Snowed Under

by Rickie Blair

  No phone.

  I settled back on my haunches, trying to think. Where had I seen it last? Oh. Right—plugged into an outlet in Irma’s kitchen. After all the advice I’d received, ad nauseam, from Adeline and Jeff—I’d forgotten my phone. If Adeline discovered I couldn’t hear those irritating national emergency alerts, she’d secure my phone to my body with duct tape the next time she saw me.

  I sagged to the floor with my back against the front door, suddenly cheerful despite my predicament. Considering the dangers that came with the clandestine jobs my aunt had performed over the years, it was amazing how risk-averse she was for her only niece. With a smile, I remembered photos of me as a toddler at Rose Cottage, negotiating furniture corners duct-taped with squares of foam rubber.

  It was a good thing I was temporarily lost in thought, because otherwise the sudden hammering on the door would have startled me right into another piece of furniture. As it was, I reacted so abruptly I pulled two coats off their hooks trying to leap to my feet.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  With my heart in my throat, I scrambled from under the coats to wrench open the door. Pale moonlight had broken through the clouds. Its reflection off the snowy landscape provided just enough illumination to see a figure standing on my front porch.

  “Verity?” came an anguished cry.

  “Irma? Good heavens, what happened?” I clutched her arm. “Get in here.”

  From the doorstep, I saw her SUV parked in the driveway.

  She took a step over the threshold, but halted abruptly. “It’s pitch black in here. I can’t see anything.” Her voice rose. “Oh, Verity, you’ll never believe what happened.”

  The wind had picked up, and I had to use my full strength to shut the door. I turned in Irma’s approximate direction, straining to hear her over the water dripping from her coat onto the tiled floor, the keening wind outside, and the sudden crack of a branch across the street.

  Then the dog started up again.

  Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf…

  “Boomer—stop it,” I yelled, hoping he would comply before my eardrums ruptured. I lowered my voice. “Irma, tell me what happened.”

  “It’s the tree—the tree. It came down. On my roof. It was horrible.” Then she burst into tears.

  I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but I assumed she’d need tissues soon. Given current conditions, I had no chance of finding any. Irma would have to use her sleeve.

  I flailed about in the dark until I connected with her shoulder. “Wait here. If I open the curtains, maybe that will let in a little moonlight so I can find my way to the kitchen—”

  Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf…

  “—let Boomer out, and look for my candles.”

  “No!” Irma shrieked, inflicting a Vulcan death grip on my arm. “It’s not safe. What about that tree overhanging Rose Cottage? What if a branch comes off in the wind? It would smash right through your window. Broken glass would be everywhere. You have to keep the drapes closed.”

  Irma was overwrought. Drapes wouldn’t stop a tree. But I had underestimated the ice storm despite warnings from everyone I knew and should have trusted. I didn’t think I should start arguing about it now. So, I left the drapes in place.

  “Hand me your wet coat, and I’ll get you a sweater.”

  She relinquished her grip on my arm. The sniffling continued while she shed her parka and handed it to me.

  Tossing it in the general direction of the coat rack, I said, “Do you remember plugging in my phone at your place?”

  “Hm-hmm,” she said in a faltering tone.

  “Did you bring it with you?”

  “Oh, Verity. Your phone. I’m so sorry,” she said, punctuating each phrase with a sniffle. Both sleeves were in play by now, I suspected.

  “That’s okay. I didn’t remember it, either. Maybe we can go back and get it,” I said.

  “No. We can’t.”

  Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf…

  “Boomer, for pity’s sake—cut it out,” I yelled. “What do you mean, we can’t? Because of the weather? It’s clearing up.”

  “Because of the branch, Verity. Remember the branch? It crashed onto my roof.”

  “Oh. Right. You told me that when you came in. I’m sorry. But you’re not hurt, are you? I mean, you got out of the house okay, so I guess you’re not hurt. If your roof is damaged, we should try to get help. Unless you think—”

  “Verity.” Irma’s sharp voice cut through my reverie.

  “Yes?”

