The Ice Storm Murders Read online

  "Maybe he's one of those—"

  Horror crossed her face and her eyes popped, the whites scarlet with distended veins from the booze. God, what now?

  "Brad, no. Oh, no. Do you really think so? We can't let him keep the children. We can't. What am I going to do?"

  She lurched across the room and out the door.

  That sure wound her up, thought Brad. When they left this godforsaken place they would start proceedings again.

  In her room next door, Eloise flipped on the intercom that allowed her to hear the children when she wasn't with them. What was this? Appalled, she listened as Brad poured suggestions into Andrea's alcoholic brain. How could he do that? What should she do?

  If she accused them of making up lies about David, they might suggest that she, too, was involved in whatever sick scheme they imagined David planned.

  When Andrea left, she walked back to the playroom and sat down in the chair opposite Brad.

  "You like these kids," he said.

  "I love them very much."

  "And what about Dave? You planning to take over from Vanessa there too."

  "What do you mean "take over" and what do you mean "too". Vanessa had no interest in the children."

  "Vanessa didn't like us," said Olivia from her corner.

  "Of course she liked you. She was going to be your mother," Brad said.

  "I have a mother, only she can't look after me right now."

  Brad knitted his eyebrows and cast a quizzical glance at Eloise.

  "Where?"

  "Passed away."

  The small voice piped up from the corner.

  "Vanessa didn't want to be our mother, and she wanted to spank me. She would spank Hamish, too."

  Brad frowned again at Eloise.

  "What's the kid talking about?”

  "Threats."

  Eloise folded her arms and leaned back in the rocker. Why was he asking all these questions? It sounded as though he was accusing her of killing Vanessa. What could she do?"

  Brad focussed on her from the other chair. He looked like a snake, she thought with his narrow eyes and the way he looked without blinking. She wished he would go.

  "Hamish needs his nap."

  "I thought he napped in the afternoon."

  "He isn't sleeping well."

  "Fine."

  He stood up, brushed off his pants, and walked out of the room without speaking to Hamish, who whimpered at being left. Quel homme mauvais.

  He had to be stopped before his poison affected everyone, especially his mother. What did she say? Something about what could she do. Andrea's brain was not normal. Perhaps she would do something mad. She would tell Anne and Thomas. They would know what to do.

  Someone knocked at the door, her heart jumped, but she forced her self to answer calmly.

  "Come in."

  Beth opened the door to the nursery at Eloise's call to come in.

  "Good morning. I wondered if I could spell you a little with the children, if you would like a break."

  Eloise opened her eyes wide in surprise. Perhaps no one offered to help her much, Beth thought. She really was lovely. Why had David chosen Vanessa with this beautiful woman around all the time?

  "I'd love to go downstairs for a half-hour or so. You are sure you don't mind?"

  "I'm not experienced with children, although Kevin's sister has two sweet little girls that we mind sometimes."

  "Hamish loves playing with his trains and likes someone with him on the floor, but Olivia likes to draw and paint at her table. Sometimes, I fear she is a bit neglected when people come to visit. Hamish is such a charming little boy that he gets all the attention."

  "I love to draw too."

  "I won't be long."

  Beth walked over to Olivia.

  "Olivia, my name is Beth, and I wondered if I could sit with you for a little while. Eloise says you like to draw and so do I. May I look at your work?

  Olivia handed her a drawing of the people, a little more advanced than stick figures, with clothes and features.

  "That is very good. Do you want to paint when you grow up?"

  "No, I'm going to build houses. Beautiful houses with no yelling allowed."

  "You don't like yelling?"

  "No."

  "Was someone yelling at you?"

  Olivia nodded her head and took her purple crayon from the tray, added a dress to one figure, and replaced the crayon in its proper position on her tray.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Olivia shook her head and went on colouring.

  "When you are finished, would you like me to read to you. I'm a very good reader."

  "Yes, please."

  She pointed to a case against the furthest wall.

  Half-an-hour later, both children were in Beth's lap on the rocking chair, sound asleep. Eloise opened the door and smiled.

  "Thank you."

  "They wanted the book read three times and promptly fell asleep."

  "Bien sûr. David reads to them at bedtime."

  Beth noted the touch of pink across Eloise's cheeks when she mentioned David. Like that, was it? Perhaps her brother and her mother would be defeated in their plans to take the children away. They should stay with this woman and David who loved them so much and had no substance abuse, like her mother or greed, like her brother. She would go to the court and say so if needed.

  "May I come again?"

  "Of course."

  Eloise lifted Hamish and settled him in his crib. Olivia woke, Eloise tucked her blanket around her on the sofa, and the little girl slept again.

  Beth left and opened the door of their room. Perhaps they should rethink the decision about children. Perhaps if they moved somewhere other than Manhattan they could afford it.

  She smoothed the fine wool sweater she wore, dusted off her black designer jeans, and crossed the room to wake Kevin.

  Anne walked into their room to find Thomas stretched out on the perfectlymade bed, reading. His military service, she supposed, accounted for the precision. The drapes were open, but the windows revealed only swirling and gusting snow. The sweet scent of pine floated up from the crackling fire. Anne sat beside the simple red-brick fireplace and held her hands out to the flames.

