Where the Ice Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  Dee smiled at Clemmie. “Lacey said my dogs really like you. If you’d like to come and take them trail walking sometime, I’ll gladly give you my phone number.” Clemmie’s eyes spilled over. She wiped them on a shredded Kleenex. By then TJ was back, balancing two wineglasses and a teacup.

  “Milk and sugar are behind you,” he told Lacey. “I can bring you plates. Anything you can’t have or don’t like? Zoe, do you want anything else?”

  The woman shook her head. “Get a chair for Ms. Phillips first, please. She’s got a bad leg.”

  “Yes, please,” said Dee with a sigh. “We photographed a huge house this morning.”

  TJ eyed her with new awareness. “Phillips? You’re the realtor. Were you at Dad’s place? Monstrous, isn’t it?” He hooked an arm around the kitchen doorway and dragged in a stool. “Can you manage this? Better than sitting down low and being surrounded by people’s belt buckles.” He eased into the buffet line as Lacey helped Dee onto the stool.

  Zoe whispered in Clemmie’s ear and the girl’s brows wrinkled. “Nobody’s looked yet? Well, I guess it’s okay. If the password’s not Worble17, Cal might know. Worble is —”

  “His stuffed animal,” Zoe finished. “Back in a bit,” she said to Dee. “The boys will make sure you’re fed.” She angled through the kitchen door. Lacey frowned. First Zoe was making a big deal of their coming in, and now she was taking off on them?

  Clemmie twisted her hands together. “I should go with her. She wants to check my brother’s laptop to make sure there’s no confidential work stuff left on it. I don’t dare ask my parents about that right now. Do you think it’s okay?”

  Okay to let Zoe tamper with Eric’s laptop? He wasn’t officially a murder victim yet, but there might be useful information on there. Now that Zoe knew Eric’s death was suspicious, she could be deleting files to cover her or JP’s tracks.

  “I’ll come with you,” Lacey told Clemmie. “Dee, don’t eat all my meatballs.”

  Dee raised her wineglass high as a woman pushed past. “Marcia?”

  The accountant turned. “Oh, sorry, I’m trying to find out where they put my coat.” She edged closer, her big purse bumping heavily against the door frame.

  “Down in the rec room,” said Clemmie. “I can show you—”

  “I’ll find it,” Marcia said, and hurried away.

  As Clemmie led Lacey to the stairs, a few people were leaving, shaking Aidan’s hand and murmuring the usual kind of condolences. The children’s father stood by the fireplace, giving minimal nods to the guests who passed him. Their mother was nowhere to be seen. A young man Lacey didn’t recognize came upstairs carrying an armful of coats. The front door opened again, sending a swirl of icy air into the hall. Clemmie darted up the half flight of stairs and stopped in front of the first door, so suddenly that Lacey almost ran into her. Inside the small room, Zoe sat cross-legged on a single bed, hugging a limp stuffed animal and weeping silently. Lacey sent Clemmie off to fetch some tissues. She shut the bedroom door and sat down beside Zoe. “It’s time you got out of this place.”

  Zoe blotted her eyes on her sleeves. “I’m so sorry Clemmie saw that.”

  “I told her you were exhausted from working too much over the holidays.”

  “Thanks.” Zoe stared at the room’s small desk. “It was right there two hours ago.”

  “What was?”

  “His laptop.” She lifted the stuffed animal. “This is Mr. Worble. Eric had him for seventeen years.” Her eyes filled again. “I should never have agreed to come here.”

  “Wait. You saw the laptop here earlier, and now it’s gone? Maybe someone put it out of sight for safety’s sake. Did you look in the desk drawers, or the closet?”

  “I checked.” As Clemmie returned, Zoe untucked her legs. She set Mr. Worble on the pillow. “Sorry to upset you, Clemmie. I’m really overtired. Do you know where the laptop went? I’d like to check it and then get off home.”

  The girl looked around, confused. “It’s been right there on the desk since the day he left. Maybe Cal finally took it downstairs. He’s been hoarding other stuff down there.”

  “I’ll find out.” Lacey’s stomach rumbled at the thought of the spicy meatballs cooling on her plate. “Let’s leave Zoe to rest a bit longer. Clemmie, can you go tell Dee I’ll be back in a few minutes?”

