Running Cold: A Novel, page 26
And she nodded as she gave it back.
EPILOGUE
Rebirth
Julie
Six months later
“OK, it’s small but it has a great view,” I said as my Subaru rounded the last turn up the mountain road.
“Wow, you’re really up here!” Christa said.
“On top of the world,” Suki added.
“Right where you belong,” Izzy said, squeezing my arm. Izzy and I’d had several heart-to-hearts over the months. She’d worked hard to earn my forgiveness, and I gave it to her to heal the relationship and myself. We agreed that there was nothing to gain by telling anyone else. It didn’t concern them, and not all friends have to know everything.
The road flattened out, then continued to the right, but I took the cul-de-sac to the left, which bordered the shore of a crystal-blue lake.
“Can we go swimming in the lake?” one of Izzy’s boys asked from his seat in the back. And his twin brother chimed in.
“I want to swim!”
“That water is cold,” I warned them. “But I’ll go in with you.” I didn’t tell them I had been in water much colder. That memory I would always keep to myself.
I turned off the road into my gravel driveway. The house was a traditional A-frame log cabin with a double-wide chimney made of locally sourced limestone. The wraparound deck had views of Canmore’s Three Sisters mountains in the distance and the golf course in the valley below. It was remote but not isolated, both a return to myself and the start of something new.
I’d bought the place three months ago, right after the money from Jeff’s life insurance policy came in. Once the manner of his death was reclassified as a homicide, I was able to collect. I gave a big chunk to charity—our local food bank, our county animal shelter . . . I even set up a STEM scholarship for at-risk kids in his name. He may not have lived to see his dreams come true, but perhaps someone he helped with that scholarship fund would pick up where he’d left off.
The place needed work and I needed a project, so you might say we were a perfect fit. I had spent the last six weeks getting it ready for my invited guests—refinishing the kitchen cabinets, refreshing the bathrooms with new light fixtures and vanities, polishing the hardwood floors throughout. My friends had stood by me during the most difficult months of my life, and I wanted to thank them with a vacation they wouldn’t forget.
“This place is insane!” Izzy said as she got out and breathed in the sweet mountain air. It was nearly the summer solstice, and the days were long. We’d get a spectacular sunset in a few hours, if everyone could stay awake for it.
“The boys are here,” Christa said as the husbands pulled up in their rented Jeep. I had enticed them to Canada with the promise of a round of golf at the great white north’s most scenic course, and was thrilled they’d agreed to come.
“Let’s get your stuff inside,” I said, grabbing a suitcase in each hand. My leg was healed, and I was feeling stronger than ever. “I have some treats for you on the kitchen island,” I said, looking at the twins. I opened the front door, and they sprinted ahead to see what they were.
The main floor was an open-concept kitchen-living-dining area with floor-to-ceiling windows. I had three bedrooms, a den with a pull-out couch, plus a loft. Not as grand as the house I’d shared with Jeff, but there was a bed for everyone.
“Julie, this place is so . . . ,” Christa started. And Izzy finished the sentence for her.
“You.”
As the boys helped themselves to my homemade Nanaimo bars, I gathered the adults for news I couldn’t keep to myself anymore.
“So I have an announcement,” I said, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of champagne.
“You’re pregnant!” Suki shouted.
“No.” I laughed. “But interesting guess.” Finding a new man had been the last thing on my mind. Besides being too busy, I was not remotely ready. In many ways, Jeff was still with me. If I hadn’t let him show me a different way of life, I might not have realized my place was right here.
“OK, spill,” Suki insisted as I set the champagne flutes I’d bought for the occasion on the counter. So with no more fanfare, I did.
“I’m back on the Olympic team,” I announced. “I’m going for my third Olympics.”
There were gasps and hugs and the pop! of champagne as Izzy opened the bottle right on cue.
“I’ll drink to that!” Izzy said, filling the flutes.
“You’ll drink to anything,” Suki teased, just like old times.
“To Julie!” Christa said, raising her glass. Because turns out toasting to friends is something friends do.
“You sure you should be drinking that?” Izzy’s husband said as I put the glass to my lips.
“Not pregnant,” I reminded him.
“That would be me,” Christa said, setting her glass down. And there were more gasps and hugs.
As the sweet tang of champagne touched my tongue, my heart grew buoyant with joy. Not two days after the news that I had rejoined the team had leaked, the sponsors started calling, and their offerings were even more generous than the last time around. Everyone loves a comeback. It’s the place where quitting and starting meet. A convergence of opposites . . . like so many things in life.
