Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  She felt her tension ease. Having a cop around came in handy. “Thanks.”

  “George and I will come pick you up as soon as we can get there.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. George knows the property where you are, but we have to walk back to our boat. Hang tight.”

  Her heart was buoyant as she hung up and gathered Kaylee’s leash. Chris was on his way! “Come on, princess, let’s go exploring.”

  She was just climbing up the bank under cover of thick shrubbery when she heard nearby voices again. The two officers were still examining the shoreline.

  “This is impossible,” one said. “The rain washed everything away.”

  “But she must have dragged the boat over here somewhere. She had to sneak away without being seen.”

  “It’s pretty dark out here at night.”

  “But there are motion-sensor lights on the dock. Set those off and someone would see.”

  Amanda peered through the elderberry. The two officers were staring back at the dock. “We don’t know when she left. Could have been in the morning.”

  “The dog was barking in the middle of the night. About four a.m., according to the wife.”

  “Hardly reliable. Judging by the booze bottles all around, most of the household was down for the count.”

  The first officer grunted. “Well, we’ll keep going, but I think she’s long gone. They’ll be lucky if they catch her before she hops on a plane out of the country.”

  “That cook knows something. Shifty eyes. And they stick together, don’t they?”

  “Oh come on, she’s probably just scared. They’re all scared.”

  Amanda ducked low as they trudged by below her, wielding their poles to search the reeds and shrubs along the way. There was obviously a manhunt on for Sophia. Chris had said he would call in the report, but maybe she should track down that scowling cop after all.

  As she clambered up the slope toward the main house in search of him, she heard a baby wailing and a dog barking inside. Several voices were raised in shrill frustration.

  The French doors flew abruptly open, and a woman burst out. She was dressed in a pink nightgown that plunged low over her breasts and barely covered her crotch, but she was wrapping a man’s yellow raincoat around her body. Her face was blotchy and wet. Tears or rain?

  Her only make-up was yesterday’s smudged mascara, and the long hair tumbling in disarray down her back was copper instead of blond, but the resemblance to Candace was unmistakeable. The grieving widow.

  “Candy!” the woman shrieked. “Where the fuck are you?”

  Candace materialized in the doorway behind her, holding two cups of coffee. “Janine, come inside. It’s disgusting out.”

  Janine ignored her. “You have to get rid of that puppy. I can’t stand it. It was his dog, anyway, and he promised I’d never have to lift a finger. Well …!”

  “Jesus, Janine. The puppy is the least of our problems. We’ve got four kids to take care of, cops roping off half the house, fingerprint powder everywhere, a cook who won’t come out of her room, and a goddamn nanny who’s disappeared!”

  “Not to mention my husband, who’s fucking dead!” Janine shot back. Through the open doorway, Amanda heard the renewed screaming of small, cranky children. Since it looked as if neither of the sisters was equipped to address the chaos, Amanda stepped up onto the patio. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but maybe I can help.”

  Janine blinked. Her eyes narrowed. In the harsh daylight, Amanda could see the beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes. Older than she’d like to be, Amanda observed randomly. “Who are you? The girl from the village?” Janine’s eyes fell on Kaylee, and her voice rose a few decibels. “With another goddamn dog?”

  “No, I’m Amanda. I’m —”

  “A friend,” Candace said hastily. “I picked her up on the Mink Islands. She’s waiting for a lift out.”

  “And you brought her here? Now? With a dog?”

  “I will tie the dog up out here,” Amanda said. “And I can help. Get the children some breakfast, for example.”

  Janine shook her head weakly. Her anger, so quickly roused, died just as fast. “Whatever,” she muttered, turning back toward the door. “I can’t face this. I can’t even …” She stumbled as she groped her way back inside. “Please handle this, Candy.”

  Amanda looped Kaylee’s leash through the railing on the patio. “Point me to the kitchen,” she said. “My ride will be along soon, but meanwhile I can take this off your hands.”

