A Sister Would Know

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Is that why you won’t search for her body?” Amalie pressed her finger down inches from his pen, compelling his attention. As if she didn’t already have it.

  “Listen, Amalie.” He’d remembered not to call her ma’am, but she didn’t appear too impressed.

  “I am listening and it seems to me that if you really cared you would’ve done something about recovering her body days ago.”

  He set down his pen. “My best friend was on that mountain with your sister. If I could have done anything to save them, believe me, I would have.”

  “Your best friend? I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realize.” She closed her eyes, pressing her hands hard to her temples.

  Something about the gesture got to him. He didn’t like weak people and Helen had been weak. But Amalie struck him as a strong person at a vulnerable point. He wondered if she had someone to comfort her back home in Toronto. She didn’t wear any rings.

  Surprised by his newfound sympathy for this woman, along with his unexpected interest in her love life, Grant gave himself a mental kick in the butt. He knew where his thoughts—and his hormones—were leading him. Of all the times and of all the people…Was he trying to prove he could be as big a fool as Ramsey?

  Davin came back to the desk. He’d been wandering out in the adjoining room, reading charts and examining photographs. “Wow. This place is wicked. Do you really use a howitzer to set off avalanches on purpose?”

  Grant nodded. “That’s part of our program to control the snow on the mountains.”

  “Awesome.”

  “We have a video at the information center you ought to see if you’re interested—it’s called Snow Wars.”

  Davin glanced at Amalie. “Can we?”

  She smiled indulgently. “Of course. We’ll be here long enough.”

  How long? Grant wanted to ask, but figured the question would be rude. Instead, he glanced at his watch. On a normal day he’d be heading home about now. He’d have a peaceful beer by the television, then a stroll down to the local pub for a steak sandwich or maybe over to Blaine’s restaurant for pizza.

  “Where are you folks planning to stay?”

  Amalie looked surprised by the question. “At Helena’s.”

  Grant thought of the landlady he’d interviewed Monday afternoon. Heidi Eitelbach had made it clear what she’d thought of her former tenant. She wouldn’t be pleased about having the sister show up on her doorstep.

  “Yeah, well, your sister rented a two-bedroom apartment not far from where I live, in Revelstoke. That’s a little ways farther down the highway from here. If you want to follow me in your car, I’ll introduce you to the landlady. We’ve still got your sister’s key. It was with the stuff we found at the cabin.”

  He retrieved the sleeping bag and knapsack they’d brought back from the hut and tossed them to Amalie.

  “Ready?” He pulled his own keys from his pocket, then shrugged into his jacket. As he led the pair through the narrow corridor, he noticed Ralph Carlson was back in his office.

  “I think you should meet this guy,” he told Amalie. “He works for Parks Canada and is officially in charge of any rescue mission into the back-country.”

  Introductions went quickly, and Ralph reiterated Grant’s own conclusion—that a recovery mission couldn’t be implemented at this time.

  Out in the parking lot Amalie’s blue Jetta stood out in the line of four-by-four trucks. Grant was glad to see she had new-looking winter treads on her tires. Too many drivers underestimated road conditions on this stretch of the highway.

  He waited as she unlocked the driver-side door. In the back seat he could see two rolled-up sleeping bags and pillows, a large cooler and stacks of books and papers.

  “Is your trunk full, too?” he asked.

  Amalie glanced over her shoulder to see what he’d been looking at. It didn’t take long for her to get his point. “Yes, it’s full. We’re planning to stay as long as it takes. I’ve taken a leave-of-absence from work.”

  “What about his schooling?” He nodded at Davin, who was just sliding into the front passenger seat.

  “I’ll home-school him while we’re here. Thanks for your concern.”

  The sound of her slamming car door still rang in his ears by the time Grant reached his own truck. Obviously, he’d made a second impression even worse than the first. He supposed he hadn’t come across as very sympathetic. Or very welcoming, either.

  Well, that was too bad. She wasn’t the only one grieving over someone. And hadn’t he warned her not to come in the first place?

