sKiller

By Frank Forrest Humbles

Nick and Jill Morgan had it all--the perfect marriage, a beautiful child, and a fairy-tale life--but it all comes crashing down.Their profitable and popular Hopchaw Valley Ski Resort becomes embroiled in a murderous crime spree, and the local Sheriff wants to shut the resort down. When the Killer is caught, the Morgan's believe all their problems are over. They are wrong. Yet another threat looms over the resort, and this time it's personal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Forrest
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215605158

Book preview

In the United States there are an average of 31 catastrophic skiing injuries per ski season. These include quadriplegia, paraplegia, coma, serious head injury, and other spinal cord injuries.

There also is an average of 37 fatalities per ski season,

including the high-profile deaths of Natasha Richardson, Sonny Bono and Michael Kennedy. All these fatalities were ruled accidental.

Source: National Ski Association

US Consumer Products Safety Commission

The cliff dwellers of the southwestern United States disappeared in the late thirteenth century. Navajo legend describes an agrarian group of cliff dwellers who were practically annihilated by another warring tribe. The few survivors spent the rest of their lives hunting down their attackers. Over a short span of time, they succeeded in killing the entire warring tribe, then disappeared themselves. Their name is believed to have been the Anasazi Indians’ word for revenge, hopchaw.

Free Fall

December 15, 1999

The smell of her body nauseated him.

As the light broke the darkness, he could see her face. Disgusted, he turned, collected his clothes, and headed out of the room. Eight beers ago she had looked like a model. Now she lay in the bed looking coyote ugly. With his clothes on, Tim Nelson hurried out the door. The cold air biting at his face made him think again of the coldness of last night’s coupling. Since moving to Colorado, his sexual conquests had been many. He had inherited his mother’s handsome features and his father’s height and muscular build. The vacationing college girls swarmed around him, but he preferred the older, more experienced women. The woman he had just left sleeping was ten years his senior. He was sort of disappointed that she hadn’t awakened. The way she stunk, he would have enjoyed beating her.

Tim was a ladies’ man, but his violence toward his women got him in trouble. He left West Virginia after one of his beatings put the girl in the hospital. Unfortunately for Tim, she was the daughter of the owner of the paper mill. Since the girl wouldn’t press charges, her daddy’s thugs convinced Tim to leave town. But he was no stranger to leaving places behind. At the age of fifteen, he left his family, an overly petting mother and an abusive father. Unfortunately for him, they had already left their mark on his life.

Even now in the icy air outside the motel room, Tim could smell his mother’s nauseating odor. It was the same odor he smelled on every woman— except one. As a child, his mother doted over him, but this attention only

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angered his alcoholic father. He winced, recalling his father’s fist crashing across his face.

Jamming his truck in gear, he slid sideways out of the apartment parking lot. It was the hardest snow he had seen, whiting out the road. His head pounding, he shifted into high gear and sped down the highway with reckless abandon.

Late again, he thought to himself.

His thoughts turned to his boss, Nick Morgan. Screw him, he muttered to himself under his breath. Nick ran a tight ship at his ski resort. Tardiness was not tolerated, especially for those who worked the morning lifts.

Tim could barely make out the road in front of him, but this did not slow him down. Large white snowflakes mesmerized him as they rhythmically danced across the car’s windshield. Tim tried to concentrate on the road but he kept being pulled back into thoughts about the ski resort and images of the woman he had met there, his boss’s wife.

He could still remember his first drive up to Hopchaw Valley. After the few dead-end jobs he’d had, he figured the job at Hopchaw sounded great. It paid well, but everything depended on whether he could put up with the owner. Tim heard Nick was tough. Now he thought that SOB was probably a more apt description. Any other time, he would have kicked his boss’s rear and left by now. But she kept him here, even though she didn’t know a thing about it. The woman was amazing. Tim saw her every day, and somehow just the sight of her always seemed to transform him into a perfect gentleman. He supposed that she couldn’t believe what Nick said about him. After all, she had never seen his bad side. Maybe his con job on her had worked pretty well. He had never been so respectful around a woman before, but then no female he had ever met looked so good to him. He idealized everything about her appearance so that her flowing hair, her vibrant complexion, and her perfect teeth were those of an angel rather than a flesh-and-blood woman. But what really drew him in were her eyes that lit up like the Colorado sky on a clear day and her smell, like a lilac in a spring meadow. The thought of her drove Tim wild yet, at the same time, seemed to tame his wild soul. Even if she hardly knew he existed, he knew what he wanted. Someday she wouldn’t be the loving wife of Nick Morgan anymore. Someday she would belong to Tim Nelson.

Abruptly the truck slid to a stop. Shifting into reverse, Tim backed up to the entrance, which the blinding snow had made almost unrecognizable. Though it was now daylight, the landscape had changed. A foot or more of the fluffy white stuff lay everywhere, including on the tree limbs that now drooped close to the ground.

