Unfortunately, the only news coming my way was in the shape of pudgy, self-aggrandizing Doug Portman. His pate shone in the bright lights as he waved and shouldered toward the set through the dispersing crowd of spectators. I swallowed. How did you greet someone you'd had three dates with, eight years before?

"Hey, Goldy?" Doug bellowed. "You forgot my ticket!"

"Sorry, I - "

"Ready to rock?" he hollered. "It's really coming down out there!" People stared at him.

"Yeah, okay, I'm coming." I yanked off my microphone and surveyed the mess on the hot line counter. Fortunately, the bistro staff cleaned up after each show.

"Arch and Todd decided to take a group snowboarding lesson," said Eileen, suddenly at my shoulder. "Want a mimosa before you take off? Jack made them."

"No, thanks, I've got some business to conduct. Need to be sober. Are you skiing down?" Eileen replied that she was staying to talk to the PBS people.

The kitchen was jammed with folks, so I couldn't change there. I nabbed my clothes and Eileen and I walked together down the hallway to the bistro's ladies' room. While I was taking off my chef duds and slipping back into my ski clothes, Eileen sighed. "Sorry about the butter," she said ruefully. "It was almost frozen in the walk-in. Our microwave isn't working, and I was afraid to smash it to soften it, 'cuz that would have looked bad."

"Not to worry. Is Jack skiing down now? He was awfully nice, and I wanted him to know how much I appreciated his help."

"He has to do lunch prep, sorry." She looked at me solicitously. "Goldy, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, and thanks." We left the ladies', then paused outside the Lost and Found and glanced outside. The sky had turned a bright nickel. Swirling snow powdered Widowmaker Run. With a pang, I thought of poor Rorry.

"You can always stay with us, if the weather gets really bad," Eileen told me cheerfully. "We've invited Arch for another night."

"Thanks. But I promised Tom I'd be back this afternoon. I can pick Arch up tomorrow when I do my contract with Arthur, my one and only personal chef client."

"Friend, if you make a round trip to Aspen Meadow in this weather, you'll be one tired caterer."

"I'll be okay." Impulsively, I hugged her. Eileen was always a thoughtful friend, the best kind there is. "Thanks again."

Outside, I could just make out Doug Portman's glimmery black metallic ski suit and leather cowboy hat. He was stamping over to the snow-covered ski rack. Before pulling down his skis, he scanned the exterior of the lodge. Seeking me, no doubt. He doffed the snow-gorged cowboy hat and whacked it against his thigh. Ride those skis, pod'ner! Would Doug's hat make it to the bottom of the mountain, or would it join the fifty other cowboy hats I'd just glimpsed in the Lost and Found?

"Gotta split," I told Eileen. I zipped up my sensible down jacket and knotted the string on my waterproof hood. Eileen finished off her drink and handed me my scarf. I glanced at her empty champagne glass and hoped she wasn't skiing down anytime soon.