Tom, a handsome, bearlike man with gentle green eyes and thick, sandy-brown hair, didn't need to announce that he was in charge. He just was. I felt thankful for it, and for him.

Bancock stood and shook Tom's hand. "Schulz. We're just getting going here."

"This is Ski Patrolman Hoskins," I said, getting to my feet. Tom nodded at Hoskins, hugged me, then searched my face.

"You all right, Miss G.? Want to go outside for a bit?"

"Thanks," I whispered. "I just want to get this over with. Is - "

"Arch has gone back to the Druckmans' condo," Tom reassured me, anticipating my question. "He's spending another night. I'll take you home, if you want. We can leave the van here."

I had to bite my lip not to exclaim: "Oh, yes, take me home, please!" Instead, I told him I was fine. Tom smiled tenderly at me, tilted his head at Ski Patrolman Hoskins, and sat down beside me. .Sergeant Bancock smoothed out a fresh page in his notebook.

"Not much longer, Mrs. Schulz," he said. "Of course, the coroner may have more questions for you later. You want to talk more to Killdeer Security, that's up to you." Bancock reviewed his notes. "You told Patrolman Hoskins that you were meeting Douglas Portman later this morning. Is that correct?"

I gave Tom an apologetic look. If he saw I was sorry - deeply sorry - that I hadn't told him who the buyer of his skis was, maybe he'd forgive me.

But Tom did not look angry. Instead, he looked dumbfounded. "Meeting Doug Portman? You were selling Portman my skis?"

"I knew Doug collected stuff, and - "

"How did you know Portman?" Bancock interrupted sharply, with a warning look at Tom.

"Sergeant Bancock, Tom and I have been married not quite two years. Before that, I was a single mother. Every now and then I would go out. On a date. I spent a couple of evenings with Doug Portman, enough to know he collected military memorabilia. And I knew he'd become involved in politics. Something in law enforcement, right? I saw him every now and then at the picnics." I paused. Bancock, Hoskins, and Tom all waited, too. "When I went out with Portman, he was a forensic accountant. I'd hired him regarding divorce proceedings from my first husband. I hadn't really talked to him for years," I went on. "I knew he'd married, now apparently divorced. When Tom said he wanted to sell some World War Two skis, I called Doug. We agreed to meet this morning after I did my cooking show."

Bancock made another notation in his notebook, then leaned forward, his expression impenetrable. "And did you?"

"Yes. He came to the bistro, where I was doing the show. Afterward, it was snowing hard. We agreed to ski down and meet at Big Map." I faltered. "That's how I knew what he was wearing. . . the black suit and cowboy hat. That's how I recognized him on the slope, when he'd. . . fallen."