  Candace vacillated in the doorway. Her eyes searched Amanda’s, perhaps seeing some reassurance in their depths, for her bleak expression softened. “Thank you. We’re … well …” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

  “I know.”

  She found three of the four children in the main room, a spectacular showcase with intricate mahogany wainscoting, a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, polished oak floors, and a wall of windows overlooking the channel. But in sharp contrast to the majestic setting, chaos reigned. Two curly-haired blond girls, whom Amanda judged to be twins about four years old, were tumbling on the floor, screaming and clawing each other, while a large black puppy bounced around in circles, barking like a demented wrestling fan. A chubby boy of about two was crying in a playpen, both fists crammed into his mouth.

  Amanda swooped him into her arms. “Okay, kids, I’m Amanda, helping cook. Who knows how to make pancakes?”

  The twins stopped to stare at her as if she’d grown a horn.

  Amanda feigned shock. “You’ve never had pancakes?”

  One of the twins curled her lip in a sneer. “Of course.”

  “Then you’re helper number one! Come show me where the kitchen is.”

  “Cook doesn’t like us in the kitchen.”

  “Well, then, Cook will have to kick us out, because I need all the helpers I can get.” Amanda turned in place and pointed jokingly out the patio door. “Where’s the kitchen? That way? No. This way?”

  The sullen twin rolled her eyes. “You’re silly.”

  “That’s my name! And who are you? Willy and Nilly?”

  A reluctant giggle. Within minutes, the sullen twin, who announced her name was Taylor and her sister Teagan, was leading the way to the back of the house. When she stepped into the kitchen, Amanda’s jaw dropped. The room was bigger than her entire Laurentian cottage and gleamed with quartz and stainless steel. The walls were lined with cupboards of antique white and glass, displaying enough copper pots and china to rival Buckingham Palace.

  “Oh, goodie, a treasure hunt!” she said, keeping the boy propped on her hip as she randomly opened doors. “What do we need for pancakes? Let’s put everything on this ping pong table.”

  Taylor laughed. “That’s not a ping-pong table, it’s a counter.”

  “Is it? Wow. Can you find me the eggs?”

  She sent both girls scurrying around the kitchen in search of ingredients while the little boy helped her choose the best pan from the rack on the wall. Then she stood the girls on stools and slipped the boy into a highchair, all clustered around the work station. “I need three helpers — a mixer and a measurer and an egg breaker.”

  The little boy was designated the mixer, a task he undertook with glee, and soon the counter, their hands, and their hair were covered with flour. The puppy bounced excitedly underfoot, hoping for errant food. As Amanda ladled batter into the frying pan, Taylor watched her solemnly.

  “My daddy’s dead.”

  “I know, sweetie.” Amanda paused to give her a hug.

  “Danielle killed him.”

  “Who’s Danielle?”

  “Danielle!” Taylor looked at her in disbelief. “Our nanny.”

  The side door beside the pantry flew open, and a middle-aged woman peered out. “Don’t you talk like that, you hear, Taylor? We know no such thing.”

  “That’s what Mommy said,” Taylor shot back. Her face was reddening and her chin quivered.
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  “Nobody knows. The police don’t even —” Belatedly, the woman seemed to register the chaos. “What are you doing to my kitchen?”

  “We’re making pancakes,” Taylor said. “I broke the eggs.”

  The cook — for that’s who Amanda assumed her to be — swung on Amanda. She looked like an aging bulldog guarding her domain, but behind the ferocity of her glare, her eyes and nose were red. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Amanda, a friend of Candace’s. I’m helping out for a few minutes.”

  “Not in my kitchen you aren’t!” She strode across the slate floor to snatch a bowl from under the little boy’s nose. “That’s the wrong bowl. He’ll scratch it.”

  It looked like an ordinary stainless steel bowl to Amanda. Predictably, the boy shrieked and hurled the mixing spoon across the room.

  “Right!” the cook snapped. “Out! Everyone out!” She flicked her hand at Amanda. “You can entertain them in the playroom while I fix this mess. And get that dog back in his crate!”

