To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater Page B

prompted.
    â€œI passed her.” Naylor indicated Judy. “And slowed down, looking for the other one. Right when I spotted her, this dude dressed all in black came shooting out of the woods right at her. He smacked into her like that.” He clapped his hands together, startling Claire.
    Judy gasped.
    â€œShe didn’t fall right away, but she lost her balance. I could see her fighting for it. But she never got it back. Then she smashed into the tree.” He stopped, his eyes glazed over as he relived the crash. “Shit,” he whispered and cast his gaze toward the ground.
    Claire gave him a moment then asked, “Do you think it was an accident? That he didn’t look uphill before he came out?”
    â€œHell no.” Naylor ground his teeth and raised his head. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “He was looking uphill all right. Right at her. He waited until she got close, then he pushed off and rammed her.”
    â€œOh, God.” A tear dribbled down Judy’s cheek. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket.
    Gently, Claire asked, “Why didn’t you stop to help her?”
    Naylor jerked and stared at her. “I saw her head smack into the tree and the blood on the ground. I couldn’t help anyone hurt that bad, and I didn’t have my cell phone on me. I figured the best thing to do was to get the ski patrol. So I booked.”
    â€œWhat about the skier? Why didn’t he stop?”
    â€œâ€™Cause he was chasing me, man.”
    â€œWhat the hell?” Roger’s eyes went wide.
    â€œI passed him on my way down,” Naylor said. “He was standing on the other side of the slope, farther down, staring at her, cool as a frozen cucumber, like he was waiting to see if she moved or something. I couldn’t believe it. Then he took off after me, and all I could think was that I’d be next. My heart was pounding, man. The dude was good, knew his stuff. And he was fast, as fast as me. I couldn’t shake him.”
    Claire gripped her cup. “What did you do?”
    â€œI figured my only chance was to head into Toilet Bowl.” At their quizzical glances, he said, “That’s what we boarders call the treed area between Northstar and Claimjumper. It’s full of big bumps, tree wells, icy spots, all kinds of nasty, fun shit. It’s where we hang out, shoot the breeze, smoke some weed. Just to party a little, know what I mean?” He looked at Judy.
    She nodded, silently shredding the tissue in her hands.
    Claire stared at her daughter.
    Judy shrugged, as if to say she was only playing along with Naylor.
    â€œI know that place backward and upside down,” Naylor said. “I know every bump and tree, so I figured I could lose him there. And I did. After I couldn’t see him anymore, I spotted a couple of riders hanging off to the side, finishing a joint. I asked ’em to ride down for me and get ski patrol to help your friend ’cause I had a maniac on my ass. What was her name again?”
    â€œStephanie,” Judy whispered.
    Naylor glanced at her and his expression softened. “Stephanie. Yeah. Well, after that, I peeled out of Toilet Bowl as fast as I could, hit the base, stepped out of my board, and ran for the first bus heading off the mountain.”
    Roger looked skeptical. “Why didn’t you contact the ski patrol and tell them about the skier chasing you?”
    â€œYou think they’d believe me? You don’t believe me yourself, man. I can tell from your eyes. I’ve had some run-ins with the patrol in the past. They’d assume I did it, pull my season pass, and who knows what else.”
    A manslaughter charge is what else. Claire was amazed that what the young man seemed to be most concerned about was his ski pass.
    â€œWell, I’m willing to believe you,” Claire said, “because your story meshes with what I saw. I spotted the skier’s tracks coming out of the