The Ice Storm Murders Read online

  "What now?"

  "We'll use the stove and fireplaces and the oil lamps. I have several electric lanterns with high-capacity batteries too. I'll go search them out if you'll start on the wood."

  "Yeah. If you see Thomas or Brad, send them out too."

  "Will do."

  Mike gathered up an armload of wood, breathed in the scent of cut cedar and paper birch, and stomped his way to the kitchen. He piled the logs on the porch and went in. Eloise stood at the counter, putting cookies and milk on a tray. What a lovely woman she was. He could see why Van wanted rid of her. Lots of competition for her when David realized what she was like. If the weather settled in, that would be soon.

  "Hi, Eloise."

  "Hi. Do we have enough wood?"

  "Yes, for now."

  "I'll have to bring the children down here to play."

  A bit of tension there.

  "We'll keep the fireplace going upstairs if you want. You worried about her highness?"

  "Yes. Olivia is old enough to understand what she says."

  "Poor kid. But David won't let her get away with it. I think they're on the outs."

  "On the outs?"

  "Not getting along. Is there anything to eat?”

  "Bien sûr. Food is left from lunch— tourtière, not too bad and some rolls. I can put it in the oven for you."

  "Thanks. Let me know if you need wood for the fireplace in your rooms. We can keep it warm for the kids."

  "Merci."

  Eloise carried her tray of cookies and milk upstairs.

  Yeah, Van was right to be worried about that one.

  Much later in the afternoon, Anne left a dozing Thomas, threw on a heavy Icelandic sweater of black and white wool, and took the back stairs to the kitchen. Outside, the rain pelted down, freezing as it hit the stems and branches of the trees, turning shrubs into miniature glass sculptures. How much ice, she wondered. In 1998, the Ottawa Valley and Montreal saw one hundred millimetres of freezing rain that brought down power lines and century-old pines, stranded people in their homes behind live wires across their driveways, and left them in the cold and dark. Successive storms crept in with slow monotonous rain that froze and didn't thaw for days.

  This storm raged and howled, and the rain still fell, coating everything in its path. No way to hear a forecast, to know how long the storm would last, or how thick the ice would grow.

  People still had to eat, she thought. Ice or no ice. With the generator off, she'd use the more perishable food first, especially the chicken, to avoid illness-causing bacteria. If she didn't open the freezer too often, it should keep most things safe for two days at least. And there was always outside if the temperature fell low enough, but it needed to be below eighteen celsius to freeze. Only minus four to replicate a fridge though. Some things could be kept outside, in a shed perhaps.

  With the chicken thawed, she coated it with olive oil and Italian seasoning she found in another section of the pantry, the shelves arrayed with glass and plastic containers of herbs and spices. Whoever cooked here took her craft seriously. Was cooking a skill or an art? In her own case, a utilitarian skill learned from necessity after Michael died. He loved to cook and made all their meals.

  She smiled at the memory of him, outfitted with an apron that proclaimed he was Number One in the Kitchen. So many years ago, so much happiness. Had she found the same with Thomas?

  She stoked the fire in the white enamel wood stove, added a fresh piece of log to the box, and closed the grate. She popped a frozen cake in the warming oven and waited until the gauge on the roasting oven below steadied at 400F. That should do it, she thought, for the chicken and the potatoes.

  She peeled carrots, tossed them with oil and salt and paper and put them on another rack in the oven.

  A search of the fridge revealed lettuce and other salad items but no dressing. A vinaigrette would have to do.

  She was whisking olive oil into a mixture of red wine vinegar, garlic, and Dijon mustard when Eloise and the children tramped down the stairs. The children wore sweaters atop their miniature turtleneck shirts, Olivia in deep blue and Hamish in bright red. Eloise took off the sweaters and hung one on the back of a chair and the other on the highchair before settling the children in front of quiet toys, colouring for Olivia and several plastic cars for Hamish.

  "Can I help, Anne."

  "Thanks. Could you feed the dogs? I haven't found their food yet, and they're beginning to resent it."

  "Haven't they shown you?"

  Eloise pulled on a cupboard handle which tilted out to reveal a bin full of kibble.