  Lacey headed to the basement. Several winter coats remained, piled on the couch with scarves trailing from their sleeves. She opened doors onto, respectively, a storage room lined with shelves, a tidy room with a futon made up as a bed, and a cramped, dark bedroom that oozed with the smell of stale sweat. There was no sign of Calvin. Down another short staircase, a washroom door stood open. She availed herself of the facilities, glad of the relative quiet. As she came out, Calvin grabbed her wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

  She yanked her arm free. “Do not touch me again.”

  “Okay, sorry,” he said, and hurried into a laundry room. “Come in here, quick.” Shutting the door behind her, he hoisted himself onto a chest freezer and sat hunched, his hands fidgeting. A furnace rumbled to life behind the wall.

  Lacey leaned against the washing machine. The chemical smells of bleach and fabric softener filled her nostrils. “Is this about where you were the day Eric went up to the chalet?” she asked. “Your alibi?”

  Calvin sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

  She tried again. “Calvin, just tell me.”

  “Okay. I applied for an analyst job with CSIS, and I was at an evaluation that weekend. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

  “You?” Lacey barely stifled her incredulity. Paranoia she’d expected, but if Calvin believed he was going to work for Canada’s spy agency, maybe he was well over the edge.

  As if reading her thoughts, he flushed. “It’s true. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement to be there. If I tell the RCMP, I’m violating the agreement. If CSIS finds out I’m being questioned in a suspicious death, they’ll shred my application.” He hopped down from the freezer. “Look, I don’t want to lose my shot. Could you be, like, my intermediary? Tell the RCMP that’s where I was?”

  Lacey frowned. “I can’t take your word for something this important.”

  “I could give you my recruiter’s number. If you made up an excuse and called him, maybe he’d tell you I was there.”

  Lacey studied the young man. He seemed intense today, but focused, not as jittery as she’d expected, considering he’d just attended the funeral of his best friend. Maybe he was heavily medicated. How likely was it that CSIS would be interviewing a socially awkward computer whiz who wasn’t even Canadian? Still, if he gave her a name to call, and that person could credibly account for his whereabouts, he’d have an alibi for that November weekend and could be ruled out as a suspect. Bull could then chase other leads, maybe wrap up the case sooner.

  She had him recount the smaller details of his weekend a couple of times — the room he was tested in, where he slept, what he ate and drank, anything she could think of that wouldn’t be covered by his supposed non-disclosure agreement — and concluded that his details were consistent and given without significant hesitation, and that each telling was similar, but not identical. In police interviews, those cues indicated both an unrehearsed story and one unlikely to be entirely confabulated on the spot. Could he possibly be telling the truth?

  “All right, then, send me the recruiter’s number. If they confirm you were with them, I’ll tell the RCMP you’re in the clear. But you have to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Find any other instances where that cheque printer malware, 33 or whatever it’s called, has been used in Canada.” It was a long shot, but maybe somebody at TFB Energy had used it before and brought it with them from another company. She could cross-check employee resumes with those companies — for employees who had resumes online, anyway. What other leads did she have? Somebody had killed Eric Anders for some reason, and the only thing that remotely resembled a m
otive was the accounting malware he’d uncovered.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when she remembered the original reason she’d come downstairs. “Did you bring Eric’s laptop down here? It’s not on his desk.”

  “I don’t touch his computers, he doesn’t touch mine.”

  Alone in Eric’s bedroom, Zoe sat on the bed with Mr. Worble. The urge to weep had left her. Given tacit permission to be here, she slowly uncurled in spirit and in body. “Eric, this is your room,” she whispered. “What would you look at and touch if you could?”

  A kind of peace settled around her, muting the sounds beyond the room. Slowly she stood and moved around the space, the limp toy tucked under her arm, running her fingertips lightly over furnishings, books, clothes hanging in the closet. Bidding each thing farewell. She hovered by the shelves, touching each spaceship in turn. Their names floated through her mind: Millennium Falcon, Serenity, Enterprise, Andromeda Ascendant, Moya, and the one Eric was most interested in, Galactica. She closed her hand around it and searched for a pocket to hide it in. No pockets in dress pants. Her purse was down in the van, her keys in her jacket, wherever that was. She set the ship back on the shelf. “Sorry. I can’t take this away. Say goodbye.” Turning resolutely, she left the room, her soul aching more with every step. Time to get out of here forever.

