Andrea tottered over to another chair and lowered her round body to the paisley cushion. Her ancient perfume wafted from her. What was that she wore? Something she bought from a woman who came to the house.
"Mom, do you need me? If not, I'm going."
"Why would I need you? Go."
Beth slammed the door behind her. Andrea shook her head.
"How did they kill her in prison?"
"How did who kill her?"
"David and Vanessa. Now they're the ones who will adopt Hamish."
"They got Hamish. The court gave them custody."
"They were granted temporary custody until the appeals were finished."
That was clever. Sometimes, Mom brought some sense up from the depths of her alcohol-soaked brain.
"I thought it was done when I signed off."
"Grandparents have rights, too, the lawyer said."
"You think they arranged her overdose."
"Yes."
"Doesn't sound like David."
"She's a bitch. She doesn't like children."
"But she wants David and all that lovely money, and she'll do anything for it. She'll make up with him, and then they'll cut off access. They'll prove you're a drunk in court."
"Don't say that."
"We can hope the wedding's off."
That was the only hope to climb out of the deep well of debt Karen left him in. Defending her in court took every penny he had. No help from David, though it was his father who knocked her up and made her go nuts. Lost his house. But if they had Hamish, the trust would pay for a place for him to live, a decent place, like this lodge.
"Those are pre-wedding jitters, and so long as they're both alive, we have no hope. When the weather clears, I'm going home. No hope at all."
She stumbled from the chair and collapsed on the bed. Brad stood and loomed over her. Her pale blue eyes, rimmed in red and dripping with tears, peered up at him. What was that in her eyes? Was she afraid of him?
"Perhaps they'll have an accident on the road. You never know, Mom. Don't give up."
Beth braced herself against the door of her mother's room. Rejected again, she thought. Her entire life. What had she said? Why should I need you?
She raced down the hall to their room, opened the door and slammed it behind her.
"Wha—," said Kevin.
"Can we get out of here? I can't stay here with her and her favourite child."
"Who?"
"Mom, of course. Who else?"
Hot, furious tears rolled down her face. She swiped them away and fell into an armchair. Behind her, the storm rattled the window, and she shivered as a gust of cold air hit her back. "And why did you open the window? It's freezing outside."
"Had a smoke and you know what David's like."
She lowered the sash on the window and turned the lock."I want to go home."
"So do I, but there's no way now. What's up with your mother now? Didn't Brad settled her down?"
"Brad? He's useless and as big a drunk as she is. Karen's dead and I suspect she thinks they have no chance of getting Hamish."
"Getting Hamish?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Kevin. That's all she and Brad want. She because she loves the little guy, I guess and he because of all the lovely money in the trust fund."
Beth wandered over and snuggled under his arm. What a strong guy he was, not like her snivelling brother. She leaned over and kissed him.
"The court's not likely to award him to the family of the woman who killed his father," Kevin said.
He pulled her down beside him on the bed.
"You never know. Courts make strange decisions in child custody cases."
"Would you want—"
"God, no. If we wanted kids, we would have our own. We can barely support ourselves in New York, much less two kids."
"Two?"
"I suppose they would go together, but again, you never know."
"Separating them would be cruel."
"Worse things have happened."
"Would their trust money follow them, no matter who adopted them?"
"Sure. The money is for the kids' upkeep and education. That includes paying mortgages, food, extra activities, all that sort of thing."
"And together they would be ready-made family for someone."
"Yeah, David. But as you say, we could have our own."
"Yes."
She rolled towards him and waited.
Chapter Six
Loud voices echoed down the hallway and into Anne and Thomas's room. Anne looked up from her book, and Thomas stirred from his nap.
"What was that?" he said.
"Fighting. I think it's Vanessa and David."
Thomas climbed out of bed and hugged her. "They should keep their door closed."
"We could open ours?"
"Nosy."
"Yes, but I have a bad feeling about this place, maybe because of last year, and I want to understand all these relationships. There's an undercurrent—"
She opened the door a little, but stepped back. Thomas edged in beside her.
"Why do you want rid of the children and the dogs?"
That was David, Anne thought. She'd never heard his voice so full of anger except when his father was killed. But he must be talking to Vanessa. Who else would want to get rid of the children and the dogs?
Vanessa answered, her voice coarse and scornful, "I told you I didn't say that. That little bitch is a liar."
"She never lied before. You don't like the dogs or the children."
"The children, the children. Do you never think about anything else? Why didn't you ask the minister to come yesterday?"
Anne raised her eyebrows at Thomas and opened her mouth to speak, but he put his fingers to his lips. The conversation came closer.
"Where are you going? Stay here. You knew the storm was coming. You're the one who wants rid of me."
"Stop grabbing me, Vanessa. I need to help Mike with the wood. Don't be ridiculous. You wanted to send the dogs out into the storm. They would have died."
Footsteps in the hallway came closer, and she eased the door closed. The fight continued outside their room.
"Smelly beasts."
"What did you say?"
Vanessa's voice changed to a strident whine.