  "I wondered why they stared at that corner."

  "Should I set the table in here or the dining room?"

  "The dining room if we can warm it enough.”

  "David lit the fire a while ago, I think."

  "How are you?"

  Eloise's dark eyes searched Anne's.

  "You know, don't you?"

  "Yes. I imagine most people know. Love lights up your face."

  "He doesn't see it. He only sees her."

  "Not so much. We'd better get on."

  Eloise shot her a perplexed glance, gathered a tray full of plates and cutlery, and swung through the door to the dining room. Experienced, Anne thought. She hasn't always been a nanny. And so in love.

  Anne woke Thomas, who dressed in his usual rapid fashion and a few minutes later, came down the stairs into the dining room. She placed hand-thrown ceramic bowls of pickles and olives on the table and cast a discerning eye around the room. Candles in antique brass sticks marched down the centre of the dining room table. On the sideboard, ruby-shaded lamps burning scented oil lent a fragrance of pine woods and a glow of sunset to the scene. Carafes of white and red wine sparkled in front of them. Drapes on the window, in shades of dusty rose and deep blue, shuttered the storm away.

  He enfolded her in his arms, and she leaned back into his embrace.

  "Is this your work?"

  "No, Eloise arranged it."

  Off to the side, the children sat with Eloise at a card table set with white kitchen china.

  "Eloise, would you like to join us?" David said when he sat down at the head of the table.

  "I'm sure she's happier with the children. They are her job," said Vanessa.

  Arrayed tonight in a full-length black gown, its plunging neckline filled with a cascade of diamonds, she pouted at David when he asked again.

  "Eloise?"

  "Thank you, I'll stay here. Hamish needs help with his meat, and Olivia likes company."

  Andrea and Brad came down the stairs. She stumbled on a scatter rug, but he grabbed her. A stray lock of grey hair escaped from the chignon affected at the back of her head and trailed across her shoulder. She also wore a formal gown, emerald green with a high neck and capped sleeves. Perhaps she should have too, Anne thought, aware of her casual shirt and jeans.

  "You don't need to be so rough," Andrea said.

  "You're not a lightweight, Mom."

  They, too, sat at the end of the table, Andrea to David's right and Brad to his left. When Beth and Kevin came down, neither in formal dress, they took seats as far from Andrea and Brad as they could. No family love there, Anne thought.

  Opposite David, Vanessa sulked behind her wine glass. The light from the lamp stained her hair to a faint pink.

  "Trevor, I'd like some more red wine," she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows but went to the sideboard with her glass. Why the questioning look? Perhaps she didn't drink a great deal, Anne thought. But how would he know?

  Back in his own seat, Trevor encouraged Carmel to eat, speaking to her in soothing tones, as one might a restless child. Her eyes focussed on Hamish, Anne noticed. She nodded to Mike, they went to the kitchen and carried in the chicken and vegetables, and sat.

  The children finished; Eloise brought them to say goodnight to David and the company, and they returned to the nursery.

  "What are we going to do, David? Andrea sai
d.

  Slurring her words again, Anne thought, watching Andrea refill her glass from the bottle that stood between her and Brad. Brad was drinking steadily too.

  "About what?"

  "The lack of food, the heat, the power, the damned ice," said Brad.

  "There's lots of food and wood. We ran out of fuel for the generator, but we have candles and lamps."

  "I want to get out of here," Andrea said.

  "Depends on the storm."

  "What about the snowmobiles?" said Brad.

  "Not too good on ice and we don't know what the trails are like now. Lots of downed trees," said Mike.

  Andrea's voice rose to a grating wail, and tears overflowed her blood-shot eyes.

  ”We're trapped."

  "No, we're not trapped, Andrea. We have to wait until the storm is over and we can make sure there's no danger from power lines and trees. Have patience," said Thomas.

  Andrea subsided, drank from her glass, and poured more wine. The neck of the bottle chattered on the crystal, and red wine spilled over, staining the white table cloth.

  An image rose in Anne's mind of blood oozing from the body of the boy she'd found years before in Bermuda, and she shivered.

  "Anne?" said Thomas.

