I turn back to Heather. She’s lied to me before. Is she lying again? Yet her story has a horrible ring of truth. When it came to his sister, Curtis’s emotions always ran high. I’ve seen him lose control over Saskia-related issues several times already this weekend.

“What happened next?” I say.

“We couldn’t find Saskia, so we figured she must have ridden down to the half-pipe.”

I study her body language, trying to decide if I believe her. She’s really jumpy, eyes flitting from me to the doorway to Brent, but that’s not necessarily a sign of dishonesty. It could be a sign of fear.

Fear that Curtis is onto her.

That she might be about to meet the same fate as Saskia.

Across the restaurant, Brent pours a large measure of something into a glass. No, Brent. He downs it and crosses the room to the window.

Heather toys with her teaspoon. “The competition was about to start, so I got the bubble back to the midstation and left Brent and Curtis on the glacier to ride down.”

“I don’t remember seeing you watching the comp,” I say.

“I only stayed for the first few heats, then I got too cold, so I went home.”

She jumps hard as Curtis and Dale stomp in, pink cheeked, leaving a trail of snowy footprints in their wake.

“Find anything?” I say.

Dale shakes his head. “Waste of time.”

“We didn’t bother breaking into the lift shack,” Curtis says. “You could see through the window the space where the radio would normally be.”

Dale eyes Curtis, flexing his fists. “Someone had taken it. Same as downstairs.”

The time outdoors clearly hasn’t improved their moods.

Brent leans his forehead to the glass. “Fuck.”

I need to tell Curtis about the credit card, but I’m getting visions of him pounding Dale’s face to a pulp, and it’s not as though we can call an ambulance if they hurt each other. We’re hanging on a precipice, and one wrong word could tip us over the edge.

“So I’m mountaineering, am I?” Heather says shakily.

Dale kicks over a chair and Heather flinches.

“Must be something we can do,” Dale says. “I hot-wired a car one time. Maybe we could try to hot-wire one of the snowcats.”

Curtis snorts. “Be my guest. Even if you get one started, do you seriously reckon you could drive it down the black run?”

I can see Heather cringing at the prospect.

“I’d rather take my chances on foot,” she says.

Brent stalks back and forth in front of the window like my cat does when he’s desperate to go out.

Curtis looks my way, and I realize he’s waiting for me to tell the others about the lift pass. Shit. They’re going to turn on him. This is going to be the final straw.