“I won’t unless it’s absolutely necessary. Thank you for trusting me with the truth. Call me or, better yet, forward me any emails she sent you. Write down my email address and give me yours.”
With that out of the way, Lacey hung up. Breakfast time. She’d just cracked fresh eggs into a bowl when her phone rang. She flicked it to speaker and left it on the counter while she added cream and whisked the mixture with a fork. “Lacey speaking.”
“Hi, this is Marcia. Zoe said you wanted to talk to me. I hope this won’t take long. I’m heading out to Black Rock Bowl to teach a class.”
“I’ll be brief. You couldn’t know, but our hired nurse is overdue after her holiday. A neighbour told me today he’d seen you talking to her in Cochrane a day or two before Christmas. I hoped she might have mentioned something to you, maybe about plans she had, or someone she intended to visit.”
“Why would I know your nurse?”
“She was with us when we met you at the Christmas market. December nineteenth, I think it was. She was wearing a puffy white coat.”
“I vaguely recall seeing some other people with Dee Phillips, but you’re the only one I’d recognize again, and that’s mainly because I’ve seen you a couple of other times. If this nurse came up to me on the street, it must have been to ask for directions or something equally forgettable.”
“If you remember anything else, please call me back.”
Lacey hung up, not at all hopeful, and poured the eggs into the hot pan.
Dee wandered in, wrapped in her dressing gown. “Who were you talking to?”
Lacey recapped her morning phone calls while Dee made her mother’s tea. “I have no idea where to turn next. I’ll take Sandy’s stuff back to Dennis, then what? Wait until my car turns up in a frozen pond and file an insurance claim?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The cheque printer lurked in the corner of Zoe’s vision, pulling her focus from copying the Cardium well-share agreements. Twice she copied the same five-page document, and once she made three unneeded spares of a single-page summary. Leave me alone while I’m working! she thought fiercely. I’ll go back to the chalet later and you can tell me anything you want. She checked off another item on the list Accounting had left in her basket. Six more share agreements to go, and she could close the book on that section of her assignment.
The blond from Accounting wandered in, twirling a lock of her silky hair around one manicured finger. She opened the supply cupboard and gazed into its depths. “Did you know Eric Anders’s funeral was yesterday?”
“The notice should have been circulated.” Whether JP had forgotten to send it to Marcia, too, or Marcia had suppressed it because of her dislike for Eric, it didn’t matter now. “Would you have gone?”
“Uh-huh.” Blondie sighed. “He was a nice guy. There aren’t many of those around.”
So jaded, and in her midtwenties, at the latest. “It was a nice service,” Zoe said, “but mostly people who knew the family. There didn’t seem to be many people who just knew Eric. I’m sure he’d have liked you to be there.” Which was probably true.
“He had good energy,” the woman said, plucking a box of staples from the shelf before leaving.
Zoe yanked the agreement from the copier, re-stapled it, and stapled the copies. Another item checked off. A thought hit her: had Eric’s family collected whatever possessions he’d left at his desk in the IT department? She could clean out his desk. Returning his stuff would give her an excuse to visit the house again and maybe find his laptop. Whipping through the last four documents, she dropped everything off in her temporary office and gleefully squeezed the Galactica model in her sweater pocket as she sped toward the IT offices.
“All gone,” said the IT guy, clicking his pen, unaware that he was crushing her — and Eric’s — hopes. “Arliss Thompson came for it last week. We don’t say no to that woman. Even if she’s not the boss’s wife anymore, she’s still a board member.”
“I didn’t realize Arliss spent any time here.”
“She’s been in a bit this fall.” Click. “Keeping an eye on where her alimony comes from, I guess.”
“Well, thanks.” Zoe slouched out of the room, weary to the bone. The funeral hadn’t been Eric’s farewell. Instead it had energized him, and raised more questions for her about who wanted him dead. I don’t know what you want from me, she thought crossly, then found herself clutching the spaceship model again. She yanked her hand out of her pocket and strode off, muttering.
“Did you say something?”