  "Nothing."

  Beth hurried to the kitchen, came back with a few paper towels, and mopped up the mess, whispering to her mother the whole time. The lid of the stove crashed after she went into the kitchen. The sherry-like odour of the burning, wine-soaked paper drifted into the room when she returned.

  Andrea and Brad murmured to each other, Vanessa fumed at one end of the table, and Trevor whispered to Carmel. Kevin patted Beth's hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek when she sat down again. A reward for the work or soothing her rage, Anne wondered.

  When the meal was over, David raised his glass.

  "Well done, Anne," said David. "Thank you so much. A toast to the cook."

  "I'm sure anyone can stick chicken and potatoes in the oven," said Vanessa in a loud aside to Trevor.

  "In a wood stove?" said David.

  "Oh, yes. I forgot Anne was your pet because she found out who killed your beloved father. Some people here wish she hadn’t; don’t they, Andrea?"

  "Vanessa, be quiet."

  "No. She ruined everyone's life with her prying and poking."

  "Karen murdered a man," said Thomas.

  "What a man. Look at the poor bastard children and you, David, and how many more? He was revolting."

  Vanessa shoved her chair backwards, crashing it to the wall behind and raced up the stairs.

  "I'll make sure she's okay," said David. "The wine hit her."

  "Maybe it would be better if someone else—"

  "I don't think so."

  A few minutes later, he plodded down the stairs.

  "She says she's going to bed."

  Soon the dining room emptied. Brad took Andrea upstairs, Kevin and Beth followed, as did Trevor and Carmel.

  Anne cleared her plate and cutlery and Thomas's from the table. He followed her out with two more.

  "How long?" Anne said.

  "Two days. Sooner, if the cell service comes back."

  "My phone is dying."

  "Mine too. David didn't mention a satellite phone?"

  "Not to me."

  Mike and David carried more dishes into the kitchen and returned.

  "David, you don't have a sat phone here, I suppose?" said Anne.

  "We did. I kept it on the hall table, but it disappeared yesterday."

  "Someone took it. How odd? Perhaps Olivia?" said Thomas.

  "She's a bit of a rascal, but she hasn't bothered the phones before. I'll ask her in the morning."

  A few minutes later, Anne walked into the kitchen to find Beth at the sink, elbow-deep in suds.

  "Did you get hot water from the stove?" Anne asked.

  "Yes. Someone said that you did all the work last time, and I remembered it was true. I'm so sorry I didn't help you more then but I will this time."

  "Thanks. Mike helped a lot, but he's on wood detail this time."

  Finished, Beth sat at the table, her hands clenched white.

  "What—"

  "Don't you feel it? Someone is so angry."

  "Vanessa."

  "Yes, but she left the room and the feeling of—I don't know, hidden rage maybe—was still there."

  "Are you sensitive to atmosphere? I must admit, other than watching the drinking and Vanessa's anger, I didn't notice much."

  "Something underneath. I'd like to go up."

  She swung the door to the living room and came back.

  "Kevin's gone to our room. Would you come to the top of the stairs with me?"

  "Of course, but why do you think you are in more danger than I?"

  "It's my family. My mother is so irrational."

  "Come on. I'll go upstairs with you to your room. Kevin is there by now and you'll be safe. I'm sure we all are."

  Eloise poked at the embers of the fire when they returned to the nursery. The fire had raced through the logs she added before dinner.

  "Olivia, I'm going downstairs for some more wood. Don't wake Hamish."

  "I won't."

  Eloise gathered up an armload of wood in the kitchen and carried it back to the nursery. Hamish slept on in his crib, but Olivia was nowhere to be seen. She checked the bathrooms and the one empty room. What a child. Perhaps she went downstairs. She liked Anne.

  Eloise raced down the stairs to the kitchen and burst through the door, sending it crashing back into the wall.

  "What's the matter?" said Anne.

  "Have you seen Olivia?"

  "She hasn't been down here."

  "She couldn't have gone out?"

  "No, no. Not this way."

  Eloise ran into the living room, empty now of the guests. David stood in the bow window, peering out at the storm.

  "David, David."

  "What?"

