"Your son said you liked coffee, so we brought you some."

"Thanks." I looked at the drink but did not touch it.

Magill, who had an oddly diffident air about him, announced that he was in charge. He gestured at the silver-haired man, said I already knew Patrolman Ted Hoskins, and that he and Ted had a few questions, if I didn't mind. I said nothing as the two men sat down. But I knew protocol: If there was any kind of investigation, the Furman County Sheriffs Department was in charge. Their efforts would be aided by the Forest Service, which leased land to the ski resorts, and by the ski patrol, a group of trained volunteers. In terms of who was in charge, Killdeer Security was fourth down the list.

"Now, Mrs. Schulz," Joe Magill began smoothly, "what we'd like you to do is talk to us about your day, beginning with when you got up this morning - "

"Excuse me," I interrupted. I took a shaky breath. "Mr. Magill? You're from Security?"

"Yes, Mrs. Schulz. Anytime there's an accident on the slopes, we're responsible for investigating. Did you witness the accident?"

"Could you please tell me where Doug Portman is now?"

Magill inhaled impatiently. When he leaned back in his chair, his ski suit made a silky, scratching sound. His opaque eyes widened. "Portman died in the ambulance, I'm sorry to say."

"I see. . . ."

"Your son told us your husband is a police officer." Magill again.

"Yes, that's correct. He's on his way."

"This is not an official questioning, Mrs. Schulz. But we need your help. The sheriff's depanment and ski patrol will conduct an official interrogation as soon as a deputy arrives. The ski resort just needs to know if you witnessed the accident."

"Why does the ski resort need to know that?"

Magill cleared his throat. "In a case like this, with a prominent Killdeer citizen killed, we're probably going to be facing litigation of some kind. We need to know precisely what happened."

"Mmm." I probably should have drunk some coffee, but I held back. Accepting a drink from Magill felt as if I were conceding points to a man I did not know well enough to trust. Plus, I'd been at enough crime scenes to know that we should wait before I started answering questions. Not that this was a crime scene, but. . . Tom, I felt confidently, would want me to wait for a sheriff's deputy to arrive.

"Mr. Magill," I said finally, "have you contacted Mrs. Portman?" I stared at the paper-covered bulletin board and tried to conjure up a mental picture of Doug's wife. I'd met Elva Portman at a crowded law enforcement cookout several years ago, and had had a chance to talk to her for a few moments at a gallery opening I'd catered in Killdeer. She was sophisticated and wealthy, with glossy dark hair and porcelain skin, a young Rose Kennedy. Loved paintings with bold brushstrokes. Couldn't eat bell peppers.