After cleaning up the decoration boxes, Lacey hung a pair of battery-operated wreaths from the lights bracketing the front door. She’d have to come out each night to turn them off, but they’d welcome any visitors coming up the drive. “Look at me, thinking about holiday visitors,” she told Dee when she came back indoors. “I’m getting soft.”
“You’re starting to thaw.”
Dee plugged in the white tree and sat back to admire the show. “The house will look great after dark. Sandy, can you start lunch while we tidy up? Tell Mom I’ll eat up there with her, if she wants me to.”
But Loreena didn’t want company. Over their soup, Lacey wondered aloud why every other house listed in the Lower Mainland seemed to sell in a day except for hers. Dee curled her lip. “You know damn well Dan won’t sell if he can help it. As long as you’re responsible for half the mortgage, he can stop you putting a down payment on a new place.”
Sandy nodded knowingly. “My ex was an asshole, too. Dragged the divorce out for years. It took me twenty years to get back in the housing market.”
“Great,” said Lacey. “I’ll be fifty before I can own a home again.”
Dee ate the last of her soup. “No, you won’t. I’ll find you a starter property and an understanding mortgage broker. Even with the tougher mortgage rules, we’ll work something out. But not for a while yet. I still need you here.”
“Houses in Alberta are so expensive,” said Sandy. “My son’s place in Airdrie cost twice what mine did in Waterloo. If I move there, he’ll build me a separate suite in the basement, but he can’t afford to start it yet. He hasn’t had much work lately. In this life, you always have the time when the money’s not there, or the other way around.”
Dee frowned. “I hope you aren’t counting on working full-time for us. If my mom stays here, she’ll go into a nursing home.”
“I know that.” Sandy smiled grimly. “My Alberta nursing registration’s still active, so I can get a temp job pretty quick. Plus I ran into someone who owes me some cash from years ago. If I get that back, my son’s arrears will be history by New Year’s. We’ll have a lot more flexibility then.”
After lunch, Sandy went up to help Loreena prepare for their outing to the post office. Dee hit the couch with a stack of real-estate-related reading material. And Lacey used the office computer to search the help-wanted ads, looking for something that A) started after the holidays, B) paid well, and C) was flexible enough to allow for Dee’s various medical appointments and rehab treatments.
Christmas was the season of miracles, right?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zoe tore herself away from the cheque printer and decided to head home. She took Elbow Drive and soon realized she was coming up to the church where they’d gone for the Blue Christmas service a few days earlier. It was not her church — not even her religion — but maybe she could leave the ghost of young Eric there, where he had first seen his family through her eyes. On impulse, she veered into the parking lot.
The old building’s central doors were open, and an older woman stood in the chilly entryway sorting hymnbooks. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Merry Christmas to you, too. Would it be all right if I sat in the church for a few minutes?”
The woman nodded. “Of course, dear. But I’ll be locking these doors when I’m done, so you’ll have to exit through the side door.”
Two paces into the sanctuary, a calm settled over Zoe. What felt like her first deep breath in a week filled her chest. She rolled her head, easing the tension from her neck, and gazed up at the high, hushed space. Winter sunlight scattered gems of colour from the stained glass. She walked up the centre aisle, her footsteps muffled by the carpeting. The same Christmas bouquets flanked the chancel: evergreen boughs and tall sprigs with red berries, all tied up with red ribbons. Tall white candles had been lit on the altar. In the second pew from the front, she folded down the knee rest and slid into the remembered prayer position. The space was alive with the creaks and pings of the old building, the faint echoes of all the hymns that had risen to the dark beams over the past century.
How long she knelt, wordlessly wishing that God would clear Eric from her mind, Zoe couldn’t say. But eventually a door opened, stirring the candle flames. She slid back onto the pew. The woman from the foyer approached the altar and trimmed a candle wick.
