbils could nest in it.
    Claire walked over to the tall blonde who had given her Naylor’s first name and tapped her on the shoulder. “Is that Boyd?” She pointed at the receding back of the young man.
    â€œThat’s him,” the blonde replied.
    Claire grabbed Roger’s arm. “Let’s go.”
    They walked into the billiard room and found Naylor leaning on the small bar there, ordering a beer.
    When the bartender brought the glass, Roger slapped a twenty on the counter. “It’s on me.”
    Naylor whirled around and stared at Roger. “Who’re you and why’re you buying me a beer?”
    Roger stuck out his hand. “Roger Hanover. This is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Judy.”
    Claire and Judy nodded at the puzzled snowboarder.
    â€œAre you Nail-It Naylor?” Judy asked.
    He drew back but had the presence of mind to take a swig of his free beer. “How do you know who I am?”
    Judy smiled. “No need to worry. We just have a few questions. First, you wear a hat with multi-colored fleece dreadlocks, don’t you?”
    His brows furrowed. “Yea—ah.”
    â€œAnd your snowboard is orange with swirls on it,” Claire said.
    â€œWhere’s this going?” Naylor peered at each of their faces as he drank some more beer.
    Roger pocketed the change the bartender returned to him and faced Naylor. “We’re friends of the young woman who was killed on Peak Eight yesterday.”
    â€œShit!” Naylor slammed the glass on the bar, sloshing the beer, and turned to flee.
    Roger laid a restraining hand on his arm. “We want to hear your side of the story.”
    â€œNo way. That dude’ll get me for sure.” Naylor’s eyes widened with fear. “I didn’t see nothing.”
    â€œThat dude?” Claire advanced on Naylor. “What dude?”
    Naylor shook his head.
    Claire’s mind raced. Obviously, the young man was afraid of someone. Was he already in trouble with the ski patrol, Breckenridge police, or the Summit County sheriff ? Or maybe the dude was the skier—the one whose tracks she had seen. If Naylor saw the skier hit Stephanie, the skier could have threatened him with harm if he divulged anything.
    How could she get him to open up? Claire got an idea. She caught her daughter’s eye, pointed her chin at Naylor, and gave Judy a nudge.
    â€œLook, we’re not the authorities,” Claire said. “We knew the young woman who died. We need some closure, to understand what happened to her. So do her parents and brother.”
    Judy removed her father’s hand from Naylor’s arm and slipped her arm through the snowboarder’s. “She was my friend. It’s very important to me. I’d really appreciate it.”
    Though Naylor still looked edgy, his desire to flee seemed to wilt under her sweet gaze.
    â€œIf you want,” Claire added, “whatever you tell us won’t go beyond us and Stephanie’s family.”
    Sorrow joined the fear in his eyes. “Oh, man. I didn’t want to know her name.”
    â€œPlease help us.” Judy stopped just shy of batting her eyelashes at him.
    When did she become such an expert flirt, Claire wondered. And how much