Zoe blinked. She was back in Accounting, and Marcia was watching her curiously from a doorway. “Uh, just making mental lists. There’s still a lot of files to go through. A bunch of those early wells will be at the bottom of their production curve by now. We could sell them off for stripping and clean up the asset sheet that much more.”
“Shouldn’t those decisions wait until JP gets back?”
“If he was coming back, sure.”
Marcia clutched the door frame. “What do you mean? They’ll be back in January. Phyl and I are having lunch.”
Oh, shit. Phyl hadn’t told her dear friend she was moving. But surely Marcia deserved a heads-up about the changes, especially since they affected her job. She’d need to plan her finances. Zoe chose her words carefully.
“The impression I get from JP is that the company’s going on the market right after the holidays, basically as soon as I’ve got the prep work wrapped up.”
Marcia’s small brown eyes opened wide. “Sell the company, for real? I thought—” She caught herself. “The business is one thing — we all know JP’s not as young as he likes to pretend — but Phyl wouldn’t move away without telling me. She couldn’t.”
She already has.
“Well, I’d better be getting on. If I can wrap this up today, I’ll be able to join my family up at Marmot Basin after all.” Zoe hustled into her private office and leaned on the wall, dizzy from the backwash of the other woman’s emotions. Bethanne had said something about seeing more than you wanted to, once you started seeing at all. That had happened at the funeral with Eric’s dad; she’d had the same dizzy feeling as he passed her. Seeing inside people, feeling all their emotions, would make life intolerable very quickly. Poor Marcia, though. She’d given up her job in Ontario to move here, and now she’d been sandbagged by the news that her job could vanish and her beloved friend hadn’t even warned her it was coming. Marcia was being abandoned in real life the way Zoe intended to abandon Eric this afternoon at the chalet. Sorry, Eric, she thought, and gave the spaceship a sympathetic squeeze. “Abandon” isn’t the right word. But today’s your last chance to tell me what you need. I can’t keep living this chaos forever.
Lacey lifted the tenth sheet of paper from the printer. This would have to be the last copy. The colour cartridge was failing, washing out Sandy’s pale hair to almost nothing. Six posters for her to put up around Bragg Creek and Cochrane, the other four for Dennis. It didn’t seem like much for a half hour’s work, but it felt like she was doing something, at least. She found Dee in the living room, once more poring over real estate papers.
“You sure you’ll be all right alone today?”
“I guess.” Dee peered down the drive to where the Bragg Creek Arts Centre’s rooftop showed through the winter-bare branches. “If you’re going to be a while, I’ll invite Rob from the museum up for supper. Mom hasn’t met him yet, and he’ll be a good distraction.”
“I’ll be back by supper. It’s not even lunchtime yet.” Lacey picked up the grocery bag with Sandy’s clothes in it and called goodbye to the dogs as she passed.
She cruised up the highway past Cochrane and out across the cold, white prairie. The chinook had left its mark: Bushes and guardrails showed through the snow. The road to Big Hill Springs had mostly melted off.
She met up with Sandy’s son, Dennis, at his neighbourhood skating rink. He pointed out his children: the girl skating carefully around the edges, p
racticing her little bunny hops under the tutelage of a teen who didn’t look old enough to be teaching anyone anything, and the boy scrambling around with other rowdy kids at the far end. Lacey handed over the sack.
“This is all she left — pants and a shirt and one little box with a brooch in it. I made these posters using the profile photo on her Facebook page. You can show them around. Somebody must have seen something.”
He took the papers in one calloused hand. “Thanks. I dunno what else to do. The police said they’d call, but they didn’t. I waited all day yesterday.”
“The waiting around is really hard. You haven’t thought of any other angle we could try? Her email password, or a record of the phone calls she made from your house?” As she said the latter, she realized she hadn’t gone back through the caller list on Dee’s landline, either. Sandy might have made calls from that to avoid cellphone fees.
Dennis’s fingers crimped the pages. “I can get her cellphone records.”
“Really? I thought we’d have to convince the police to do it.”