  “It’s okay, the pancakes are almost finished,” Amanda whispered as she ushered the reluctant children out.

  The playroom was cluttered with every conceivable toy — blocks, dolls, and stuffed animals — as well as laptops, iPads, and a huge TV mounted on the wall. To Amanda’s dismay, the twins flounced down on the floor and went straight for the iPads. In the background she could hear the cook slamming cupboards in the kitchen and then Candace’s sharp voice.

  “Edith, keep calm! Have some respect for what Janine and the family are going through.”

  The cook muttered something unintelligible. It might have been an apology, but Amanda wasn’t betting on it.

  “She meant well. And if you’d done your job this morning …” Candace broke off as if a wiser second thought kicked in. “Please. Prepare Janine some toast and tea. Let Amanda finish the pancakes. I’ll see if I can get Kaitlyn to help you.”

  Amanda heard her retreat down the hall, leaving the cook to mutter in quiet outrage about pigs flying. Reluctantly, Amanda put the puppy into his crate and slipped cautiously back into the kitchen to check on the pancakes.

  “I cared about him too, you know,” Edith grumbled as she slapped a loaf of homemade bread on the counter. “We all did. He was such a … nice man. Far better than she deserved, you ask me, and I don’t know if I can stay on. Not after this.”

  Amanda flipped the pancakes. “You’ve been with the family long?”

  “Since I turned sixteen, longer than you’ve been alive. Duncan Saint Clair — that’s her father — took me on for the summer. That was back in the days when he hired local help instead of bringing in his staff from Toronto. I never planned to stay. His girls were a handful, and on weekends there were parties all summer long. Too much money for nothing, I always told my husband; may he rest in peace.” She shot Amanda a sidelong glance as she arranged a flowered teapot and cup on the tray. “After he died, I had no place else to go. Mr. Saint Clair had promised to build me my own little place here with a garden.” Her face fell. “Well, that never happened, did it. After he died, Janine inherited and said it was a waste of money. I had a beautiful room right here in the main house, she said, with my kitchen just steps away. Well, take a look for yourself.” She waved her hand at the side door by the pantry. Then with an effort, she squared her shoulders. “No point carrying on about it. Janine is not her father, and with Mr. B gone now too, there will be nothing to stop her. And I don’t care if you do tell Candace that. I’m going to quit.”

  “Is there just you and the nanny, for this whole place?”

  “Most of the time. At least Mr. B brought in a man for spring clean-up. Someone he knew from Toronto. Foreigner. Hard-working fellow, though. Janine paid him a pittance of what a local would get. It was different when Mr. Saint Clair was alive. Plenty of locals got full-time summer work here on the island.”

  The kettle whistled, and Edith poured hot water into the teapot. She busied herself with the tray, her movements sharp and angry. “Don’t pay no attention to what little Taylor says. Danielle didn’t kill Mr. B. A sweeter, gentler girl you’ll never meet. She just wanted to get away from here. Stuck on this island all summer with three little kids and a puppy, and then Candy dumps her own brat in her arms so she can spend a week with her latest man. Candy needs a break, Janine said, but would Danielle ever need a break? Janine wouldn’t even hire a local teenager to help. I suggested my niece, but oh, no, not qualified enough. In other words, no dumb locals near their precious genius kids.”

  “Who’s Kaitlyn? Candace mentioned getting her to help.”

  Edith blew out a puff of air. “When hell freezes. Janine’s daughter. Sulky little thing.”

  Amanda stacked the cooked pancakes on a plate and ladled more batter into the pan. She threw the question out casually. “Why do they think Danielle did it?”

  “Because she took off. I don’t blame the silly girl. She knew she’d never get a fair break — a foreigner in a house full of rich folks from the city? Everyone knew she wanted to leave, and they kept her passport and documents locked up in the library. Everyone heard the huge fight between Janine and Mr. B that night, right in the middle of the party. He wanted to help Danielle, but Janine refused to give her the papers. Next morning Mr. B’s dead on the floor of the library, Danielle’s papers are gone, and so’s she.”

