The Ice Storm Murders Read online

  "What are we going to do?" Eloise said.

  David started and stared at Eloise as though he had never seen her before. "You are going to care for the children and keep them safe. Can you go up and wait with them until I come? I want to tell Olivia myself."

  "Of course."

  Eloise walked to the stairs and on up.

  "Of course, she hated Vanessa," said Andrea.

  His voice savage, David said, "Repeat that and when we're out of here, you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a suit for slander and cut off from Hamish."

  Andrea shrank back, her face ageing in seconds, and turned in a panic to Brad.

  "Leave my mother alone, or you'll find yourself on the wrong end of my fist," he said.

  "Calm down. And if you can't do that, go back upstairs," Thomas said.

  "Trevor, take me home. Take me home," Carmel whispered. "I can't stay here."

  "We all have to stay," said Thomas. "A new storm is coming."

  "Better cart some more wood in."

  Pragmatic Mike took his coat from a hook and trudged out to the woodpile. He was hurting, Anne thought, but why?

  "I'll join him," said Kevin.

  Beth put her hand on his arm but snatched it back when he shook his head at her. "Kev— "

  "Wait upstairs and lock your door."

  Beth took the back stairs, and the sound of her slammed door echoed down to them.

  A fresh onslaught of wind shook the windows as though to emphasize Thomas's words, and snow swirling against the panes hid the landscape.

  Silence lengthened. Anne gave David a piece of toast and a cup of strong black tea with sugar, an old remedy for shock and slipped into her seat beside Thomas. What were they going to do? Vanessa's room was secure for now, and the open windows would keep that temperature down, but they would need to move the body outside if they weren't freed soon. David jerked his chair back, stood up, and sat down again. His eyes pleaded with them.

  "Can you find out who did it, Tom, Anne?"

  Anne felt her body go cold. Not again. They couldn't get involved again. "We're not police," Anne said. "We can't go around demanding people account for their time and so on."

  "You did it before."

  "Only by accident and only when we were asked," she said.

  "I'm asking."

  "I mean asked by the police or someone in authority of some kind. We're all suspects. When the police come, they won't want us to ask so many questions that all the stories are set, all alibis formulated."

  She looked at Thomas, willing him to support her.

  "But we are trapped here with a murderer," Thomas said.

  No, oh no. Not him too. She pushed away from the table and leaned against the sink, her back towards them, rigid. "Yes, and if we try to find out who that is, we'll be targets too."

  "I'd rather do something," Thomas said.

  Of course, he'd rather do something. He'd always rather do something. He trained for this or something like this.

  "Remember what happened in Culver's at Christmas."

  She recognized the desperation in her own voice and willed herself to be calm, her throat to stay open, and fear not turn into a constricting rope around her neck.

  "What happened where?" asked David.

  She pulled out her chair and took her place at the table. "In Culver's Mills, Thomas's home town. We arrived for Christmas, but an assassin sent to recover a Fabergé egg tried to kill us."

  David's eyes widened, and for a moment, his jaw dropped.

  "A Fabergé egg? What the hell? In Vermont? Why?"

  "Because I had crossed her before and because she thought I had the egg. She assaulted Thomas. She almost killed him."

  Thomas's strong, warm hand grasped hers. "And you. But we weren't."

  "We might not be so lucky this time."

  "Please, Anne. What about the children? What if this person is attacking people close to me?"

  "Who would do that?"

  "I don't know. Brad, Andrea, maybe."

  The children. Who knew what demented reason caused that ferocious attack on Vanessa, Anne thought. But it was ferocious, and she lay there, not defending herself. She wasn't drunk. Why were there no defensive wounds? Was she drugged? Did she take sleeping pills? Stop questioning, she urged herself.

  "We can listen to what people say. And they will talk," said Thomas.

  "I have to think about it. I'm going up," said Anne.

  She opened the door to the stairwell.

  "Anne, please," said David. "Please."

