The Ice Storm Murders

by Virginia Winters

  "The other two have the same motive—custody of Hamish—for Vanessa's death and the attempt on David and if Mike was trying blackmail, the same motive to kill him."

  "Means?"

  "Both."

  Behind them, the radio crackled and a voice, so clear it sounded as the speaker was beside them, asked for VA3eew to respond.

  "VA3eew, over," said Thomas.

  Anne's hands gripped his shoulders.

  "Who is this? Over.”

  "Thomas Beauchamp. I'm here at a lodge owned by David McKnight. We've had two homicides and one attempt here and need your assistance. Over."

  "We'll come as soon as we can put a helicopter in the air. Depends on the weather. Is there a landing site? Over."

  "To the west of the building. We also have two very ill women, one of them is elderly with pneumonia and the other with severe anorexia nervosa and will need medivac for them. Over."

  "As soon as we can. Over and out."

  "No timeline," said Anne.

  "The weather's improving. The OPP may arrive here later this evening."

  "Dark clouds outside. Maybe snow."

  "I'll try for a weather report."

  Thomas's worried eyes looked up into hers.

  "I'm going to cook."

  "Just you?"

  "Eloise has to guard Olivia, and she can't leave Hamish. I can ask Beth to help me."

  "Be careful."

  "I will."

  Back in the kitchen, Anne fished in her purse for her miniature Swiss army knife and dropped it in her pocket. Too small to be much good, but she felt better with it there.

  Beth opened the door to the kitchen. What a domestic scene, she thought. Wearing a red apron that announced St. Émilion in a lovely script, Anne relaxed at the scrubbed pine table, pouring from a fat-bellied, brown teapot. A Brown Betty. Beth hadn't seen one in years, not since she left home to go to university.

  "Can I help you in any way," she said to Anne.

  "Thank you. I'm going to have a quick tea before I start. Would you like a cup?"

  Beth sat down opposite her. Anne's hand shook slightly when she poured the tea. Not so relaxed, Beth thought. Worry lines around Anne's eyes and dark circles under them reflected the stress she must be under. Perhaps she knew more than she and Kevin did? Of course, she did, and she saw the bodies. Even a doctor would be affected by that. "Are you okay?" she said.

  "Tired. It seems as though we've been stranded here forever."

  "Yes. But you've been terrific what with making the food for everyone and taking care of the sick. Thank you for helping my mother."

  Anne smiled at her, a smile that reached the green eyes and smoothed out some of the worries. "My job, after all."

  "We didn't do anything to anyone."

  Why had she blurted that out? What would Anne think now?

  "I don't think you did. You're under strain, too. Is it your mother?"

  Beth covered her face with her hands and sobbed. "And my brother. Mom’s crazy focus on Hamish and now she’s dying. She focussed on Brad the way she concentrates on Hamish."

  "Why?"

  "We lost our dad and she was so in love with him. Now it’s Brad and Hamish.”

  “Perhaps this brush with death, arising out of her obsession, will get through to her."

  "I think it's too late."

  Anne reached across the table and took the younger woman's hand. "It's never too late while she lives."

  They sat in silence for a few minutes and then Anne said, "We'd better get on with it. Better they're all fed."

  "Tell me what to do."

  Their final meal, Anne hoped, as she stood at the window, looking out across the field. Water dripped from the roof, overflowing the eves. The trees in the distance still wore their caps of white, but the weather gauge read two degrees celsius, high enough to melt the snow and ice, but not before morning. That wouldn't solve the problem of the downed trees across the roads, the electrical poles snapped in two, and the crumpled transmission towers. Snow fell, tidying the landscape, renewing the clean blanket overlying everything. No helicopter tonight, she thought.

  Chilli for dinner, the lodge cook's standby. She had stored five containers of the stuff in the freezer and plenty of rolls. She would never eat chilli again, Anne thought.

  Beth set the table and took butter from the fridge. "I think we should keep this in the porch. The fridge is too warm now."