  On the staircase, she all but ran into Eric’s father. Eyes vacant, he sidestepped around her. Dizziness washed over her. He’s never been here for us. Now’s no different. She started to silently tell Eric that all parents loved their children, even if they couldn’t show it, but then she registered the complete absence of emotion coming from Brian. He was going through the expected motions, no more. She’d felt it faintly at the Blue Christmas service, too, his detachment from the suffering around him, and had assumed it was his defensive reaction to overwhelming grief. But no. Arliss had quite aptly described him as ‘checked out’. She watched him vanish into a bedroom before she headed downstairs. Her foot missed the edge of a step, but luckily Aidan was there to block her fall.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, settling her on her feet at the bottom.

  “Uh, yeah. Just overtired.” Beyond him the living room was empty except for several caterers collecting cups and glasses. “Is everyone gone?”

  “Pretty much. Arliss and Clemmie are packing up the extra food. They could probably use a hand. If you can spare another few minutes, that is. You’ve done a lot for us already.”

  “Of course I’ll help.” Zoe headed toward the kitchen, one hand on the wall in case another wave of dizziness hit.

  The other women had gathered around the breakfast table, which was now loaded with platters. Dee was transferring cubes of cheese into Ziploc bags. Zoe picked an empty plastic tub from a stack mid-table. “What should I put in here?”

  Arliss surveyed the depleted platters. “Dessert squares look about that size. If there’s room, you can add those cookies. Did you want to take some home for your gang?”

  “Mine are all away.”

  “Oh, right. Skiing. Your house must seem very quiet.” Arliss handed a lid across to Clemmie. “I’ll have to get real groceries now that TJ’s home for the week.”

  Her son ambled in and hung Zoe’s jacket on an empty hook by the back door. “Last coat from downstairs,” he said, and filched a brownie from the platter. “Don’t clean everything up. Aidan hasn’t eaten yet.”

  “Neither has Lacey,” said Clemmie. “Or did she leave?”

  “She’s my driver,” said Dee, “so she’d better be here.”

  “She’s downstairs.” TJ handed Dee another Ziploc. “So, you’re selling all of Dad’s property, eh? I’m gonna miss Black Rock. We had some sick times out there in the old cabin.”

  “I recall an awful lot of complaining about it, too,” said Arliss.

  He grinned. “You gotta admit, clearing trail for weeks on end, getting chewed on by bugs and buzzed by crows, was no picnic.” He added with obvious pride, “Mom was a slave driver. You remember, Zoe? She got all the cabins involved, and we cleared the whole Bowl Loop trail in one summer, each family doing the bit behind their place. The next Christmas and every one since, we were all out on them skiing, skidooing, snowshoeing. You can go a lot farther nowadays, all the way to Waiparous Village if you want. Mom’s on the Backcountry Safety Association board, and she leads ski and horseback treks out from Saddle Peak into the real wilderness.”

  “Not so much anymore,” said Arliss. “Sleeping on the cold ground has lost its appeal. I still love that whole area, though. After I heard JP was selling the chalet, I went out for a ski, for old times’ sake. Just around the Bowl, hardly enough to work up a sweat, but it brought back good memories.” She gave her son a one-armed squeeze. “We had great times there.”

  He squeezed back. “We sure did. If it was still the old cabin, I’d make him an offer on it. But not this new place — there are no good memories in it. Or in Dad’s house, for that matter. That place is an ice palace. Christmas there would have been an overdecorated hell. The chalet wasn’t much better after it was ‘renovated.’” He mimed air quotes. “This year, trapped in a London hotel with Phyl and all her upper-crust rituals, was like hell’s tenth circle, complete with demons.” While he regaled them with tales of an English hotel Christmas geared toward spoiled rich kids, Aidan and Lacey came in. Dee pointed out Lacey’s plate, with its room-temperature meatballs and limp salad. Aidan pulled a plate from the cupboard for himself.

  “I take it Phyl’s no easier to swallow over there?” he said. As he stretched for cold cuts, Zoe noticed a slight tremor in his hand. He’d done really well handling the reception crowd, but clearly it was taking a toll on him. She lifted the platter closer for him.