  "I want to think."

  Upstairs, she felt in her pocket for a tissue and found the note. In block letters, it read Don't be curious this time or Vanessa won't be the only one. Who was the killer threatening, her or Thomas, or both of them?

  Chapter Ten

  When the knock came at the door, Beth tiptoed over and whispered. "Who's there?"

  "Me."

  Kevin's voice. She rested her forehead on the door, let out a long sigh, and turned the lock. When he came in, she rushed into his arms, breathing in the scent of wood chips from his jacket. His heart was pounding. Why? "Are you—"

  "I was afraid you wouldn't answer. We don't know why Vanessa was killed. Perhaps someone is killing young women. I don't know this guy Mike or Trevor for that matter, and who the hell are Thomas and Anne. They seem to have been around a lot of dead bodies."

  "Stop, Kevin. Stop. Everyone can't be a killer."

  He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. "I'm sorry, baby. As I climbed the stairs in the dark, I terrified myself thinking I would find you dead too."

  "But I'm not. And no one has a reason to kill us. We aren't hateful people like Vanessa."

  "Hateful?"

  "Oh, yes. Several people hated her, beginning with my mother and brother. What if they killed her? What will we do?"

  "Come and lie down."

  He wrapped her in the cocoon of his arms and murmured against her hair. He always told her how much he loved the scent of her hair. Lemon and sunshine, he said. "No one in your family killed anyone, baby. Karen was an in-law—"

  "Trevor is her brother."

  "Trevor has his hands full with Carmel's illness. Stop brooding. The storm will end soon, and we can get out of here. Thomas's helicopter will come for them and for us too, or we can drive out if the roads are cleared."

  "The police will come and interview us."

  "Don't worry about that now. And you have nothing to fear from the police."

  What would the police think? How were they going to send word to them? Kevin stroked her shoulders until she relaxed. Soon she would sleep.

  Down the hall, David knocked on the door of the playroom and went in. Eloise sat on the pine floor with Hamish who played with his blocks, building them into awkward towers of three or four, knocking them down and laughing his baby laugh. Olivia coloured at her table under the window.

  He prepared this room for them, painting the cupboards and open shelves in primary colours, arranging for the curtains made in material that would let in lots of light, carpeting the bare floorboards to keep them warm for little toes and furnishing with a play-table and child-sized chairs. He planned to convert the space to a bedroom for Olivia alone when the children were old enough to sleep apart. "May I come in?"

  "Of course."

  Her voice was part of the reason he hired her—soft, comforting, with that charming French accent. She was qualified too. A B.A. in art and a B. Ed. Lucky for him teaching was a tough profession to break into. She sat on the mat beside Hamish and hugged the little boy to her. She was graceful, he thought, and she skied and swam and was qualified to teach those skills too.

  He drew a schoolroom chair near Olivia and folded himself into it beside her. "Olivia, I have something to tell you."

  "A surprise?"

  "No, not a surprise. Something sad."

  Olivia got up from her chair and stood close to him. She touched his face and snuggled in. "Are you sad,
Uncle David?"

  "Yes. A bad thing happened to Vanessa. She was badly hurt, and now she's not alive anymore."

  "Dead like my kitten?"

  Her kitten died of feline leukemia a month before.

  "Yes, dead like the kitten."

  "Will we bury her in the garden, too."

  "No, grownups go to a special place to be buried. That won't happen for a little while. Not until the storm is over."

  A shadow passed over the little girl's face. Her brows knitted, and she pouted. "Vanessa didn't like me."

  How did she know that? Had she been listening to them fight?

  "Did you like her?"

  "No. Vanessa said she would spank me."

  "Spank you. Why?"

  David shot a glance at Eloise who shrugged and nodded.

  "Because I wanted to look at her pretty jewellery."

  "Did you go in her room?"

  Olivia hung her head and nodded.

  "You mustn't touch other people's things."

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're sad."