Pulling into the parking lot, he couldn’t ignore the fact that it was already half full of cars. It was quiet when he entered the maintenance shed and hurriedly clocked in at 8:15. The lifts opened at 8:30. He headed for Lift 3, swearing as he burst out the door, late again.

As the snowstorm abated, the ski resort came to life. The original lift had been built in the 1950s, but the resort had grown. One of the largest in the Rockies, the resort now had twelve chairlifts and land on both sides of the mountains. The quaint, original lodge, a cozy, rustic building with a stone fireplace, had grown into a sprawling complex, covering over 15,000 square feet. The main lodge, now remodeled into an impressive structure with luxury accommodations, was centered at the bottom of the mountain, with all trails leading to it. The smaller, secondary lodge sat on top of the mountain. Here it greeted skiers who needed a respite from skiing the backside of Hopchaw Mountain. Skiers could ride the lift up the front side of the mountain and then spend the rest of the day skiing down its backside. The back of the mountain sloped gently down into an immense, snow-covered valley. It was not unusual to spot elk and deer grazing at the bottom. Besides the breathtaking view, the long, gentle trails gave skiers a feeling of seclusion. Spreading the skiers out like this kept the lift lines short, a scarce commodity at most resorts. It was the new owners who came up with the idea of opening up the backside, and it had paid for itself in two seasons. The resort had become a top-ten skiing destination.

Like fire ants scurrying from their burrow, skiers made their way out of the lodge to the lifts. Billowing dark clouds hung low over the mountaintops. Now and again, blue sky would break through, but the blizzard was not over. Sixteen inches plus was the forecast, and only a foot had fallen.

Hopchaw Valley Ski Park was in its seventh year of operation under the new ownership. Business had been phenomenal. After bankruptcy in 1989 the resort remained closed for four years, caught up in bankruptcy court. In 1993 Hopchaw Park had reopened as Hopchaw Valley Ski Park. There had been record snowfall the past three years, and along with it record business. Snow skiing had become a national frenzy. Hopchaw Valley delivered perfectly.

The familiar scrapping of the lift cables filled the air. Three workers worked each lift, one brushing snow off the chairs and assisting skiers on, the other two working the control booths, one at the top and one at the bottom, ready to stop the lift at a moment’s notice.

This morning the lifts were running smoothly. At the bottom of Lift 3, Tim swept the fresh snow off the chairs. Eager skiers were already lining up.

Sam Pike stood by the lower control booth. Tan, lean, athletic, he was a top skier here. His fireplace mantle at home was overflowing with ski trophies.

Sam was a model worker also. He was doted on by the many pretty young women who visited Hopchaw. However, he was a wonderful and faithful husband to his wife of three years, Rebecca. They met when he first came to Hopchaw while she was working as a chef in a local restaurant. Within a year she was Mrs. Pike.

You look like hell! Sam yelled at the hungover figure sweeping the chairs.

In reply, Tim’s hand came back in Sam’s direction, its middle finger extended.

Sam offered a smile. You are crazy, boy! The boss is going to kill you for being late again.

He can kiss my rear, Tim remarked as he strolled over to his co- worker.

I hope being late was worth it.

Well, she looked good last night, but this morning was another story. They both chuckled.

I’m serious, Nelson, you better get your act together or you’ll be canned.

Well, if you spent more time chasing tail instead of chasing down the slopes all the time on those skis of yours, you’d be late too.

You idiot, I’m married. Anyway, I like this job and I couldn’t find a better hill to ski in all of Colorado.

Sorry, buddy, Tim replied. I forgot she had that ring in your nose. Morgan won’t fire me. I can do the work of three of those other wimps around here!

Sam knew he was right. Nelson may show up late and hungover, but when he got to work, he gave a man a day’s work. Sam had seen Tim throw trees off the trails like toothpicks. What he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in muscle.

With all the chairs wiped clean, Tim checked his watch. 8:30. Time to open the lift. Eager skiers stood in line ready to be loaded onto the moving chairs.

The morning’s first customer at Lift 3, Mike Roberts, was far from eager. His face pale and his body shaking, he stood staring at the chairs swinging wildly around the bottom of the lift. Being scooped up in pairs and flung up the hill did not look like fun to him. How did I get myself talked into this? he thought.

A native of Florida, Mike was an excellent water-skier. His college buddies said no problem, he would be a natural on snow. Reluctantly he had agreed to the ski trip but nothing came naturally. Everything felt awkward—the stiff, binding boots; the intractable skis; and the bulky clothing. "Give me warmth

and water, he responded. After two days of eating snow and sliding around on the flat areas for beginners, the bunny slopes, Mike was, according to his friends, ready to go to the top." With reservations he agreed.

Now standing in line, shaking, all concentration on trying not to fall over, his heart sank. Not being paired with one of his friends was not a confidence booster. His first impulse was to run. Then he remembered what he was taught, to call out the word single. His dried throat made it difficult to talk. Before he could utter a word, suddenly, out of nowhere, a skier wearing a hooded mask slid up to his side. Mike’s fears now allayed, he offered the newcomer his hand.