  “That branch fell on my kitchen roof.”

  “That’s awful, Irma. I know. But we need to call for help.”

  “That’s just it. We can’t. When the branch hit, it made a hole in the roof. Water came in and—both our phones are ruined. I’m sorry.”

  Imagining the scene in Irma’s kitchen, I struggled to form an articulate response. “Wow. That’s… unfortunate.”

  A memory of my aunt’s cell phone and its waterproof case came to mind. I’d always considered that case as a bit over the top, but I hadn’t counted on Leafy Hollow’s mysterious ways. Aunt Adeline might have been on to something.

  Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf…

  I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to think of a workable option. “I have to let Boomer out of the kitchen—I can’t think with all that barking. And find the candles. Then maybe we can, I don’t know, wave down a passing snowplow.”

  I brightened, remembering something else about my aunt’s emergency preparedness drills—the heavy metal flashlight she had left on my nightstand months earlier. Hopefully it had fresh batteries. It must, if Adeline was involved. She wouldn’t forget a thing like that.

  “You stay here while I get a flashlight from my bedroom.”

  Irma clutched at my sleeve. “No, don’t leave me.”

  Hoping to distract her, I added, “While we’re waiting for that snowplow, you can take a look at the photo I mentioned. It’s with a bunch of other pictures in a shoebox Mickey Doig gave me. You’ll be amazed at the resemblance.”

  Irma released my arm. “Okay,” she said calmly. “Go ahead, if you must.”

  I took a few tentative steps into the blackness until I felt solid plaster under my outstretched fingers, then sidled along with my hands on the wall until I reached the bedroom door. It was closed. After turning the handle, I pushed it open. There was a soft click, and then a blinding light shone into my eyes, blotting out my surroundings in a blaze of white.

  My hands flew up to cover my eyes. “What the—”

  Something soft wrapped around my face, jerking my neck backward. I pawed at it, struggling for air, trying to twist around to confront my attacker. Another set of hands shoved my shoulder, ramming my head into the wall.

  My forehead rebounded off the plaster and I fell heavily to the ground, dazed and unable to stand. With my arms flailing, I tried to strike a blow. Before I could land even the feeblest punch, my assailants forced my arms behind me and bound them with tape, leaving me wriggling helplessly.

  My heart was pounding, and my lungs were screaming. But when I tried to breathe, fibers from the suffocating fabric were sucked into my mouth, making me choke.

  “Stop struggling. You’re only making it worse,” Irma said.

  Sensing no alternative, I stopped moving.

  “Hand me the flashlight. Did you bring the lantern?” she asked.

  “It’s right here,” a different voice said. A familiar voice.

  I heard the click of a switch, and jerked my eyes away from another brilliant light.

  A hand tugged down the cloth that covered my lower face, leaving it puddled around my neck. From the light of a battery-powered LED lantern, I saw it was a navy-blue scarf. Heart in my throat, I raised my head.

  Zuly Sundae was crouched on the floor directly in front of me.

  The lantern’s light shone under her chin as she studied me. Lit from below like that, she could have been filming a scene from Interview with a Vampire.


  I spit out wool fibers. “It was you in that photo, wasn’t it?”

  Zuly ignored me. “Did you take her phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Any calls?”

  “Just one. I dealt with it.” Irma handed a dripping cell phone to Zuly. “Careful. It’s wet.”

  “Hey,” I said, struggling to wrench free of the tape holding my wrists. “That’s my—”

  Irma rapped my head with the metal flashlight.

  “Ow. Cut that out,” I cried.

  She rapped me again, harder this time. I winced, but said nothing.

  “Let’s not take any chances with this phone.” Zuly dropped it onto the floor, took the metal flashlight from Irma, and raised her arm to crack the glass face with a brutal blow. Then another, to finish the job. “Ooh,” she said with a smirk. “It’s definitely broken now.”

  She got to her feet and kicked it out of the way. Then she handed the flashlight back to Irma, who snickered.

  These were not “the girls” I remembered. Another idea struck me.