She looked over her shoulder as Zoe’s pew creaked. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”
“I should go, anyway,” Zoe said, but she didn’t move. Maybe Eric was Anglican and his ghost was comfortable here. Did Anglican churches have the same views on ghosts as the Greek Orthodox Church did? Nobody here knew her. Whatever she might say, however possessed or evil they might think she was, they couldn’t stop her walking out the door and vanishing. Anonymity was at her fingertips. “I have a question about your faith. Is there someone here I can talk to? A priest or a reverend?”
“I’m Reverend Kartar,” the woman said, smiling. “And from that look, I know you aren’t Anglican. Does your religion not permit women to lead?”
Zoe shook her head.
The reverend sat sideways in the front pew, leaning her arm on the back. “Ask me your question.”
“Well, I grew up Greek Orthodox, but I haven’t been to church for a few years. We were here last week for the Blue Christmas service, and …” Zoe stopped, not sure where to go from there.
“You lost someone recently?”
“Not me personally, no …” Zoe bit her lip. Then she took a deep breath and began telling the reverend the story of how she and her daughter had found the frozen body of a young man and how, ever since, his spirit seemed to be following her around. “I know it sounds crazy, and I was medicated for a similar experience when I was younger, so I could be completely out to lunch here. But the ghost, if that’s what it is, wants me to do things. Not I-want-you-to-kill-people kinds of things. More like he can’t find some paperwork from his job and wants me to help him fix a printer. My church would say the devil was working inside me, but this doesn’t feel evil. More sad … and lonely. Are ghosts even possible in your religion?”
Reverend Kartar didn’t shy away in horror or make the sign of the cross. “God loves all his children equally, dead or alive, but I’m afraid I don’t have specific guidance for you on how to deal with a non-evil spirit that followed you home. Tibetan Buddhists have a belief that the spirit lingers near its body and can be spoken to, guided to let go of earthly things. I’m not sure how that works, but if you want more information, a member of our congregation often speaks to the departed. She might be of help.”
What did Zoe have to lose? She was already sleep deprived and short of concentration. If the ghost whisperer didn’t help or seemed like a flake, there was still the medication option. “I’d like her name, please. And thanks for not saying I’m crazy. I sure feel crazy these days.”
“Partly it’s the time of year. Christmas raises hopes and expectations, and with them comes so much work, especially for any woman who has to pull double duty between family and work.”
“That’s me.” Zoe gathered up her purse and gloves. “No rest for —” She stopped. “I mean …”
Reverend Kartar grinned. “We’re all a teeny bit wicked, one way or another. If not, I’d be out of a job. Come through to my office. I’ll give you Bethanne’s phone number and let her know I’ve referred you. You decide when or if you want to follow up. No expectations, no pressure.”
Zoe blinked hard. When was the last time someone had told her there was no pressure? She followed the reverend to an office, received a scribbled note, and left with a warm glow in her chest. Whether she contacted this ghost whisperer or not, she felt less alone. Freed of the fear that she was under demonic influence, too. She could help Eric without worrying about being sucked down to hell.
Back in the van, humming a tune she didn’t recognize, she checked the time in England and texted JP. I want to take Eric’s family and mine cross-country skiing
. Can I raid the equipment room at the chalet to outfit everyone? By the time she reached her driveway, his answer had come. Take whatever you like. A few minutes later, a second text followed: Arliss has been at me about your vacation being spoiled. Book somewhere and the company will pay.
Zoe stepped out of her van into the driveway, looked up at the weak afternoon sun, spread her arms wide, and yelled, “Thank you!” to the pale winter sky.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dee dragged Lacey into the office and shut the door behind them. “You’ll never guess. JP just texted me to ask if I’d sell his Calgary house, too! A five-million-dollar Mount Royal property! And no dead bodies. I’m saved.”
“Lord Tunderin’ Jesus. What’s the commission on five million?”
“Next year’s income! Enough that I’d be dancing if I could.” Dee took a breath. “This one I can pitch to select clients right away. I have to Skype JP back. Before we get down to business, I want you to give him an update on the police investigation. As much as you can freely say.”
“In the old days I wouldn’t have told you guys anything.”