  "It's getting chillier by the minute in this house."

  "The generator powered the pump at the outdoor furnace. No hot water either and the woodpile is going down, too."

  She joined him on the bed, and he pulled the quilt around her.

  "What do you think about David's request?" she said.

  "At least we could search the room and take photos."

  "Every time this happens and—why does it keep happening to us—we get sucked in further and further until one of us is hurt. Colette could have killed you or me or both of us last year."

  "But she didn't. This is about preserving evidence, not investigating with it."

  "What about supplies. Gloves?"

  "There are disposable gloves in the workshop. They'll do, and I have my camera."

  "The one on your phone? Is it still charged?"

  "No, another small one with batteries."

  "Well done, you."

  He got out of bed and settled in the chair opposite her. Concern filled his eyes.

  "Are you doing okay? No flashbacks or nightmares?"

  "Not so far."

  She reached over to touch his hand. She loved his strong hands with the long fingers that could be so gentle. He folded her hand into his.

  "If people know we are poking around, someone, the killer might attack one of us."

  "We'll stick together."

  "Whom do you suspect?"

  "Everyone else although some less than others. I can't see Eloise in a frenzy."

  "She loves David and thinks Vanessa was a gold-digger, and she fears the loss of the children."

  "Reason enough, but does she have it in her to kill like that? I don't think so."

  "What about David?"


  "No motive. Would you like something to drink? Tea?"

  "Yes, let's go down, but what about Brad or Andrea?"

  "Andrea, in a drunken frenzy, yes. Brad, no. Mike?"

  "Why would he?”

  Thomas offered her a hand up out of her chair, and they stood by the door for a moment.

  "Trevor and Carmel?"

  "They have enough trouble with her anorexia."

  "After the tea, we can photograph the room. We may have to move the body to preserve it."

  "The key?"

  "In my pocket."

  "We don't know enough about these people."

  "Keep talking to them. That's what you do best."

  "Talk?"

  "Getting people to talk to you."

  She laughed at that.

  "An occupational skill."

  They walked together down the hallway towards the stairs. Anne shook her head. They shouldn't involve themselves. Not again.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Anne and Thomas came down the back stairs into the kitchen, they found Mike and David at the table, shivering, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs,.

  "Wood again?" Thomas said.

  "Trying to thaw that goddamned generator but no luck. She's still dead," said Mike.

  "The temperature's dropping outside, and the wood supply's going down trying to keep fires in all the rooms," said David.

  "Perhaps everyone should spend the daytime in the living room or in here and only heat the children's playroom and bedroom," Anne said.

  She busied herself at the stove. Food and water were not the problems; toilets and showers were.

  "How would that go over with the others?"

  "They can always gather some deadfall if they don't like it. Plenty in the bush," Mike said.

  "Do you want help with that now?" Thomas asked.

  "Not today."

  Anne poured tea into cups, carried one to Thomas, and sat beside him across from David.

  "What will we do about the toilets. I don't think I can melt enough water to flush them."

  "There are emergency pots under each bed," said David.

  "Thundermugs? Really?"

  "Dad believed in being prepared. There's an outhouse attached to the woodshed. The men can go outside, and we can take the pots there to empty."

  "Nice duty," Thomas said. "Whose?"

  David grunted and lifted one side of his mouth in a grimace. "Each family takes care of its own.’

  "You asked us to help with this," Anne said. "We would like to take photographs and search the room, in case we move her outside."

  "Move her? I thought you opened the windows."

  "We did, but it may not be cold enough, and we should preserve the body. In the shed perhaps, if we don't get power on again soon."

  "I don't think you should meddle with the scene, and the cops will be pissed," said Mike.

  David frowned again. "I want to make sure they have the evidence they need.’

  Mike leaned forward and slapped the table. "So leave it alone and don't let these amateurs mess it up."

  What had got into him? Why did he care one way or the other, Anne thought. His face was contorted with what? Anger, grief? She wondered what relationship he had with Vanessa.

  "We won't disturb anything," Thomas said.

  "All the same."

  David closed his arms across his chest, and his jaw clenched. The skin over his cheekbones blanched. How curious Anne thought. Most people flush when they're angry. "Give it up, Mike. My house, my decision and on me."

  "Have it your way but don't say I didn't warn you."

  Mike swung out of his chair, grabbed his coat and boots, and slammed the door behind him. The others eyed each other. Thomas dark eyebrows lifted. Anne walked to the sink and leaned forward over the sink to catch a glimpse of Mike. Outside, he plodded away towards the woodshed, his arms hanging heavy at his side, his face to the ground. Grief, Anne thought. Not anger.

  "What was that all about?" Anne asked.

  "Who knows. You do what you have to do upstairs."

  "We'll take pictures and have a quick look around. But that's all. No interrogating, no amateur interference," Anne said.