  “Irma—that branch didn’t fall on your house, did it?”

  “No.”

  “How did my phone get wet, then?”

  “I dropped it in the toilet.”

  “Accidentally?” I asked hopefully.

  “That’s sweet. I don’t understand why people say you’re cynical, Verity.”

  “Let’s get her on her feet,” Zuly growled.

  Tucking both hands under my armpits, she pulled. I stubbornly refused to move, bracing my body against her tugs.

  “You’ll have to help me, Irma,” she said.

  “No problem.” Irma raised the flashlight, swinging her arm back to gain traction.

  “Okay—stop. I’ll get up,” I blurted, struggling to my feet. I stood, swaying slightly. I must have hit that wall hard. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Step into the living room.”

  “Tell me why you’re here.”

  “Because—as usual, Verity, you couldn’t mind your own business.”

  That was absurd, but I decided I’d rather hear the rest sitting on my sofa instead of the hard floor. Maybe I could wheedle some ice out of them for my bruised forehead. There was certainly plenty of it outdoors. I shuffled after Zuly, with Irma bringing up the rear.

  The lantern’s light bounced off the walls, illuminating Zuly’s shadowy form a few feet ahead of me. Mentally, I calculated the distance. If I ran at her and knocked her over… But my hands were bound behind my back, and Irma had a mean way with that flashlight. She might have other weapons, too. I should sit tight, find out what this was all about.

  As she shoved me onto the sofa, I realized with a chill in my gut that I already knew.

  Why had I given up on the case when the key to the mystery was right in front of me all along? Why hadn’t I trusted my intuition? I took that photo from Oskar York’s house because my subconscious, at least, recognized the much younger Zuly in it. If only—

  They sat opposite me, and Zuly placed the lantern on the coffee table. Now we all resembled vampires, the light casting eerie shadows.

  “Just tell me what you want,” I said loudly.

  Boomer was reenergized by the sound of my voice.

  Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf…

  The kitchen door rattled. The lantern cast just enough light that I could see the door crack open with each whomp of the terrier’s feet, but the latch held. Now it worked?

  “Deal with that dog,” Zuly said with an irritated tone. Irma rose to comply.

  I tried not to look in the direction of the kitchen, or reveal my glimmer of hope. Boomer was a dog. He’d protect his owner. Sure, he hadn’t known me long, which meant I wasn’t his actual owner, but I knew how to make meatloaf. Once he saw I was in danger—

  I didn’t need to finish that thought, because Boomer beat me to it. With one final blow of his feet against the door, the faulty latch gave way. The terrier flew through the opening like a caped avenger. His claws scrabbled across the floor as he ran straight at us.

  I tensed, ready for action. Once the furious Boomer had provided a distraction, I could take out Zuly—duct tape or no duct tape. A head butt, if that was all I could manage.

  That would leave only Irma, and I sensed she was the weaker of the two. Criminal conspiracies always had a leader and a follower. Zuly was clearly the leader in this plot. Confident I could convince Irma to give up this crazy scheme, I took a deep breath.

  Boomer’s claws skittered and scratched as he raced toward us.

  Wait for it…

  Leaning forward and pressing the balls of my feet against the floor, I prepared to join the inevitable attack.

  Wait for it…

  Skidding on his paws, the terrier crashed to a halt by bouncing off the coffee table. Quickly regrouping, he managed a sprawling sit. He stared at us, tail wagging and tongue lolling.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Zuly said. “Want some cheese?”

  Boomer’s ears pricked forward at the word cheese. He trotted over to Zuly, then sat obediently in front of her. She pulled something from her pocket—it could have been a ball of lint, for all Boomer knew, since he swallowed it before it even left her fingers.

  My mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What kind of a dog are you?”

  At these words, the terrier—apparently anxious to prove his worth—leapt onto my lap and furiously licked my face. With my hands bound behind my back, I could hardly stop him. He twisted around to perch on my knees, panting happily at Zuly and Irma.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re a big help.”

  Boomer waggled his entire body.

  I sighed. So much for the canine corps. However, I had one more card to play.