  "Has Olivia been down here?"

  "No. She can't have gone outside, Eloise. We'll find her. You know how she likes to explore the lodge. You go back upstairs, and I'll check the basement."

  Olivia tiptoed over the crib. Hamish had his dinosaur pyjamas on with his bum sticking up in the air like always. She crept away and out the door. There was no one in the hallway. She hurried down the hall to Vanessa's room. The door was open, and Vanessa wasn't there either. Maybe she could put the paper back before Vanessa knew she took it.

  But shoes clicked on the hall floor. She ran to the closet, opened the door, and squeezed behind the long dresses. She better not touch them or Vanessa would be really mad. The closet smelled like Vanessa. She didn't like it. She liked how Eloise smelled, like the outside in the garden. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and waited.

  When Vanessa came in, someone came with her.

  "What brought that on."

  That was Uncle David, but he sounded so cross. Why was he cross with Vanessa?

  "Leave me alone."

  "This isn't going to work, Vanessa."

  "What?”

  Vanessa sounded cross like she did when she said she would spank.

  "The dogs, the children, even the lodge. You don't want to share my life; you want to destroy it."

  "You bastard. I gave up my career for you."

  "What career? A few photographs in a minor magazine."

  Eloise heard something crash, and then the door opened and closed. Eloise listened. Did they both go? What could she do?

  Someone rapped at the door.

  "What is it?”

  "Vanessa, have you seen Olivia."

  That was Eloise.

  "No, and the brat isn't in here."

  For a long time, she stood behind the dresses and waited. After a while, Vanessa snored. Olivia giggled. Maybe she could leave now. She edged out but the door to the hall opened, and she hid again. Someone crossed the room and was quiet, and then went.

  Olivia crept out of the closet. Why was V
anessa's cover all red? She looked like she was sleeping. Now she was scared. If Vanessa woke up, she would blame her for putting red paint on her clothes. She scurried to the door and looked down the hall. A man turned the corner. Who was that? She raced back to the playroom. Eloise wasn't there, and Hamish was still sleeping. She curled up in a chair. She was tired now too.

  Eloise came back and picked her up and rocked her.

  "Where did you go, Olivia?"

  She better not say she was in Vanessa's room.

  "I wanted to see the other bathroom."

  "Why?"

  "Sometimes there are pretty bottles."

  "You are such a magpie."

  "What is a magpie?"

  "A bird that collects shiny things. Go to sleep now."

  Eloise rocked and sang a little song that made Olivia feel safe.

  A few minutes later, she slept.

  Downstairs, David shone a powerful flashlight into the wine cellar and cedar closet, inhaling the woodsy scent before he went on the mechanical room and storage. He checked behind boxes and crates of old possessions and luggage, but there was no sign of the little girl. She was so inquisitive and fearless, she could be anywhere. But not outside, he reassured himself. She wouldn't go outside. Perhaps she was back in the nursery by now.

  He climbed the stairs to the kitchen and on up.

  In the hallway, Eloise stood with her back to the door of the children's room, her head turned away from him.

  When he came up to her, he whispered her name.

  "She's back," Eloise said. "She's asleep now."

  David hugged her and stepped back, conscious of overstepping the boundaries he'd made for himself.

  "I'm sorry, Eloise. I was so worried."

  "That's okay. Olivia said she went to the hall bathroom to look for pretty bottles. I hope that's all she was doing. She's restless with no outside play these last two days."

  "I hope not in Vanessa's—"

  "Non. When I rapped on the door, she said that Olivia wasn't there."

  "Good. I'll talk to Olivia in the morning."

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Anne shifted in bed to look at the time and the scene outside. The wind had died in the night, and filtered sunshine slipped through the windows, spilled across the floor, and dappled the bed. The ice didn't coat the glass on this side of the house. Outside the landscape of a frozen planet loomed—misshapen, wounded trees, wires coated in ice lying on the ground, crab apples, their red skin visible under two inches of ice, and everywhere stillness. Sunshine scattered through twigs of ice as though a chandelier hung in the sky. She smiled and slipped out of bed for a closer look. Lovely, but deadly, she thought.