To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater

She sneezed. “Storm’s coming.”
    â€œBless you,” Roger said. “Hope these guys find something before the evidence gets all covered up.”
    Judy extracted a fleece neck gaiter from her pocket. She pulled it over her head, positioning it to cover her neck and face.
    Feeling the temperature drop and stinging snowflakes hit her cheeks, Claire followed her daughter’s lead. Soon white flakes swirled all around them. Claire tucked her gloved hands under her armpits.
    Roger stamped his skis on the ground. “This standing around and waiting is damn cold.”
    Matthews pointed at the ground. Silverstone took a plastic bag out of his pocket and nudged something into it.
    Claire took a step toward them. “What did you find?”
    â€œA cigarette butt.” Silverstone stuffed the bag into his jacket pocket, eyes still scanning the ground.
    â€œMaybe the killer smoked it while he was waiting for us to come down.”
    â€œMaybe. Or any number of people could have stopped here and had a smoke.” He straightened and motioned to Matthews. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else.”
    When the two of them reached the Hanovers, Roger asked, “You can test for fingerprints and DNA on the butt, can’t you?”
    â€œI’ll send it to CBI to be analyzed. If they can pull either prints or DNA off it, they’ll run them against the FBI databases.”
    Claire’s hopes rose. “So we might get the name of Stephanie’s killer?”
    â€œOnly if he’s committed a crime or been fingerprinted for a job application in the past.” Silverstone clicked into his skis. “The match is best done when you have two samples—one from the crime scene and one from a suspect. We’re missing the suspect here, and I’m not even sure this is a crime scene.”
    When Claire started to speak, he held up his hand. “I’ll still send it to CBI. Even with a high priority, it’ll take awhile, though. They’ve got quite a backlog.”
    Matthews studied the sky. “I suggest we get off the mountain. A mean storm is brewing. Weather service is predicting six inches.”
    â€œFirst, I want to take another look at where Miss Contino hit.” Silverstone skied to the other side of the trail and down to the tree Stephanie hit. He leaned on his poles and peered at the scene, scanning up to the spot where the black-garbed skier had waited.
    He looked at Claire. “Could you stand where you saw the ski tracks cross?”
    Claire side-stepped to where she thought she remembered Stephanie’s tracks and the other skier’s had intersected. With all the snow swirling around, cutting down the visibility, she had a hard time pinpointing the spot. “I think it was about here.”
    Silverstone gazed at her, eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.
    Impatiently, Matthews skied to him. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll be caught in a total whiteout. C’mon, everyone, I’ll lead the way.” He waved his arm down the hill as gusts of snow scoured its surface.
    â€œWell?” Claire asked Silverstone. “Now that you’ve seen the tamped-down snow, the broken branch, and the cigarette butt, do you believe Boyd and me about the skier deliberately killing Stephanie?”
    Silverstone’s face was impassive. “I always believed you, Mrs. Hanover, at least to the extent of what you saw. The problem is determining what it means.”

Seven:
Altitude Adjustment
    After a late lunch of spicy chicken tortilla soup and hot chocolate at the townhouse, Claire mulled over the visit to the ski resort while she loaded the dishwasher. Could the cigarette butt have come from the killer? Or was some other random person the smoker? Even if DNA or prints on the butt matched a criminal in the FBI database, that criminal could just be a ski enthusiast who had made a recent trip to Breckenridge.
    At