  THE TIRES of Amalie’s Jetta crunched in the snow, as she slowed and pulled over to the side of the street behind Grant Thorlow’s truck. They were just two blocks from the Columbia River, on Mackenzie Avenue. The three-story apartment block was a Bavarian-styled structure of stucco and stained wood, with balconies on every unit.

  A nice enough place. But Helena was a city girl. And this town—while prettier than Amalie had expected—was no Toronto or Seattle.

  And it was so cut off from the rest of the world. Those mountains! Amalie had never seen anything like them. She knew she ought to be impressed with their beauty, but instead she found them oppressive, frightening.

  Just by Golden—the last town they’d passed before Rogers Pass—the mountains had felt like prison walls. The curves in the road had tightened, and the sheer rock face on her left had seemed close enough to touch from an open window.

  The view to the right was worse—she hadn’t dared look at the valley below. The short concrete guardrail had seemed to offer woefully inadequate protection against a sheer drop into nothingness.

  “Is this the place?” Davin asked.

  “I guess so,” she said. Grant was already at the front entrance, pacing impatiently as he waited. Amalie turned to Davin. “How are you doing?”

  “Sick of driving. Sick of this car.” Davin got out and slammed the door behind him.

  Amalie followed more slowly. Her neck and shoulders were tight from hours of concentrating on the snow-covered, winding roads, and she had a dull ache in her lower back.

  Ahead, Davin ran up to Grant, his young voice raised in yet another question. Whatever he said, it made Grant laugh.

  Snow had begun to fall when they were leaving the Rogers Pass compound earlier; now it covered the road with a clean white film. Amalie could see clearly the footprints of the two people who had preceded her. The smaller, even-treaded prints were from Davin’s sneakers, while Grant’s rugged hiking boots had left behind large, deeply grooved tracks.

  She couldn’t quite figure what to make of him, this Grant Thorlow. In his office, as on the phone, he’d been cool, broaching on rude. She didn’t know where he got off. Did the man not have a shred of compassion in him? His stiffly offered words of sympathy about her sister’s death had felt like an insult. Obviously, he wasn’t happy that she’d ignored his advice and driven here, either.

  It was evident that he’d disliked Helena. He’d expected to dislike her, too. The message had been plain.

  Well, she’d be happy to return the favor and dislike him back.

  Except…It wasn’t fair that he was so ruggedly attractive. She never met men like him in the city. His features weren’t anything special; he wasn’t even well groomed. His hair looked as though he cut it himself, a button was missing on his faded blue shirt and his collar curled up from lack of a good ironing.

  What did details like those matter, though, when a man was tall and well built, with browned, slightly ruddy skin and sharp blue-gray eyes. When Grant moved, he clearly had total command of himself, and when he spoke, his words might not be phrased tactfully, but they carried the ring of uncompromising truth.

  No, in all honesty she couldn’t say she disliked the man, even though he manifestly had no use for her.

  “I’ve buzzed the landlady,” Grant explained when she was almost beside him. “She should—”

  He dropped the end of his sentence as a thin wom
an in her fifties, with sharp features and her hair up in curlers, pushed open the security door.

  “Don’t just stand there, Thorlow. You’re letting in the cold.” She stood back, surprised when not one but three of them entered the warm vestibule. Her piercing gaze skimmed right past Grant and Davin to settle on Amalie.

  “Ohhh!” She sucked in a breath and stared.

  One corner of Grant’s mouth curled in amusement. “Identical twins.” He leaned against a bank of metal mailboxes. “Heidi Eitelbach, this is Amalie Fremont. And her nephew, Davin.”

  Amalie stepped forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Eitelbach. My nephew and I were hoping to stay in Helena’s apartment while we—while we settle my sister’s affairs.”

  “If you’re planning to settle her affairs, you can start right now.” Heidi Eitelbach stamped a small slippered foot on the linoleum flooring. “Your sister was three weeks late on her rent, and if you’ll be staying more than a few days, you’ll have to pay for the whole next month, as well.”