  “Jeff will be here soon,” I said.

  Irma shook her head, displaying that charming half-smile of hers. At least, it would have been charming, had it not been for the lantern light that transformed her face into a gargoyle’s.

  “No, he won’t,” she said. “I answered his call on your phone, after you left. I told him you planned to wait out the storm at my place. And you couldn’t come to the phone because you were outside brushing snow off your truck.”

  Sullenly, I watched Zuly and Irma share a high-five.

  I tried again. “He’ll go to your place and realize I’m not there.”

  “Nope. Jeff is super busy with accidents and road closures and emergency calls. He’ll be out all night. And when he finally does show up at my place, I’ll tell him you insisted on slogging through the snow to get back to that poor little dog, and I couldn’t convince you to stay.”

  Zuly added with gusto, “And he’ll find you on the road, under a fallen branch—dead.” They shared another high-five.

  I couldn’t believe it. That was my imminent death they were so jazzed about. I had really misjudged this pair. “Could you at least tell me why you want me out of the way?”

  They exchanged glances.

  “You don’t know?” Zuly asked, her lips curling. “I thought you were smarter than that, Verity.”

  Heaving a sigh, I lifted one knee to dislodge Boomer, who landed on the floor, still wagging his tail. Glaring at Zuly, I said, “I think I can guess. You killed Oskar York.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Zuly smirked, then reached a hand into her pocket to throw another ball of linty goodness at Boomer. He snapped it up.

  “It was you in that photograph,” I said. “Standing next to Oskar York, when you were a girl. Mickey Doig took it from Oskar’s house. And gave it to me.”

  “And I took it back, when I searched your house just now. Too bad you came home early. Another fifteen minutes and I would have been gone.”

  “But Oskar had a copy of that photograph.” I inclined my head toward the foyer. “It’s in the inside pocket of my parka. Take a look.”

  Zuly picked up the metal flashlight. She jerked her head at Irma, who got to her feet. After hunting around on the floor of the foyer for my pa
rka, she held up the photo. “Got it.”

  “Bring it here,” Zuly said.

  Irma showed the picture, wrinkled and damp, to Zuly, who glanced at it without relinquishing her hold on the flashlight.

  “So, you see,” I said. “The photos in Mickey’s shoebox are not the only copies.”

  Zuly merely glared at me.

  “How did you know I had the box in the first place?” I asked.

  “We didn’t. Irma saw Mickey come out of Oskar’s house with it, and we assumed he still had it.”

  “So why are you here? Who told you I had the shoebox?”

  “Mickey. The idiot.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “None of your business.” Zuly started to get up.

  “Then what’s your connection to Oskar York?”

  Scowling, she slumped back onto the sofa. “Might as well tell you. He’s my uncle. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “My mother married his cousin—an absolute bastard who left her when she got pregnant. I have no idea where he is. Mom asked York to help her, and he did—for a while. A little money here and there. Nothing substantial.”

  She puffed out a breath, clicking the flashlight on and off. “My mother died when I was eleven. Child Services asked Oskar if he’d take me in. Adopt me, I guess. He said no. So, they put me in foster care.”

  “Where you met Irma.”

  “That’s right.” Zuly twisted her head to glare at her. “Did you tell Verity that?”

  Irma shook her head. “I told her I was in foster care. I didn’t mention you.”

  “And you became friends,” I continued.

  “More than friends. Like sisters. We were inseparable.”

  “Why wouldn’t Oskar adopt you? You were family.”

  “I don’t know. No one told me why. But I was in the Child Services building the day he came in. They took Oskar into a closed office, and there was a discussion. An argument, really. Raised voices and so on. I was on a bench outside. He came out, barely glanced at me, put on his hat, and left. Without a word. That was the last I saw of him until I graduated from high school in Strathcona. I took a job at the grocer’s in Leafy Hollow. Oskar York was one of their customers, because they were willing to deliver to his home. One day, I filled in for our regular delivery person and took him his order. When Oskar came to the door, he didn’t even recognize me.”