The moment I decided to return to professional sports, I knew it was right. I also knew it wouldn’t all be about winning this time.
Because, as the smiling faces of my friends reminded me, I had already won.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The first time I visited Banff, I walked around with my jaw on the ground thinking, This place can’t be real. It was wintertime. Chalk-white peaks as sharp as knives pierced a sky so blue it looked photoshopped. As I strolled down streets named after the town’s beloved year-round residents—Elk, Moose, Caribou, Grizzly, Muskrat, Otter, Lynx—redwood-and-river-rock storefronts beckoned me in out of cold so biting I could feel it in my bones.
While there were dozens of cozy-chic shops and eateries, the star of the show was the Banff Springs Hotel. Built in 1887, the medieval castle was straight out of a fairy tale, complete with stained glass accents and menacing gargoyles in the eaves. Wandering through the haphazard corridors and grand banquet halls, I heard whispers of the things that had happened between those walls: adventure, romance, betrayal, and yes—murder.
Some say the story of a murder-suicide in room 873 is a rumor churned up to add intrigue to the moody, old castle. Some tell it as an undeniable fact. Whatever the case, the hotel and its lore were too enticing. I had to set a murder mystery there—one that spilled out of the historic fortress into the snow-covered mountains that enshroud it.
What you can learn about a place as an outsider is limited. Lucky for me, longtime residents Steve and Jessica Orchin generously sat with me to share what it was like to grow up and live in this magical town, and I am so grateful for their frothy insights. Thank you to Tyler Weltman for making the introduction, and inhaling the first draft when it was done.
I write alone, but that doesn’t mean I do it by myself. Thank you, Debra Lewin, Miranda Parker Lewin, and Avital Ornovitz for reading my bumpy early drafts and helping me see the forest for the trees. My editor at Lake Union, Melissa Valentine, is nothing short of a miracle, and I feel insanely lucky to have her as my creative partner. Thank you to all the professionals at Lake Union who lent their talents to the book—editor Carissa Bluestone, developmental editor Jenna L. Free, production manager Jennifer Bentham, copyeditor Alicia Lea, proofreaders Stephanie Chou and Angela Vimuttinan, and Danielle Marshall for assembling the dream team.
Writing murder mysteries when you yourself are not a murderer requires research, and I have a secret weapon in the brilliant Dr. Judy Melinek, who so generously helps me find my way around a crime scene. Thank you to my fellow authors who always make themselves available when I need guidance and support—T.J. Mitchell, Alethea Black, Ken Pisani, Gary Goldstein, W. Bruce Cameron, and the incredible authors of Blue Sky Book Chat—Barbara Davis, Paulette Kennedy, Thelma Adams, Christine Nolfi, Marilyn Simon Rothstein, Patricia Sands, Joy Jordan Lake, and Kerry Schafer.
I would be adrift without the loving support of my family. Thank you, Uri, Sophie, and Taya for entertaining my countless what-ifs, and bringing me a cup of coffee or three when I’m struggling to get it all sorted. Victoria Sainsbury Carter, thank you for helping me when coffee is not enough.
My books would be dusty printouts on my coffee table if not for the wizardry of agent extraordinaire Laura Dail. Thank you to Katie Gisondi and all the talented professionals at the Laura Dail Literary Agency, you guys are the best of the best.
Dear readers, there’s no point to any of this without you. I know you have a lot of books to choose from, thank you for choosing mine. Special shout-out to my beloved online communities—Thriller Book Lovers, curated by Tonya the @blondethrillerbooklover, Dawn Angels and her wonderful group of authors and readers at Psychological Thriller Authors and Readers Unite, Suzanne Leopold and all the bloggers on Suzy Approved Book Tours, and everyone who hangs out with us on Blue Sky Book Chat. Your love of books is the engine that drives my creativity, and I’m so grateful to know you all!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2020 Maria Berelc
Susan Walter is the author of Lie by the Pool, Good as Dead, and Over Her Dead Body. She was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. After being given every opportunity—and failing—to become a concert violinist, Susan attended Harvard University. She had hoped to be a newscaster, but the local TV station had different ideas and hired her to write and produce promos instead. Seeking sunshine and a change of scenery, Walter moved to Los Angeles to work in film and television production. Upon realizing writers were having all the fun, Susan transitioned to screenwriting, then directing. She wrote and made her directorial debut with the 2017 film All I Wish, starring Sharon Stone.
For more information about the author, visit www.susanwalterwriter.com.
Susan Walter, Running Cold: A Novel