Dee pointed a finger. “But you aren’t in the RCMP anymore.” She started up Skype on her computer.
“Victim Services isn’t that different. I can only tell him what isn’t confidential. And don’t mention his company’s accounting problem. I’ll bring it up myself, so I can see how he reacts. I’d have preferred to get more information first, but that’s moot now. I thought you knew Marcia’s last name, at least.”
A bubbling ringtone sounded for a moment, then video filled the screen.
JP Thompson wasn’t what Lacey expected. Not a smooth tycoon with a silk tie, polished smile, and perfect hair, but a balding middle-aged fellow, his sloping shoulders hunched under a mint-green polo shirt that clashed with his winter-pale face. Wire-rimmed glasses faded into sandy eyebrows below a creased forehead. His smile displayed the gleaming teeth of any man who could afford an excellent dentist, but otherwise, he was unremarkable. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the dark-panelled door behind him.
“What can you tell me about my chalet, Miss McCrae?”
Straight to the point, huh? “The police released the chalet, but the woodshed is still off limits.”
JP’s left eye twitched. “Does that mean they’re not satisfied that Eric’s death was an accident?”
Lacey examined JP’s face. Who was he as a boss? As a family friend? Kind or ruthless? Rational or raging? “Eric wasn’t moved after he died. That’s all they’ll confirm.”
The lines above his eyes deepened. “Do we have to tell potential buyers that someone died there?”
Dee leaned forward. “Ethically, I absolutely must reveal that. It’s honestly better to wait until the cause of death is cleared up. Buyers won’t fall in love with the dream of carefree ski vacations when they might stumble over uniformed officers outside their new back door. If it’s in the past, that’s a different vision.”
Lacey motioned her to back off. “I understand Eric was coming to see you that day about an accounting issue. Can you —” She rephrased. “Could that have had any bearing on his death?”
“Who told you that? I can’t have rumours like that floating around.”
Dee slid forward again. “There are no rumours yet. But a potential buyer might ask me why the young man was there at all, and it’s better to have an answer handy than to grope for one in the moment. If you tell us everything, we can spin it appropriately.”
“All right then.” JP’s eye twitched again and he glanced over his shoulder. “Eric got the wrong end of an accounting issue. We looked into the matter when he first raised it, and it was nothing. He was trying to impress me, I suppose, but what it amounted to was a simple misunderstanding of basic accounting procedures. When he called that day, he wanted to talk to me before work on Tuesday. I thought it was about his letter of recommendation. My sons were at the chalet, and since they all used to be friends, I told him to come on up.” He rubbed a hand over his bald spot. “But when we heard the weather warning, we decided to head straight back to town. I assumed he wouldn’t get on the highway after the warning, but I guess I should have called to let him know …”
Yeah, he should have. Clearly JP didn’t waste a lot of thought on other people’s inconvenience. “So, you looked into the accounting problem?”
“That’s right. It was nothing. It’s such a shame. Eric had his whole life ahead of him. You know, I wrote him a recommendation letter for Simon Fraser University. He wanted to get in to their Environmental Sciences program in the new year. I still have the letter …”
Lacey thanked JP for his time and excused herself, leaving Dee to their real-estate discussion. His move to England might have been in the works before Eric died, and if he’d really written a letter of recommendation, he was either innocent or far more calculating than he appeared. But his statements needed verification. If she asked him for Marcia’s name and contact information, he’d guess that she wasn’t satisfied with his answers. How could she verify anything about his company when she knew nobody in the Calgary oil patch except Terry Brennan, who was off cruising the Caribbean with Jan? Maybe Tom and his Commercial Crimes co-workers could shed some light. She’d meant to ask him about TFB Energy when she’d first learned JP Thompson had left the country. She pulled out her phone and texted. Favour: heard anything about JP Thompson, TFB Energy, and potential accounting irregularities?
Lacey was washing up the breakfast dishes when Dee came out of the office. “I hope I wasn’t too forward with your client.”