  Amalie hadn’t counted on this. “How much?”

  “Four hundred and fifty per month.”

  Times two. She’d have to transfer funds from her savings. Oh, Lord, what was she doing? “Fine. I’ll write you a check now.”

  The landlady appeared surprised. “I want you to know we’re real strict around here. No parties, no loud noise after ten.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  The woman wasn’t about to take her word. “Any sign of trouble and you’re out. And don’t think just because you have a kid—”

  Was everyone in Revelstoke this callous? Amalie had to struggle to keep her tone civil. “There won’t be any parties, Mrs. Eitelbach. Even if I knew anyone in this town—which I don’t—my sister has just died. I’m hardly about to start celebrating.”

  Grant intervened quickly. “Amalie has a key, Heidi. I’ll take her and the boy up, then come back with your check.”

  “Don’t let her sweet-talk you out of it.” Heidi pointed a finger at Grant’s chest. Right about the spot where that button was missing.

  “I won’t.” Grant opened the door to the stairwell. “Up one floor.”

  Amalie followed Davin, with Grant behind them both. The landlady had been downright rude, and not a word of condolence about her sister’s death. Obviously, she shared at least some of Grant’s antipathy toward Helena.

  A sudden urge to cry was almost overwhelming. Amalie faltered and grabbed at the railing.

  “You okay?” Right away Grant was beside her, and she wondered how he could be concerned about her tripping on the stairs, when he didn’t seem to care a whit about her sister’s death.

  He put a hand under her elbow as she regained her balance. Lord, he was big. His presence loomed like the mountains. Solid. Unyielding.

  And very masculine.

  “I’m fine.” She picked up her pace, despite the pounding of her heart, which had accelerated rather than abated during her brief pause.

  At the top landing, Grant gave directions again. “First door on the right.”

  Davin rushed in as soon as Amalie twisted the key. She let him go ahead, while she hesitated on the threshold with Grant.

  “This is just a hunch, but I’m guessing Mrs. Eitelbach didn’t care much for my sister, either.”

  Grant leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His posture was relaxed, but Amalie felt that he was watching her keenly.

  “She’s a sharp old bird,” he said, “but she didn’t mean any harm. She had a lot to put up with.”

  Amalie pulled her checkbook out of her purse, then searched for her ballpoint pen. “I suppose you mean from Helena?”

  His gaze unwavering, he didn’t say a word.

  Quickly, Amalie wrote out the check for nine hundred dollars, unable to stop her hand from shaking as she added her signature. It was so much money. Her parents would really think she was crazy if they knew.

  When she was done, she contemplated her companion. The hall light overhead cast long shadows across the lower portion of his face. She noticed a mark now, under his bottom lip, where he might have cut himself shaving that morning.

  “Just what is it you have against my sister? What did she ever do to you?”

  Grant stepped away from the wall. “It’s not so much what she did to me as what she did to my friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “The man she was skiing with?”

  She tried to remember. “Ramsey—”

  “Ramsey Carter.” The name came out short, clipped with anger. “My best friend. My married best friend.”

  Amalie stared at him. “You can’t mean—”

  “Your sister was having an affair with a married man. Now he’s dead, and his widow will have to raise their two children on her own.”

  Grant took her check, holding it between his thumb and forefinger gingerly, as if it were something he’d rather not touch.

  “That’s one of the things I have against your sister.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  HELENA’S APARTMENT WAS A SHOCK. Amalie stood with her back to the closed door—Grant Thorlow’s final words still echoing in her ears—and surveyed the scene.

  “Kind of weird, isn’t it?” Davin said. He’d turned on the television and was manually searching the channels. “I mean, there’s nothing here. Not even a lamp.”

  It was true; the only illumination came from a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. An old sofa—the kind you might see discarded at the side of a curb—was against the long wall of the living room. Opposite was a small TV, sitting directly on the stained, tan carpet.

  “I guess Helena didn’t have much money.” Or maybe she hadn’t planned on staying very long.