  Eloise brought the children down and seated them at the table. Hamish, his breathing regular, perched in his high chair and banged his fists on the tray.

  "Are you hungry, Hamish?" Anne asked.

  "Yes, he is," said Olivia.

  "Remember to let Hamish use his words," Eloise said.

  "Older sister syndrome," said Anne.

  "Yes. Olivia's so quick she answers before he understands the question."

  Olivia squirmed in her chair and reached for a roll.

  "Not yet, Olivia. We must wait for the others."

  "Let them go ahead. We rang the bell some time ago, but only you have come,” Anne said.

  "I'll go for Kevin," Beth said. "He'll be deep in a book."

  The door to the stairs crashed open in advance of Brad stumbling through, his face contorted with fury. "You. Why aren't you with my mother?"

  "Aren't you with her?"

  "I'm not a nurse."

  "Neither am I. I have other patients and it appears I'm the cook as well. Or did you come down to make dinner for us all?”

  "Make dinner? All you did was thaw something the cook made."

  "You're welcome to the job."

  Anne tossed the oven mitts to him and headed for the door to the living room.

  "Wait, wait. I'm sorry. I'm worried about Mom. I think she's having more trouble breathing, and her colour is worse."

  "Did you give her another puffer?"

  "I think it's empty."

  "You can use Hamish's. He doesn't need it anymore," Eloise said.

  "I'll come up in a few minutes," said Anne. "In the meantime, grab a bite to eat and take some of this broth up to your mother."

  Brad swallowed great spoonfuls of the savoury stew, crouched over his bowl like a dog protecting his dinner. A few moments later, he left with a mug of broth and a roll.

  Eloise followed."I'll take him the puffer. The mask would be too small for Andrea."

  After she left, Anne sat with the children. Olivia loved chilli and emptied one bowl and started on another. Hamish played with a roll, tearing it into tiny pieces. Anne guided his spoon to his mouth. She listened for Eloise's footsteps on the stairs. Was it safe to let her go alone with Brad? She wiped Hamish's face and then opened the door to the stairs. Eloise, surprise on her face, met her.

  "You're all right," Anne said.

  "You were worried about Brad? I gave his mother two puffs and told him to give her two more in an hour. Was that right?"

  "Yes. I'll look in on her before that."

  "Her colour was bad but she was a little better after the puffer."

  "Eat some food while you have time."

  Thomas swung through the door to the living room with Trevor at his heels. "The OPP think they can get a helicopter in the air when the snow lets up. Not before morning, though."

  "OPP? What about air ambulance? What about my wife? Why are you here, wasting time on food when she's dying."

  He raced around the table and towered over Anne. Thomas moved in behind him.

  "Food is what she and everyone else needs, Trevor. I'll come up to her when I finish here,” said Anne.

  "And what about those kids? Are you leaving them with a murderer?

  David, silent in the doorway during Trevor's rant, said, "The children are protected."

  "Are they protected from you? We can look after them, Carmel and I."

  "Carmel can't look after herself."

  "She could if she had a chance, if she were his mother."

  "Not a chance. And remember if I'm dead, Anne and
Thomas are the guardians, at least until Eloise and I marry."

  "What? David, you—"

  "We'll talk later, Eloise. Leave, Trevor."

  Facing Thomas and David, Trevor backed away and scuttled up the stairs.

  "He has an angry voice, again," said Olivia.

  "When did you hear his angry voice before," asked Anne, sitting beside the little girl.

  "When he was cross with Vanessa. Only he whispered."

  "Did you see him in Vanessa's room?"

  "No. But I saw the man in the hallway when I ran out. I drew him."

  "When? I didn't see that picture, Olivia," said Eloise.

  "I was bad."

  "Because you were in Vanessa's room. So you hid the picture?"

  "Yes."

  "What should we do?" said David.

  "Guard the children until the cops arrive."

  "I'm going to see Carmel."

  "I'll come with you," said Thomas.

  "Take him out of the room while I try to get her to eat. If he lets me."