“Didn’t they already look when I reported her missing?”
“It’s not illegal for adults to go quiet if they choose, and your mother could file a lawsuit against them if they invaded her privacy and then she turned up safe. Unless they suspect foul play, they won’t do more than check if her phone is still being used. How can you do it?”
“It’s a family plan. I set it up when I was working steady, and I put roaming on it so she could use it in Ontario. Since I pay for it, I can see the calls on all three phones.”
And keep tabs on your wife’s calls. Lacey squelched her cynicism. Not all men organized their lives around spying on their wives.
“Can you email me a list of recent calls?”
He waved at the rink. “I’ll do it when I get home.”
The new lead buoyed Lacey on the drive back to Cochrane. Warm, fresh breezes wafted through the vents. Slush sang under the tires. Mountain peaks bloomed white and gold against the stark sky. Between those phone calls and the posters she could show around, she’d soon have a good lead. She’d find Sandy and get her Civic back. She couldn’t possibly leave the nurse in charge of Dee and Loreena in order to take a personal wellness break — not after Sandy had proven herself so unreliable. Still, Loreena would be happier knowing Sandy was safe, and that alone would ease some of the pressure.
But trudging around downtown Cochrane, where the Christmas market blocks remained closed off by hay-bale barricades, Lacey’s newfound optimism eroded. The hoop dancer and storyteller by the teepee didn’t recognize the photo. Nobody at the coffee shop, art store, tea shop, or any other business recollected the sandy-haired nurse or the ten-year-old Civic. After two hours, Lacey left her second-last poster at the post office and headed back to the Lexus. As she stared through the windshield at the beautiful mountains, the urge to keep driving toward them grew. Too bad she couldn’t head off to Black Rock Bowl and go skiing like a normal person.
Marcia was out there teaching a class. The photo might jog her memory.
Lacey checked in with Dee. Rob would be there in an hour. No worries if she was late home. She gave Dee her destination and approximate return time — good practice when heading out to wilderness alone — and left Cochrane on Highway 1A, revelling in a brief sense of escape. Sure, this was part of the investigation, but it was a couple of precious hours in which she’d be responsible for nobody but herself. She hummed “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.”
Half an hour later, she passed the isolated house with all the Christmas lights. Soon Black Rock Mountain rose jagged above the trees. At the resort, the square was bustling, the parking lots packed, and vehicles lined the roadsides. Truly a magnificent day to be out in a winter playground. Now, which chalet was Marcia’s?
“The class is over,” said the woman at the café nearest the ski lift. “That’s some of them over in the corner. Their instructor, she’s the third place up the north shoulder. Small log cabin, one of the oldest in the Bowl.”
Lacey headed up the mountain. She recognized Marcia’s place at once by the brown Suburban with the multiple ski racks. She and Dee had spotted the shabby cabin on their first trip to the Bowl, when Eric’s body was found in JP’s woodshed. Blasted by full sunlight, Marcia’s ancient cabin appeared on the verge of collapse, its roof sagging and its smoking chimney askew. A rough path was cleared to the front porch. Another ran from a side door to what looked like an incinerator that puffed out smoke and embers. As Lacey stepped from the Lexus, Marcia appeared at the side door carrying an armload of paper. She stopped halfway to the incinerator, squinting at her visitor.
“Hi, Marcia.” Lacey waved. “Got a minute?”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Can you take a look at this poster of our missing nurse? See if it jogs your memory?”
“I guess.” Marcia looked at the stack in her hands. “Go inside. I’ll dump these and be right back.”
