While Lorne and I continued our lunch, he said, "We should compile a list of groceries for First Resort. Breakfasts and lunches only, though – we can walk to Upper Village for our dinners."

"Walk? Outside? Is that safe?"

"It's only six or seven minutes to the Fairmont, two or three more past the Hilton to the Four Seasons. All three are far too big and prestigious for the Mob to have done anything there."

"But the other restaurants around them?"

"The three hotels have the full Upper Village dining spectrum sewn up among them. At the lift base, there's a Milestones greasy and some drink-oriented apres-ski pub-style and burger-type joints. Nobody bothers to review such places. Besides, they're far below the quality to have been targeted."

"But along the way? They know the ruse of hiding my hair. Also, they now have pictures of you. What will we walk past to get there?"

Lorne shrugged. "Half a dozen townhouse blocks like mine along this street, then follow the walkway past the Blackcomb lift base and its fast-food places into a pedestrian-only area of upscale boutiques and tourist services surrounding the hotels."

"What if a Mob's restaurant manager or other insiders live in one of the townhouses along here? Or what if they're are up there shopping?"

"How likely is that? Or that a hypothetical one would be looking out a window when we pass? Besides, they'd be at work at that time."

"Yeah, crazy thinking." I blew a loud breath. "Guess I'm just super spooked by all of this."

"Understandable with what you've been through the past three days." Lorne leaned and kissed my cheek, then lifting a tress of my hair, he said, "Could braid this to make it less conspicuous. I used to do my sister's, and I likely still remember how."

"Ummm, I'd like that. I used to put it up in French braids and other updos for work." I winced. "The HR manager thought unrestrained looked unprofessional. Slutty, she had called it."

"Used to? Seems they've dumped that manager?"

I chuckled. "No, unlikely – she's the owner's daughter. But I left WCTV a few years ago."

"Oh! Another thing I missed." He shrugged, a smile crinkling around his eyes. "As you've said a few times the past while."

"Yeah, having short chats every few weeks hasn't allowed for much depth, has it? So, to fill you in, when book royalties surpassed my salary, I tendered my resignation." I chuckled. "They offered me the evening news and a huge raise as an inducement to stay. So funny – I had auditioned every time an on-air position opened, but they never made the offer until I resigned."

Lorne laughed. "Were you still an investigative reporter, or had you moved up?"

"Started as a newswriter, went through various forms of reporting, and the HR witch notwithstanding, I ended up as head of the news department."

"Wow! Impressive."

"Thanks. But such a dichotomy in the beginning – writing gruesome reality by day and sweet romantic fiction by night."

"Ummm, that would have been strange."

"It was, but I soon saw benefits. The diversity of the scenarios and people allowed me to more easily add realistic depth to my fictional characters and settings."

All this while, Lorne had continued playing with my hair, and he moved a loose braid around my shoulder and let it fall down my chest. "We could do a pair of loose plaits like this. Wear one in front and the other down your back. Show something besides the massive hair. That's how I always spotted you at an event. Scan the room, hoping."

"Yeah, and me seeing your tumble of blond curls floating half a head and more above the crowd. You must be six-five."

"Six-three and a bit in bare feet."

I chuckled. "I'd need five-inch heels to match you, though, even in flats; I'm still taller than most. Both of us are so visible. So recognisable."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Useful in most circumstances, but easy targets in this one."

"So, what do we do?"

"Assume that the Mob's property scouts are intelligent, and they realise there'd be no viable targets in Upper Village. Realise that the bulk of their inbound dupes wouldn't venture up here to dine."

"Inbound?"

"The steady flood of tourists."

"Yes, of course, the two million annual overnighters." I did a quick calc. "Need more than five thousand a day to meet that."

"Exactly. And adding the non-overnighters, about one in three here is a visitor. Most of the locals work in one aspect or another of the hospitality trade, and they're either at work or cocooned at home, away from the chaotic party atmosphere. The vast majority of diners are tourists."

"Yeah, without tourism, Whistler'd be dead." I shrugged. "So again, what do we do?"

"Assume Upper Village is safe."

<><><>

A few minutes to eight, my hair in a swirling French braid with a tail floating down my chest and Lorne's curls tamed and slicked back, we walked past the lift base. The après patios were boisterous, dominated by muddy cyclists, and I pointed at Merlin's. "Used to sit there for a draft and a burger with Nathan."

"After a full day of bike runs?"

"No, a midday break. We'd pause for lunch after three or four descents, then do four or five more runs in the afternoon before driving back down to Vancouver for dinner."

"Never stayed overnight?"

I shrugged. "Only a two-hour drive. Made no sense. Besides, as Nathan's fitness declined, even a single day became too much for him. The last time, he sat out every second run."

"He had always been rather trim. What triggered the weight gain?"

"Despondency. It began when he failed the sommelier exam a third time. With meds, he had managed to keep his depression tendency in check until then, but he slowly spiralled down. Lost his job and sank further. His meds were adjusted to help stabilise."

"Sad." Lorne winced. "Are you comfortable talking about him? Or should we switch topics?"

"No, it's fine." I paused to assess my feelings. "Yeah, it is. We've not talked much about him, have we?"

"I know he was from Halifax or Moncton."

"Born in Moncton, but as a teen, they moved to Halifax. He came west to do a criminology degree at Simon Fraser, working as a waiter to support himself. His attention deficit meant slow progress, and with only two-thirds of the required credits completed, he gave up after six years. Did the Hospitality Management program at VCC and worked his way up through some restaurants, becoming a manager."

"Thus, his interest in reviewing dining."

"And wine. He had completed the first three levels over the years, but he kept failing the fourth, the Master Sommelier examinations."

"I wish I had known. I could have mentored him."

"Mentored?"

"I often conduct Master Classes for them."

"You also teach wine?"

"No, these are advancement sessions for Master Sommeliers."

"Oh!"

We continued our conversation as we entered and walked through the area of boutiques, and while I gawped at the display in a window, a voice beside me said, "Catherine Redburn."

I turned my head to see a woman reaching into her shoulder bag.