  She put up her arms, he picked her up, and she patted his back with her tiny hands. He met Eloise's gaze over the child's head.

  "You play with your crayons now," he said as he lowered her to the floor.

  "I'm not playing. I'm making art."

  David stood up and gestured towards the door to Eloise.

  Outside, she said, "I'm so sorry for your loss, David."

  Her soft brown eyes looked up into his.

  "Thank you. Did you know she threatened to spank Olivia?"

  "I knew someone did. She cried about that in her sleep. I was going to talk to you this morning."

  "I don't think I really understood her."

  "I must return to the children."

  He followed her lithe figure as she knelt beside Olivia and whispered to her. Had he ever loved Vanessa or had he been infatuated with the glamour?

  He walked down the hall to the room he'd hoped to share Vanessa.

  Trevor opened the door to their bathroom to find Carmel, naked, standing on her scale. She travelled with the damn thing everywhere, and no one could use it but her. At home, neither he or the housekeeper moved it so much as a centimetre.

  Her ribs made a ladder of her chest, and the sharp wings of her pelvis jutted out from her body. So pale. She plucked at the loose skin over her abdomen. "Look at this, Trevor. I gained more weight. How could I? I've been so good."

  Her voice rose in a mournful wail.

  "That's not fat, sweetheart. Just loose skin. You've lost more weight."

  "The scales are wrong. If I'm fat, they won't let us adopt a baby. I'll never be a mother."

  She rushed past him onto the bed. He sat beside her and rubbed her shoulders. More bone. She was almost plump when they married. He loved her curves and her softness, then.

  "Perhaps David will let us adopt Hamish now that he won't be married," he said.

  She stared at him. Had he been too blunt, too uncaring about a murder?

  "He won't. I heard him talking to Anne. He loves the children. He'll never let them go. Never. And even if he did, Brad and Andrea would want Hamish."

  So she was looking at it from their point of view, how it would benefit them. Maybe give her some hope, some reason to eat again...

  "No, not Andrea. She's a drunk, and the social workers wouldn't let her have him. No, the only obstacle is David. I can talk him around."

  Her eyes, swollen with tears over her knife-sharp cheekbones, met his. "You'll talk to him?"

  "I will. I want you to be well again."

  Mike waited until the kitchen emptied, and Kevin dumped his firewood before coming in with his armload of birch and maple. He stacked the logs in a cast iron bucket beside the stove, ate some breakfast, and remembered the early days with Vanessa. They had fun for a while, but she always wanted money. She always wanted Thwaite money. So sure she was hard done by. So sure Thwaite ignored her on purpose. But that wasn't like Cooper or David. She wouldn't listen when he told her to go to them and tell them who she thought she was. She insisted on doing it her way. When the cops came, they would find out about her and him. What should he do? What could he do?

  And should he tell what he saw? That could mean money in his pocket. He needed money. The mortgage was due on the house, and it was her turn to pay. Not happening now.

  He wondered if she left a will and if she had anything to leave. Did David give her any money, any real money? He was her heir, not David. There was no one else.

  The door opened. Him.

  "I wondered when you would come back here. Planning to wipe your fingerprints off the knives. I know what you did, you bastard."

  "What do you think I did?"

  "You killed her."

  "No—"

  "Yes. I saw you take the knife."

  "Did you tell the others?"

  "Nope. Figured it might be worth something to you. But I left a note, so don't think about killing me too."

  At least he intended to leave a note.

  "What do you want?”

  He sounded afraid. At least he thought it was fear.

  "Nothing for now, while we're locked up here. But when we get out, you and I need to have a little chat."

  "Money, I suppose."

  "You must have some, a professional like yourself."

  "Someone's coming. We can talk later."

  The killer charged up the backstairs as Thomas opened the door to the kitchen.

  "Need any help with the wood?"

  "Not for now. It's all good."