"I said they were smelly beasts and yes, they'll go and the needy, messy children and their simpering nanny with them."
"No."
"No."
Her voice rose to a shriek.
"How can I live with things I loathe? You don't love me. You've never loved me."
Hard to go back from that, Anne thought.
"And perhaps you never loved me. We'll talk this over later."
David must have raced off, Anne thought. One word came through the door.
"Bastard."
Anne raised her eyebrows at Thomas and grimaced.
"Whew."
"Good thing the minister didn't arrive."
"Yes. Should we go down? I think I better see what's in the freezer to feed everyone. Matters will only worsen if they're hungry."
Beth bolted upright and shook Kevin, but he mumbled and shifted away. She shook him again. Would the man ever wake up? He could sleep through a hurricane.
She slipped out of bed and dug her toes into the soft rug. The battle outside the door continued. "Kevin, wake up. Listen to that."
"What?"
"Fighting outside in the hall."
He rubbed the sleep away from his face and shook his head. His voice was still drowsy. Why did it take him so long to wake up? "What? Who's fighting? What kind of fighting?"
"Wake up, Kevin. David and Vanessa. Fighting about the kids."
She threw on her bathrobe and moved closer to the door. The voices carried through from the hallway, clearer now. "They're fighting about the dogs and Eloise, too.” "Why are you whispering? They can't hear us with the racket they're making. A lovers' quarrel or—"
"Or, I'd say. That was basi
c stuff. If David won't give up the kids for her, he's not giving them up at all. Mom and Brad can litigate all they want."
"Are they still in court?"
"Yes, I think so. That's what Mom said."
Kevin threw off the duvet and winced as his feet hit the floor. "Getting cold in here and now I'm hungry. Let's go down and see what's going on and if there's any food."
Beth dressed, and together they walked down the main stairs into the living room and into the kitchen.
Mike hauled logs across the ice-covered snow to the furnace on a red sleigh he found in the woodshed. Someone was thinking ahead. He stoked up the fire and walked back towards the house. Inside, he hung his coat on the pine rack and opened the door to the kitchen. Trevor stood with his back to him at the counter in front of the toaster.
"Making lunch, are you?" Mike said. "I'm starving."
"Not yet. I'm getting my wife something."
"Say, is your wife ill? She's kind of pale and weak.”
"She hasn't been able to eat since she lost our baby."
"That's too bad."
Trevor grabbed a package of arrowroot cookies from the shelf and opened the fridge to take out milk.
"Should we save the milk for the kids? Who knows how long we'll be stuck here?"
"I didn't think."
Trevor poured a glass of orange juice instead and walked back up the stairs with the drink and two cookies.
Anne opened the swinging doors.
"Hi, Mike. Here we are on kitchen duty again."
"Not me. I'm keeping the furnace going."
"Can you plug the furnace into the generator? How's the wood supply?"
"Supply's good. I'm worried about the generator, though. The gas is getting low."
"I thought David had several tanks."
"Delivery next Monday."
"We can keep the wood stove on in here. I'm going to check the freezer."
A walk-in freezer, disguised as a pantry, stood beside the double-wide refrigerator. Inside, Anne took out a stack of pies labelled tourtière. Another bin contained dinner rolls. She took several packages of chicken thighs and set them on top of the fridge to thaw. She was thorough, Mike thought. Last time she organized the food, too.
"Lots of food," she said.
She put the two pies in the oven of the stove and the frozen buns in the warming oven, and then made a dressing, whisking oil into a mixture of vinegar and something else. Garlic, from the smell.
"Who cleared the dining room table?" she said.
"Eloise after the kids were asleep. I think David helped her. Say is something going on there?"
"I have no idea."
She looked as though she did know. Maybe no wedding, ever. That would put Van over the top, and the woman had a temper. What a mess she'd made.
After lunch, the leaden skies outside darkened the living room as though it were evening. A few lights glowed. The adults sat before the fire, huddled under blankets and throws, even though the furnace still blasted out heat. The wind howled in the chimney and stirred the flames. Anne worked on organizing her family files on her computer.
Vanessa, dressed in a thigh-high, elegant woollen dress in green the colour of spring leaves, wandered past but paused to look over Anne's shoulder. "I thought the internet was down," she said.
"I'm organizing the genealogy files that are downloaded to my programme."
"What's a genealogy file?"
"A record that starts with me and goes back in time to all my ancestors and their descendants other than me. I'll show you if you like."
Vanessa dropped onto a chair beside her, adjusted her legs to their best advantage and inspected the family chart Anne showed her. Anne's nose twitched as Vanessa's heavily-applied scent drifted by.
"Do you do it for other people?"
"Sometimes, although I'm an amateur at this."
"I think David said you did his."
"Only a small portion of it to get him started."
"Could I see it?"
"Ask David."
Vanessa slithered over to David, got a brief nod, and came back to Anne, going through the same leg adjustment. Several pairs of masculine eyes followed her progress across the room and into her chair.
"He said yes."
