CHAPTER 9
By the time I gingerly pulled the Rover onto the interstate, ski traffic was flowing steadily westward. Cars and trucks hummed through the Eisenhower Tunnel. Arch was asleep, or pretending to be. West of the Divide, the snow had finally stopped. A bank of thick white clouds clung to the far mountaintops. Above it, an azure-tinted sky promised sunshine. From the high drifts lining the roadway, wide swathes of snow blew across the lane dividers and obscured them. I was too timid to take my eyes off the road to see if there were any signs of my accident. The last thing I needed was to total another vehicle.
Tom had called the wrecker service that dealt with near-the-tunnel mishaps and asked them to tow my van to a secure storage lot in Dillon, near the tunnel. After I finished in