  And it was going to be great for a long time with his little gold mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Passing the door to the playroom, Anne saw Eloise rocking Hamish. Olivia played with her doll-house in one corner but ran to hug Anne when she came in. "Hello, Olivia. What have you been doing this morning? Lessons?"

  "Not today. Eloise says it's a sad day and we don't have to do work."

  "She's right. It is a sad day. I'm going to talk to Eloise for a little while."

  "Okay."

  Olivia scooted back to her corner, and Anne sat in another rocking chair, padded with a chintz-covered cushion. She leaned back and took a deep breath.

  "Was it tough downstairs?"

  "Yes, it was."

  "Does Andrea think I killed Vanessa."

  "Yes."

  Eloise's eyes filled with tears. "She wants Hamish, and if she can say I'm a killer, she can take him from David."

  Anne shook her head. "Don't you think she would have to prove that David is a killer, too. She's not rational, and the more she drinks, the less rational she becomes."

  "So all David must do is fire me?"

  Eloise voice dissolved in a sob. "He's not going to do that, Eloise. You take such care of the children."

  "I love them."

  "And David too, I think."

  "For a long time. They will say that is why she is dead. Jealousy. She was une croqueuse de diamants."

  "Gold-digger?"

  Eloise leaned forward and nodded her head. "Yes."

  "There are others with motives. But it takes a hating or frightened person to kill."

  Then Anne remembered Colette. The Swiss woman killed on assignment and for revenge and almost killed her.

  "I don't hate anyone," said Eloise.

  A knock at the door brought Brad into the room. "Hi. Could I play with Hamish for a little while?"

  At the word play, Hamish wiggled down from Eloise's knee and dumped his lego on the floor.

  "I'll be going," said Anne. It was time she talked to Thomas.

  Brad knelt down beside Hamish. The blue, yellow, and red interconnecting rectangles, oversized to help unsteady toddler fingers push them together, tumbled out of their wicker basket onto the carpet. Across the room, Olivia's unsmiling face stared at him. Why didn't the child like him? She never had. Eloise floated up from her chair. Nice legs, he thought, appreciating the view from his vantage point on th
e floor.

  "If you stay here for a few minutes, I will shower, if there is any hot water," said Eloise.

  "I don't think so."

  "I've showered in cold water before."

  "No running water at all, not for the taps, not for the toilets."

  "What will we do?"

  "Ask David."

  The door crashed open, and Andrea pushed into the room, elbowing Eloise aside in her rush. "Did you get anything out of her?" she said when the door closed behind her.

  "She's gone to talk to David about the water situation. What's the matter with you? Little pitchers have big ears, or did you not notice Olivia in the corner."

  "What? Oh yes. Hello, Olivia."

  "Can I go to the bathroom?" Olivia said.

  "Where is it?"

  "Over there."

  She pointed to a door across the room.

  "Away you go," said Brad. "But don't flush."

  "Why?"

  "Just don't."

  "What are we going to do now. I want to leave here before someone kills us too."

  "No one's going to kill us."

  Brad helped Hamish place his train on the miniature track they had built. The little boy added blue plastic people to the yellow railway cars and plastic cows to the freight car. He woo-wooed his way around the track.

  Andrea collapsed into the rocking chair. "What's going to happen to the children now that she's dead."

  "More chance for us."

  "Why do you say that? David will take the children and the little French sweetie, go back to Toronto, and leave us with nothing."

  "Maybe. Or maybe whoever killed Vanessa isn't finished. I mean, why kill her? Why not him? He's the one controlling all the money. If he goes, the family will get Hamish for sure.

  "Brad, you didn't—"

  "Didn't what? What crazy idea to you have in your gin-soaked head now."

  "I don't drink gin. It sounded like you wanted David dead."

  "You want Hamish, don't you?"

  "Not for me. For Trevor and Carmel."

  "What? In the state she's in?"

  "She'll be all right when she has a child to care for. Why does David, a single guy, want the kids anyway?"