"Okay. It starts here, with David. When I go up one generation, we find his father, Cooper Thwaite and Cooper's mother, Enid.
She was born in 1920 in Yorkshire and had a liaison with an American during the war who died in 1945. Her child was born in 1946. That was Cooper.
His grandfather, Edward Thwaite, a wealthy farmer, raised Cooper when his mother died young. When his grandparents passed away, he took his inheritance to Canada and started a real estate company, building houses in the early 70s. He was a successful, honest businessman, but had an unfortunate tendency to leave women with his children outside of marriage. He did pay for his children, though. He was killed last year by Karen Barrington."
"What do you mean he paid for his children?"
"He has some children that David cares for—Hamish, Olivia, Nicholas who is seventeen and away at school, and he always looked after David."
"What if there were others?"
"Others?"
"That he didn't know or care about."
What a strange question? Perhaps she was an adopted child and found this painful.
"If he didn't know about them, he couldn't care for them."
"Or he just didn't care."
So angry, Anne thought. What did it matter to her?
"The man I knew cared for everything he had responsibility for."
"Could you find others?"
"Through genealogy? Only if I had a starting point. Otherwise, no. You'd need a professional genealogist and likely DNA to do that."
"What about their care? Does David handle all the money?"
"I have no idea, and it's none of my business, Vanessa."
"Fine."
Vanessa floated up, adjusted her dress and stalked away.
No thanks for the lesson, Anne thought. What was she getting at?
"What was that all about," said Thomas, sitting down beside her and peering at the screen.
"Fishing. She wants to learn about David's genealogy. And his money.”
Eloise brought the children down the stairs, the two dogs trailing after them. The poodle ran over to Anne and nuzzled her, the other to Thomas.
Across the room, David picked up both children.
"Uncle David, can we play here with the people. We're lonely upstairs," said Olivia.
"Certainly you—"
"Of course not, Olivia. You know this room is for grown-ups only. What were you thinking, Eloise? Take them and those filthy dogs to the kitchen. And put the dogs outside," said Vanessa.
"It's still storming."
"Why do they have a kennel if not for this situation? Dogs belong outside."
"The children may play here for an hour or so, Eloise, as long as they're quiet," said David.
"Then I won't be," Vanessa said and flounced up the stairs.
"Does she hate dogs?" Andrea asked David.
"Only inside."
The dogs in question lay quietly at Anne and Thomas's feet.
"They're such well-behaved dogs," Anne said to Thomas.
"She's pushing David away. First the fight and now this again. I wonder why?”
"Perhaps she's changed her mind."
"Doubtful. Where did everyone go?"
Only Anne, Thomas, David, Eloise and the children remained in the living room. Soon the children were playing, and the adults were talking over fresh coffee.
"David, may we ask what's going on? Is your wedding still on?" said Anne.
David's generous mouth turned down, and a frown darkened his eyes and creased his forehead. "I have no idea."
Eloise lowered her head but not before Anne caught a secret and delighted smile. At that moment, the lights went out, and the minimal sound of the blower for the furnace st
opped.
"I'd better find Mike," David said.
Anne scrabbled in her purse, found the miniature flashlight she carried on vacations, and walked into the kitchen. A tiny green light on a powerful lantern with a large battery and the option to perform as a lamp glowed on the bottom shelf of the pantry. She grabbed it and joined the others in the living room. Eloise's sweet voice sang a French lullaby and David lit candles on the mantle. Anne's lantern brightened the room.
"Good idea, Anne. I forgot about them."
"Them? I found one in the pantry."
"Three more in the closet in the mudroom. I'll pull out one of them, and you can take the kids upstairs to play, Eloise."
A now-familiar shriek echoed from upstairs, calling for David.
"I better take one to her too," he said and helped Eloise to take the children upstairs.
"How can he put up with her?" Thomas said.
"I wonder if he is?"
"Is putting up with her? She'd drive me to distraction."
They walked to their room and settled down, Thomas for a nap and Anne with a book. Anne watched his quiet breathing. How comfortable she was with him. What was keeping her from committing to a life with him? It couldn't be just her dislike of living in the United States. She focussed on her book, Warlight by Michael Ondaatje, an exploration of family and loss disguised as a post-war thriller set in the fifties. Family and loss. That was the theme of their weekend, too, she thought.
Chapter Seven
Outside, David crunched across the ice-covered snow, at times crashing through. Frozen slush found its way into his boots, soaked his socks, and froze his toes. He reached Mike at the generator that stood near the out-door furnace, a miniature black shed with dials instead of a front door. Mike's parka was coated with ice, his hands encased in yellow work gloves as he checked the motor.
"What's happened, Mike? The ice, or what?"
"I thought it was water or ice in the line, but I checked the propane tanks, and we're down to empty."
David shook his head. What were they going to do now? Vanessa would be wild.
"No delivery this week and we've been using too much."
Mike's ruddy face and light-brown eyebrows were encrusted with snow.
The Ice Storm Murders Page 5