  Amalie set down her purse, then followed the short hallway to the right. Here was the bathroom and two bedrooms. The first was empty; the second was obviously Helena’s. On the floor was an old mattress, the bedding scattered and wrinkled.

  An old oak dresser stood in the corner, next to the open doors of a closet. Eager to find something, anything, that would connect this place with the fastidious sister she remembered, Amalie opened the drawers of the bureau, but here, too, all was a jumble.

  Automatically, she started sorting and folding, only pausing when the lush wool of one sweater had her peeking at the label. Cashmere, sure enough, from a designer Amalie had seen advertised in fashion magazines.

  Intrigued, Amalie checked over the rest of the clothing. Interspersed with regular, department store items, the kind she normally bought for herself, she found a couple more treasures—a beautiful hand-knit sweater, some silk lingerie.

  In the closet, the same dichotomy was evident. Mixed in with a beautiful Anne Klein suit and butter-soft leather pants were no-brand jeans and cotton T-shirts.

  Probably the less-expensive items had been purchased here in Revelstoke, but it was the high-end clothing that most puzzled Amalie. Presumably, money had once not been a problem for her sister—an hypothesis borne out by the contents of the carved wooden box that sat on top of the bureau. Once opened, it released a delicate scent of sandal-wood and light chimes played “My Favorite Things,” from The Sound of Music.

  Amalie smiled, remembering the first time she’d watched the musical with her sister, on an outing to the theater with some friends. Their mother had been livid when she found out. Strictly speaking, dancing was forbidden by their church, and the sight of her daughters whirling and singing around the living room had prompted her to ground them for an extended period.

  Their parents’ religious doctrines had been such a confining presence in their lives. Amalie knew that Helena in particular had resented it. She herself, however, still found them a comfort, although in her heart she took significantly more moderate views from those of her parents and their minister.

  Inside the carved box were little velvet bags. Amalie selected one and pulled the silk cord gently. Out tumbled a gold ring with a sapphire as big as her thum
bnail. Gasping, Amalie put it back in the bag, then checked another.

  This time she found a short gold chain strung with diamonds. Where had Helena found the money for this jewelry? Or had they been gifts…?

  Amalie shut the lid on the ornate box and was about to turn away, when she noticed a small indentation next to a carved rose at the bottom of the case. She picked the box up and worked the nail of her index finger into the hollow. A small drawer sprang out from the bottom. Inside was a pouch of dried grass and several sheets of thin white paper.

  Amalie didn’t have to smell the one rolled cigarette to know what she’d found.

  She pulled the drawer out from the case and carried it to the bathroom. One flush, and the marijuana was gone. The papers she threw in the trash.

  Amalie returned to the bedroom, pushed the drawer back into the box, then shoved the whole thing underneath a pile of Helena’s lingerie.

  As far as she knew, Helena had never used drugs when she’d lived on her own in Toronto. And certainly not when she was still at home with their parents. Alcohol and tobacco had been major taboos. Drugs were unthinkable.

  So when had Helena changed, and why hadn’t Amalie sensed the changes from the occasional letters and phone calls that had tenuously linked them over the years?

  Amalie closed the bedroom door behind her and went to check on Davin, who remained transfixed in front of the television.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes not leaving the screen.

  An open doorway to the left gave access to a small galley kitchen. She was relieved to see the counters and stovetop were clean. Beside the fridge, though, stacks of empty beer and wine bottles brought back Mrs. Eitelbach’s admonishment: “No parties. No loud music.”

  After toeing a case of Kootenay Mountain Ale out of the way first, Amalie opened the fridge, then checked the cupboards. Not much to choose from, except boxes of macaroni and cheese.

  Amalie smiled. She’d forgotten how Helena had loved these. Just like Davin.

  She pulled out a package, then put water on to boil. There was milk in the fridge, but it had gone bad. She would have to mix the dried cheese sauce with water and a little margarine. First thing tomorrow she’d go shopping.