  It sounded pretty damning, Amanda thought, except for one crucial detail, which Edith herself supplied in a parting shot as she headed out the door with the tray. “But what’s the motive? Mr. B was on Danielle’s side. If I’d been her, I’d have gone after Janine!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Amanda peeked in on the children. The girls were engrossed in a cartoon, and the little boy was asleep on the floor. Mercifully, Candace’s baby, Thomas, was nowhere to be seen, but the puppy was pressed against the front of his crate, whining in soft defeat. His tail thumped with renewed hope at the sight of Amanda.

  She stroked the puppy’s nose, slipped him a pancake, and set the plate of pancakes on the table beside the twins before tiptoeing away. She needed to get down to the dock because Chris and George would be arriving soon. There was enough toxic grief and recrimination in the household already without her unwanted intrusion. She thought about Danielle, stuck in the middle of it, burdened with all the care of four children and a neglected puppy.

  From her work overseas, Amanda knew something about the plight of domestic foreign workers who came to Canada on temporary visas with the stipulation that they live in their employer’s home for two years before they apply for permanent resident status and ultimately Canadian citizenship. Many of them left husbands and children behind, clinging to the hope of sponsoring them to come to Canada once they themselves had become permanent residents. This was the prize that made it all worthwhile.

  In theory, there were laws and legal recourses as well as a contract spelling out their rights and benefits under the employment agreement, but the reality was sometimes very different. Coming from countries with dubious systems of justice often biased in favour of the wealthy, isolated in a strange country, and dependent on their employer for both pay and references, they were often afraid to speak out.

  Overwork, long hours, threats of retaliation, and withholding of identity documents were sometimes the least of their problems. Who knew what other personal and sexual demands took place in the privacy of the respectable homes where they worked? Danielle had clearly been asked to do more than was fair and felt trapped enough to head out into the open lake in a flimsy boat. Was that all, or had something more sinister been happening on this remote, private island?

  The police were already looking for her, and Amanda had no doubt their efforts would double once they learned of her escape with Ronny. What chance did a lone, foreign woman have against the resources of the state? Amanda hesitated on her way out. She had planned to tell the scowling OPP officer what she knew, but now she wondered if she should just stay out of it and leave it to C
hris, who’d already said he intended to report the woman’s presence on Franklin Island.

  When she went outside to retrieve Kaylee, she was surprised to see a young girl kneeling at the dog’s side, stroking her soft fur. Her head was bent, and tears dripped silently down her cheeks.

  The girl jumped to her feet when Amanda appeared. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Amanda said, holding out a soothing hand. “My dog is good company when you’re sad.”

  The girl said nothing but didn’t run away. Amanda tried to fit her into the household. In her skinny jeans and cropped leather jacket, she was tall and lithe, her teenage body just beginning to develop curves. She had dark hair pulled into a haphazard ponytail and the same slanted blue eyes and full lips as Janine. Come-hither lips, Amanda thought, even though the girl looked barely fourteen.

  “Hi, I’m Amanda,” she said, taking a guess. “Are you Kaitlyn?”

  The girl bobbed her head in a wary nod.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Kaitlyn. This must be awful.”

  She shrugged and swiped her hand across her cheeks. “He wasn’t my father.”

  “It sounds as if he was a nice man, though.”

  “Lotta good that did him.” She backed away, as if the sympathy was too intense for her.

  From inside the house came a distant shriek. “Kaitlyn, where the fuck are you?”

  Kaitlyn flinched but made no move to reply. Instead, she hovered, as if she wanted to say more. Amanda nudged her on. “I heard the nanny did it. What was she like?”

  A frown of suspicion flitted across Kaitlyn’s face. “She had the poor-little-me act down pat …” Kaitlyn cast her a look beneath her lashes. “Especially with men. She had Ben conned, acting like she was so overworked. And not just Ben. She was planning this escape for days.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard her on her phone, talking to someone.”