Lacey stepped onto the sagging porch. The worn boards creaked under her weight. The warped front door stayed stuck in its frame until she ruthlessly hip-checked it. She stepped directly into the small main room. The walls were constructed of caulked logs, with a fieldstone fireplace along the inner one. The grate was choked with papers, a small flame browning their edges. Through a bead curtain ahead was a rudimentary countertop. A doorway on her left revealed a narrow flight of stairs so steep they were almost a ladder. There was one table covered in papers, a printer, and a laptop. For seating, the options were a spindle-backed rocking chair and a pair of drooping armchairs, their upholstery so faded that the original pattern was barely a suggestion. A handful of books occupied a bankers box on the floor. A flat-pack of more boxes leaned on the wall. Along a shelf were trophies and framed photos of people in cross-country ski gear. One photo in a place of pride on the mantel showed a tall, lean redhead with her arm around Marcia’s shoulders. It appeared to have been taken outside the Thompson chalet.
She turned as the bead curtain rattled. “Are you packing up? Moving back to the city after the holidays?”
“This place is too far for a daily commute,” Marcia said, leaning against the fireplace. “Officially I live in Arbour Lake, less than an hour from downtown. Know anybody who wants to buy a cabin? The land’s worth a lot.”
“I can ask. My roommate’s a realtor.”
“Oh, yeah, Dee.” Marcia pulled herself upright with what seemed like immense effort. “I didn’t realize she was so badly injured she needed a live-in nurse.”
“The nurse is actually for her mother, who’s got cancer. The stress of Sandy’s vanishing isn’t helping any of us.” The fireplace belched smoke into the room. Lacey coughed.
Marcia poked the papers in the fireplace. “Look, I’m sorry about the nurse and all the stress, but today’s really not a good day. Can you just show me the photo and be on your way?”
“Okay.” Lacey handed over her last poster. “Does she look familiar at all?” She coughed again, her eyes stinging. Marcia peered at the poster. After a moment she handed the page back. “Vaguely familiar, that’s all I can say.” She turned away to wrestle open an aged sash window. “Could you ask Dee to phone me at work after the holidays? If she’s interested in selling this place for me.”
The fresh breeze whirled more smoke from the fireplace, aggravating Lacey’s throat further. “Could I get a glass of water before I go?”
“Sure. Kitchen’s this way.” Marcia picked up a stack of manila envelopes from the desk before leading her through the bead curtain. She pushed aside pill bottles and first aid stuff on an open shelf and handed down a glass. “Drinking water’s in the jug.” As she opened the side door, she said, as if the words were being forced from her, “Have you ever been betrayed by someone who said they loved you?”
Had Marcia been dumped? Lacey splashed a mouthful of water into the glass and rinsed her mouth. “Yeah. My ex-husband.”
“Not like that. By a friend.�
� Marcia stood by the door, clutching the frame with one hand as if Lacey’s answer was the most important thing in the world.
“No chance to be. I didn’t have any friends while I was married.” The truth of those words boomeranged on Lacey. In the RCMP she had mostly associated with co-workers, men who shared a code of conduct with other men. Too often, they’d seen her as a woman first and a fellow officer second. Tom was the only one she’d trusted, the only one who’d always had her back. Only since leaving the Force had she reconnected with women — first Marie, then gradually Dee, and eventually Jan, a new friend. How would she feel if Dee stabbed her in the back, or Marie turned against her? “It must be really rough, being betrayed by a friend.”
“I did everything she wanted,” said Marcia. “I can’t believe she’d just walk away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You can show yourself out.” And with that, Marcia walked outside and down the path to the incinerator. She heaved the manila envelopes through the hatch. Sparks soared out the top, curling to ash against the vivid blue sky.
Zoe leaned another split of pine against the burning pyramid in JP’s fireplace. “I don’t know where your backpack is,” she said to the empty room. “It wasn’t in the woodshed, or else the police would have it, and Aidan says they don’t. You must have dropped it somewhere.” The image of a small red car pounded the inside of her forehead. “Stop it. You’re giving me a headache. I don’t know where your car is. Can you try to show me where you left it?”
The pounding came again. After a moment of disorientation, she realized the pounding wasn’t in her head. Someone was rapping at the front door. Now what?
“Lacey?” Zoe opened the door wide. “What brings you way out here?”
“I was over at Marcia’s and saw the chimney smoking. Wondered if it might be you.”
“Well, come on in. I’m not getting anywhere, anyway.”
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