“Not at all,” Dee said. “He’s as concerned as anyone about Eric’s death.” She poured some coffee, tasted it, and dumped it down the vegetable sink. “Yuck. Sandy coffee. Anyway, he’s determined to sell everything. With non-seasonal ski photos, I might unload the chalet before spring break.”
“Do you know when he decided to up and leave?”
“Let’s see. He first asked me about selling in late November, at that cocktail party in the Glencoe Club. He said he’d be in England for Christmas. It didn’t sound like a permanent move back then. Why?”
“The timing is a bit suspicious, don’t you think? His intern reports accounting problems, then dies on his property, and the next week he decides to sell up and leave the country?”
“You are still such a cop.” Dee looked up as Sandy passed the doorway with her aged blue suitcase in tow. “All set for Christmas with the grandkids?”
Sandy paused. “Thanks again, Lacey, for lending me your car. It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas.” She wrapped a scarf around her throat. “You can phone me anytime if you’re worried about Loreena.”
“We will.” Lacey tossed her car keys onto the counter. Her Canucks bottle opener clanked against the fire extinguisher. She really ought to swap it now that she lived in Flames territory. “The Civic’s gassed up and I checked the tire pressure and stuff last week. Which way will you go?”
Sandy shoved her arms into her puffy white coat. “Same as last time: north past Cochrane and across country into Airdrie.”
“I checked the road report for you — good winter driving all the way. If it’s snowing when you come back, take Highway 2 toward Calgary, and then Stoney Trail west to the Trans-Canada. There’s more traffic, so if you slide off the road you’ll get immediate assistance.”
Sandy pulled on her white toque with its pink sparkles. “I have decades more winter driving experience than you do, young lady. I’ll be fine, and your car will be fine, too. Merry Christmas.”
After she left, Lacey finished the cleanup, made a grocery list, and went up to ask Loreena if she had any last-minute requests.
“British Flake bars. I forget the company, but they have yellow wrappers. Dee adored them when she was little. I don’t think she still cherishes them that way, but nostalgia adds to the flavour.”
“Call my cell if you think of anything else. Meanwhile, stay in bed. We need you rested for Chri
stmas.” Lacey kissed Loreena’s sparse white curls.
Downstairs, she counted out cloth grocery bags. “Dee, are you sure you’ll be okay with your mom?”
“We’ll be fine.” Dee started a fresh pot of coffee. “And we’ll have two days with decent coffee, now that Sandy isn’t making it strong enough to strip varnish off the stairs. Anyway, I want Mom to myself for a bit. This whole assisted dying thing … I need to know she’s not planning to die sooner so she can leave more of her savings to bail me out.”
Lacey put a hand on her shoulder. “Just go easy. No pressuring her to move here or trying to talk her out of it.”
“I wouldn’t move her here, now I’ve done some research.” Dee shuddered. “She was right about the religious roadblocks. Whole interconnected hospital/care-home networks are obstructing terminal patients not only from assistance in dying, but even from talking to someone about applying for it. That bus-shelter guy was the tip of the iceberg. I’d never put her through that.”
“Glad to hear it. Make sure you tell her you’ll support her, whatever her decision.” Lacey gathered up the shopping bags and left.
Lacey didn’t even get out of Bragg Creek before her phone rang. It was Eric’s brother. She pulled the Lexus over by the grocery store. “Aidan? Hi.”
“Hi. I know it’s short notice, Lacey, but are you busy this afternoon?”
“I’ll make time if your family needs something.”
“I convinced Calvin to talk to you about that issue at TFB Energy. It’s more complicated than I realized.”
“I asked JP about it earlier today, actually, and he assured me it had been looked into. So you’re not wearing that.”
“I hope you’re right. Do you still want the details?”
“Absolutely. Should I come to your house?”
“Could you meet us at the Timmies on 16th Ave near SAIT? Maybe about one o’clock?”
Lacey checked the time. “If I put off my errands until after. Hey, do you know a place I’d be able to get imported British candy, specifically Flake bars? I need a few for stocking stuffers.”
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