  TJ shrugged. “I stood her as long as I decently could, but Eric was my best friend for ten years. So I got on the plane yesterday, and I’m not going back. Fran can fly home with Ben before school starts.” The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that. You eat.”

  Arliss snapped a lid down tight. “I’ll say one thing about that expensive private academy: it taught my crass sons a few social graces.”

  “Social skills are useful in most professions,” said Dee. “Pass that cookie plate over, please.”

  A woman’s voice came from the front hall. Aidan’s shoulders slumped. “I thought we were done. What’s Marcia doing back?”

  Zoe suppressed a shiver, whether from the draught or something less tangible. As TJ’s voice and Marcia’s receded toward the basement, Clemmie half-whispered, “I don’t like that woman. She was awful to my brother.”

  Zoe frowned. “She’s the last person I thought would come.”

  Arliss snorted. “Me too. She’s got no sense of good corporate culture. That nursing home she worked for, it made a good atmosphere for the residents. The nurses mostly got along with each other, too. Not her. She treated the floor staff like dirt because their hands got mucky.” As the voices came back up the stairs, she fell silent. For a few minutes, the only sounds came from the shifting of foods into permanent containers and the clink of glassware as the caterers packed away their property.

  “Lost a glove,” TJ reported as he returned alone. “It was in a couch cushion downstairs. Either that or it was just an excuse to come back and grill me about dear Phyl’s Christmas. She wants me to pass along her best wishes for New Year’s. I didn’t tell her I’m not going back.”

  “How was she awful to Eric?” Lacey asked.

  She’s a bitch popped into Zoe’s head immediately. “As far as I can tell,” she said diplomatically, “she was a bit insecure because he knew at least as much about computer networks as she did. At TFB, Accounting supervises IT. That task devolved to Marcia last summer when someone went on mat leave. It can’t have been easy supervising a bunch of guys who knew their job far better than she did.”

  “She doesn’t like young men, period,” said Arliss. “Probably doesn’t know any personally. She tried to get Eric’s internship pulled, just because h
e and Calvin were in the office unsupervised one night. You’d think they’d held a drug-fuelled rave in there. She’s in over her head, but Phyl wanted her to have that job, and we all know that what Phyl wants, JP provides.”

  TJ slung his arm around her shoulders. “Easy, Ma. You’re sounding bitter again.”

  Arliss’s face flushed. “Marcia isn’t qualified for oil-patch accounting, let alone heading Accounts Payable. If she hadn’t been kissing up to Phyl on those long visits to your Grandma Thompson, she’d still be doing bedpan inventory and complaining about the cost of adult diapers.”

  TJ snagged a cookie from under Dee’s fingers. “Man, those visits. You made them so much fun when we were little, I don’t remember ever caring that Grandma didn’t recognize us. We always rented that same cottage by the river with the tree fort in the yard, and apart from obligatory visits to Grandma at the beginning and end, it was our summer holiday. Dad would hang out there, showing her photos of the old days, and you would play pirates with us.” Then his grin vanished. “Not after Phyl, though. She hated every minute, resented being stuck in small-town Ontario. Even though she only had to do it for a couple of years before Grandma died.”

  Lost in Eric’s memories of life in these familiar surroundings, Zoe was vaguely aware of the conversation shifting back to the family’s Black Rock holidays. Lacey asked if TJ had come home with his father on that blizzard weekend.

  “Separate vehicles,” TJ replied, then changed the subject. Zoe stared hard at him. That was the very day Eric had died. Had he lingered, waiting for his old pal to show up? Had he locked Eric in the woodshed? But why would he? No motive, as far as she knew, and he had never been obviously unstable, or at least no more so than most teenagers.

  Dee stood up. “We’ve got to go. My physio’s in twenty minutes.”

  Lacey set her plate in the sink. “Thanks for the lunch. Clemmie, you call us if you want to visit Boney and Beau. Zoe, did you want me to drop you at home?”

  Zoe shook her head. “I’ll be okay driving, thanks. This quiet half hour with all of you has been wo—” She’d started to say “wonderful,” but that would sound heartless to the young people whose brother had been buried today. Dead-not-dead. She swallowed. “Peaceful. I’ll go say goodbye to your dad, Aidan. If he won’t see me, you be sure and tell him the company will help with anything he needs done.”