  Beth and Kevin came in as they went out and sat with Eloise and the children. Behind her, Anne heard Olivia's delighted laugh. Kevin was good with kids. It was a shame they didn't want or couldn't have their own. Which was it, she wondered?

  Back upstairs in the nursery, Eloise tucked the children into bed and sat in a rocking chair across from David, her eyes scanning his face.

  "What did—"

  "I wanted—"

  "You first," said Eloise.

  "I'm sorry I blurted that out in front of everyone."

  He held his breath, or so it seemed to her. On the mantel, a round-face alarm clock ticked quietly to itself. The comforting squeak of the rocking chair kept time with it. Her restless hands rubbed the smooth arms of her chair, the ancient pine polished by who knew how many other mothers.

  "I love you, Eloise. I want you to marry me."

  What should she say? She loved him so much, but did he love her for herself or for her as a mother to the children.

  "Too soon. Perhaps we should wait to talk about this when our lives are back to normal."

  His whole face collapsed, his eyes downcast, the corners of his mouth dragged down too. He looked so unhappy Eloise longed to go to him and promise him anything.

  "Do you love me? You said you did."

  "Yes, from the first moment. But four days ago, you were going to marry Vanessa. I, we, need time to be sure."

  "But you won't go away?"

  "No, no. I want to care for the children if you want me to."

  "Of course."

  "Will you be my mommy?" asked a tiny voice from the bed in the corner.

  "Perhaps. You go to sleep, and we'll talk about it when we go home."

  "When will we go home, Daddy?"

  David's voice caught as he answered her. She had never called him anything but Uncle David.

  "Tomorrow. We'll go home tomorrow."

  They sat in opposite chairs, in the light of the fire that faded as the flames burned down, their eyes on each other and on the children. David added a white birch log that flared and crackled. He caressed her head as he passed, and she caught his hand for a brief moment.

  Tomorrow.

  Left alone with Thomas, Anne finished washing out the bowls while he dried. After, she placed a cup of broth and two crackers on a sandwich plate, one of glass set, decorated with multi-coloured mobiles, that she'd found in the cupboard.

  "I'm coming with you," said Thomas.

  "Yes," said Anne.

  She wasn't sure that Trevor was the killer but she knew she didn't want to be alone with all that rage. Upstairs, she knocked on the door and went in, Thomas at her heels.

  "Why is he here?"

  "To watch you."

  "I—"

  "Don't try. Go sit over there while I talk to Carmel."

  Trevor, sullen and resentful, his pale skin flushed with rage or shame, hovered in a corner, guarded by Thomas while Anne examined Carmel.

  "How long has she been unresponsive?" she said.

  "What?"

  "How long since she talked to you?"

  "Earlier today. She said she didn't want to see you."

  "I can't rouse her. Come over here and call to her."

  Trevor knelt by the bedside and took Carmel's hand, calling her name over and over, louder and louder.

  "She won't answer," he said, his words swallowed by his sobs.

  "She's in a coma now."

  "I'll try again on the radio," said Thomas.

  "Isn't there anything you can do?"

  His pale blue eyes pleaded with her, but she couldn't help, not there.

  "Nothing. Carmel needs a hospital and intravenous. You stay with her. I'm going with Thomas."

  "No, stay."

  "There's nothing I can do for her."

  Anger flashed across his face, replaced in an instant with a polite mask.

  "Thank you for helping her."

  Anne looked back at the door, but he was bent over Carmel, calling her name.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Back in the living room, Anne snuggled into a leather armchair. Thomas wrapped a wool Hudson's Bay blanket around her shoulders. He sat at the desk in the window and edged the dial forward on the radio, found Channel 53 and broadcast his call letters. "This is VA3eew, calling OPP Bancroft. Please respond. Over."

  Nothing. Thomas tried again on another channel. "This is VA3eew, calling OPP Bancroft. Please respond. Over."

  The radio crackled, and a professional voice responded. "We hear you VA3eew. Give us an update, please. Over."