  Brad knocked on Andrea's door and stalked in. Andrea perched in a yellow wing-back chair drawn up to the fire. The glass she held tumbled out of startled fingers, fell to the floor, and rolled beneath the bed. Her neglected grey hair fell in unkempt strings around her face, naked of makeup. She'd aged in two days.

  "What did you do that for?" she said, her voice rising in a querulous whine.

  "What?"

  "Barge in here. You made me drop my glass."

  "I told you to cut down on the drinking.”

  "It's my firsht, first one."

  He drew the opposite chair closer to her.

  "Sure, it is. Listen, as soon as we get out of here, we'll make a play for Hamish. That little minx is plotting something; I know she is."

  "What minx? Carmel?"

  "Carmel couldn't plot her way across a room. Eloise. She admitted that she loves the kids, so it's not just a job to her. We'll need to cast a lot of doubt on David. Can you cough up for a private detective?"

  "Why?"

  "To see if we can get anything on him. You remember I asked you why he wanted the kids."

  "No, Brad. I don't believe it."

  Her blue-veined hand with its paper-thin skin reached out to him. He pulled back from her touch. Old broad could keep her hands to herself. She covered her face for a moment, and he thought she sobbed, once. She uncovered her eyes, round with fear.

  "Do you want Hamish or don't you?"

  "Yes, yes. Get me my glass."

  "And clean yourself up. No one would let you adopt a cat the way you look now."

  Her head jolted back as though at a blow and tears filled her red-rimmed eyes.

  "For chrissakes, Ma."

  He reached under the bed for the glass and poured her a generous Scotch.

  They'd get their hands on that money one way or the other, but right now he had to find out what everyone else was doing.

  Thomas unlocked the door to Vanessa's room, and they stepped inside. The lock clicked behind them. Anne shivered from the cold that crept into her bones or was it something else, something that lingered in the room from the hate. Only hate fuelled those savage thrusts into Vanessa's body.

  "Brr," said Anne. "Do you think we'll have to move her. It must be below zero Celsius in here."

  "Not cold enough for many more days."

  Anne tore her eyes away from the shrouded mass on the bed. The furniture in this room didn't follow the country pattern of the rest of the lodge. Anne thought they must be over the dining room from comparing the dimensions of the room. A white mantel decorated with acanthus leaves enclosed smooth black marble around the firebox of yellow brick. An ornate brass fender protected an Aubusson-style rug in black and cream from the embers.

  Clothes from days before draped every surface: underwear in scarlet and black on one chair; silver shoes abandoned under the bed; elegant trousers in raw silk; a yellow evening dress she must have worn in the days before they arrived tossed on another chair.

  Crusts of bread and the dregs of tea in a cup of fine porcelain, Worcester, she thought, remained on a tray on the bedside table. They needed to be preserved. Fine dust settled on the wooden surfaces.

  An art-deco mahogany dressing table stood before a mirror framed in red lacquer. Crystal perfume bottles and expensive cosmetics lined up across the black marble top, in perfect order. A partially closed jewellery case in deep scarlet leather caught her eye. "Thomas, this case might have been searched. It's open."

  He took photo after photo from every angle and squatted on the floor, shooting up into Vanessa's face. Anne shuddered but then focussed on Vanessa's head. Those strange ears, so like David's.

  "Gloves?"

  "Yes."

  "Then go ahead and see if her jewellery is still there."


  She lifted the lid and gasped at the trove of diamonds and rubies that filled the upper compartment. She assumed they were real and gifts from David. The edge of a paper peeked out from under the top tray. "Lots still here so I doubt anything is missing. Can you take a picture before I lift out the tray."

  When Thomas was done, she inspected the paper below. A photocopy of a birth certificate. Vanessa Amanda Donland, mother, Emily Louise Donland. The name of the father had been written in by hand and read Cooper Thwaite. She turned it over. A letter from a genetics lab with DNA results. The individuals tested, it read, are half-siblings and share twenty-five percent of their DNA.

  She staggered back and would have sat but remembered that she couldn't. Thomas took her arm. "Oh, my God."

  "What is it?"

  "You must photograph this."

  He centred the camera on the document, clicked and then read it. "What kind of scam was she running?"

  "What do we tell him?"

  "Are you done? Let's go back to our room," said Anne.

  She wanted to spend no more time in this freezing room, full of deceit and venom. Vanessa must have hated David to go to the extreme of bigamy and incest. But how could she? And how far did she take it? And did David find out? Was it he who rifled the jewellery box?

  Before they left, she glanced in the closet. A tiny purple horse with a flowing pink mane lay abandoned at the back of the closer. "Olivia has been in here, in the closet, likely hiding. Should I—"

  "Leave it in place."

  He took a quick series of pictures of the closet. They left the room, and Thomas locked it behind them. "We have to talk," he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eloise rapped on the doorframe by the stairs. Anne busied herself at the counter, filling the basket of the old-fashioned percolator with freshly ground coffee and water she melted from the snow Mike brought in. Thomas sat at the table set with mugs and milk for two. Both turned to her at her knock.

  "May I come in, Anne?"

  "Of course. You don't have to ask to come into the kitchen."

  Eloise slipped into a chair across from Thomas. "I thought you might be talking."