Hi, I’m Mike. The hooded skier ignored Mike’s outstretched hand and merely nodded wordlessly.

Mike shrugged, his mind at some ease knowing he would not be riding alone. Shuffling forward, Mike let out a sigh of relief as the chair scooped up the two skiers and began its ascent to the top. Reaching up, Mike pulled the safety bar down over their heads, resting his skis securely on the foot rest. He was relieved to get on without a fall, though he found it strange that no lift attendant had helped. He was sure he had seen someone there while waiting in line. No matter, he was now on, safe and secure.

First wisps of white brushed across his face. Within minutes it was a whiteout. Mike could barely make out the chair in front of him. He watched as it was swallowed up, engulfed by the clouds that now hung low on the mountain. His chair, too, was soon enveloped by the strange misty cloud. A damp, bony chill went through his body.

Although he couldn’t see anything but mist, Mike spoke quietly to the invisible stranger next to him. Kinda spooky, isn’t it?

Mike’s companion remained silent. Mike had heard many foreign voices while on the bunny slopes, so he assumed that his chairmate spoke no English. Though he could see little of the person through the heavy mist, Mike studied the dark-hooded figure. The stranger sat silent, eyes fixed, his pure black outfit a stark contrast against the white all around. In his blue jeans and down jacket, Mike felt like a complete neophyte next to this obviously serious skier. Mike only hoped he would not embarrass himself getting off the chair. His mouth dried up again as he anticipated the unloading.

Laughter ahead turned his attention away. He hoped to ride up the next time with one of his friends. The laughter eased his mind. Occasionally he would glimpse an array of sagging trees, burdened with snow, their limbs brushing the ground. As he looked down, stingy, icy pellets would beat upward into his face, blown from the hill below.

Part way up, a break in the clouds revealed a jagged rock face below.

Mike quit looking down and stared straight ahead into the foggy white.

Something hard crashed against Mike’s boots. His legs, tense from the weight of his skis, now dangled free from the foot rest. The safety bar flashed by his face and banged to a stop overhead.

Mike was frightened as he addressed his silent chairmate again. Are we nearing the top?

Without a word the hooded skier grabbed Mike’s shoulders and pushed against his body, hard and deliberately.

Wait, please, don’t ... Mike screamed as he rolled forward out of the chair. Trees and snow flashed by as he fell. He did not see the rocks. An intense heat went through his body, then all went dark.

The hooded skier experienced a spine-tingling moment while awaiting the impact. Unable to see through the fog he could only imagine, the body wrapping itself around the jagged rock like a suckling baby on its mother’s breast. A river of blood pooling around the lifeless body.

As the chair rocked violently, the hooded skier moved to the center to stabilize it. The cry from below was loud, but a quick glance assured the killer that the snow and clouds had obscured anyone’s view of his victim.

The masked skier had calculated well. The roped-off halfway unloading station emerged from the clouds. As the chair approached, the mysterious skier slid off. Breaking through the loosely tied ropes with ease, he calmly skied down the mountain.

Mike’s screams were barely audible over the radio blaring in the control booth. Sam was singing Achey Breaky Heart out loud when he noticed the commotion. Looking out from the control booth, he instinctively snatched the brake handle. The lift came to an abrupt halt, the chairs swinging wildly. Skiers littered the ground in front of him as he left the warmth of the booth. His eyes widened. At that moment, Tim Nelson was nowhere to be seen.

A Terrible Accident

The shower door banged open. Groping for a towel, Nick Morgan wiped his eyes. His wife’s soft voice floated from the bedroom. He was used to the phone calls, but they always seemed to come at the most inopportune times. This was his morning to go in late. Nick made it a point to work six days a week, but being the owner of Hopchaw, he made himself available every day. He did not yet trust anyone to manage things without him. There had been no vacation since taking over the resort three years ago.

His father’s death had jolted Nick into reality; he had no idea the extent of his family’s empire. Nick had inherited more money than he could ever spend as well as a ski resort. His father had practically stolen the resort, buying it at a foreclosure sale. Nick felt like he needed to prove his worth to his sisters who wanted to sell all their father’s assets. Ignoring his sisters’ protests, Nick and his wife, Jill, took the abandoned resort for their own. Since he had a psychology degree from Boston College and no real business experience, his family was sure he would fail. With his wife’s faith and encouragement, Nick surprised everyone and turned Hopchaw into one of the most successful ski resorts in the world. Nick had inherited his father’s business sense but swore he would not be single-minded and selfishly ambitious like his father. Nick’s family would come first. A cold hand on his shoulder awakened him from his deep thoughts.

It’s for you, his wife said, handing him the phone.

Putting the phone to his ear, he gazed at his naked wife as she headed back toward the bedroom. He still felt blown away by how gorgeous Jill

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was. She still had the same figure as when