  "One woman in a coma, one deteriorating rapidly. Running out of food. Two children here and two corpses. Can you send assistance? Over.”

  "A medivac helicopter will be in the air at first light. One of ours crashed but another will be here in the morning and will reach you. Over."

  "Your pilot? Did he survive? Over."

  "She. Yes, she did. Do you need to talk to a doctor here? Over."

  "No. One of us is a doctor. Over and out."

  Thomas swivelled to Anne, who sat nearby. "He said a medivac at first light. They lost a helicopter in the storm, but the pilot survived."

  "This awful weather."

  "I'm going to try to reach Culver's Mills again. I'd like someone to check the house and the housekeeper. They may have had this storm too."

  "I'm going to finish up in the kitchen and leave it in some kind of order for when the staff gets back."

  "You don't have—"

  "I know. I'll just do a little."

  "I don't like you alone out there."

  "I'm a few feet away. It will be fine."

  Trevor sat beside Carmel. So still. When did he last hear her voice? When did he last see her smile? What if she died. He sobbed against her cold hand. It was all that woman's fault. She took away her hope. She wouldn't promise to speak for them, to let them adopt Hamish. The boy belonged with them. He was his sister's child. Maybe if he talked to Anne again, she would agree.

  "I'll find her, my love, and force her to help us."

  Thomas knocked at the door of the nursery and walked in. Eloise held Hamish and Olivia cuddled on David's lap. A lovely family, Thomas thought. He hoped they'd make it.

  "I wanted to tell you that a medivac helicopter would be here in the morning. I'm trying to call someone at my company to notify my pilot to come up."

  "We don't have to go out in the first bunch now that the children are well," said David.

  "I can try that now."

  "No, I want to stay until everyone has gone."

  "The children and I will stay with David. It would be too upsetting for them if we went and left him behind."

  "That's fine. I'm going to notify Brad and Andrea."

  He walked the few steps to Andrea's room and knocked, waiting for an answer before he opened the door.

  "Yes?"

  "Thomas. Can I come in?"

  He went through the story with Brad,
assuring him that his mother would go out first.

  "Can I fly with her?"

  "Likely not, if they have to take both women. But—"

  "I can't let her go by herself."

  "I'll call my pilot to pick you up at the same time.

  "What about you and Anne?"

  "We'll wait for his next trip."

  Across the hall, there was no answer from Trevor. Thomas looked inside. Carmel lay still and pale, her breathing so slow he had to wait to be sure she was alive. Anne better look at her again. And he'd left her in the kitchen, alone. Why did he do that? He raced down the stairs to find her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Trevor burst in the door to the kitchen where Anne stood at the sink, the last of the dishes in her hand. "You. You made her worse."

  Anne whirled, her heart racing, afraid of the rage and insanity she heard in the high voice. The glass she held slipped from her fingers and shattered on the pine floor. "What are you talking about, Trevor? How did I make her worse?"

  She took a broom and dustpan from the closet and swept.

  "Leave that alone. You know how. You took away her hope, our hope. You said she needed to eat or she wouldn't be allowed to adopt."

  "The dogs will come in, and the glass will cut their feet. First, that is true and second, I hoped to convince her to eat and drink a little. She's dying, Trevor. She was dying when you brought her here instead of to a hospital. Why did you do that?"

  "Stop that and listen to me. I don't care about the damn glass. And now you won't stay with her, you bitch. Call yourself a doctor. All you want to do is play house with Thomas. You don't care."

  His eyes, wild with fury, bored into her. She edged towards the door to the stairs, the broom held in front of her like a sword. If she could reach it, open it, and scream, Thomas would come. But Trevor saw her move and, crashing chairs from out of his way, wrenched the broom from her grasp, and grabbed her arms. She fought back, kicking and punching, aiming for his genitals as she had been taught, but he was a big man, towering over her. He put one arm around her, swung her around, and covered her mouth with the other. He dragged her through the door to the mudroom, banging her hip against the frame. Fiery pain shot down her leg. She clawed at the arm holding her.