Her voice said the words as though repeating a lesson.
"He likes to choose what you do?”
"That's what people do when they love you. My parents were the same."
"Are you an only child?"
"Yes."
"Do you think Trevor and your parents are to blame for your not eating."
Carmel's eyes reddened and her face flushed. "Of course not. I'm too fat, so I diet. If I stop, I'll become a monster."
"Has your psychiatrist told you that your thoughts are disordered, incorrect?"
Carmel's voice faltered. "They tried to make me think their thoughts. Like you."
"No, I don't want to make you to think my thoughts. I want you to think, though. Do about want to die?"
The emaciated face, with its haunted eyes, rolled towards her and away. "Sometimes."
But she didn't have to reach her, Anne thought. All she had to do was keep her alive until rescue came. "Today?”
She stared back at the ceiling or nothing. "Not today. Trevor says we can adopt Hamish if I eat. Is that true?"
"I don't know, but I think you need to be healthy. Can I take your pulse?"
"Yes. You people always want to take my pulse or my temperature. I'm not sick."
Anne counted a slow pulse of thirty-eight beats. Carmel's breath, with its odour of nail polish remover, a bad sign, reached Anne as she leaned towards her. "Yes, you are. We call your illness an eating disorder—Anorexia Nervosa—and you need careful treatment."
"Are you going to treat me? Everyone always does."
"No, I'm not. But I want you to stay alive long enough for us all to escape this place so someone who knows how can help you."
"I'm not going to kill myself."
"You may not intend to, but you are in danger. You must drink something and eat a little. Will you do that today?"
"Water."
"No, tea with milk. Will you do that? And eat a cracker."
"Yes, just one cracker."
Anne opened the door and Trevor stumbled into the room. "I'm going to bring Carmel some tea. Please sit with her without conversation but close the window first."
"I have—"
"No. She's had enough conversation for now."
The flames in the wood stove flickered in the grey ashes. Anne bundled in some newspaper and kindling and set the paper alight. In moments the kindling caught and she added a split log to the box. It must have gone out moments before, she thought. The water in the reservoir was still hot. She filled a kettle and waited, watching the snow fill up the window from the sill below. Beyond, two dark figures, laden with wood, ploughed through the fallen snow to the back door. Once inside, after they dumped the split logs beside the stove, they kicked off their boots and hung their parkas on the hooks.
"How's the wood supply?"
"Enough for a day or so," Thomas said. "I think we should cut back where we can."
"We need fires in Andrea and the children's room. I'm also worried about Carmel. Her pulse is dangerously low, and she needs to be kept warm. I've convinced her to drink some tea and eat a cracker."
Mike brushed his hands off over the wood box. "So long as the stove keeps going, I figure the rest of us will be all right."
"We walked along the lane towards the road," Thomas said.
A note in his voice brought Anne's attention to him. "What?”
"A power line down across the road. When the power comes back on, it will be live for sure, if not now. It will need repair before we have power again."
"So no leaving on snowmobiles?"
"When the snow lets up, I can go through the bush," said Mike, "but the way she's coming down, even I'd lose my way for sure."
Later, Anne carried tea to Carmel—a porcelain mug decorated with pink roses, a solitary cracker on the plate beside it. She knocked, opened the door, and strode into the murky room. Drapes drawn again. She put down the tea, jerked open the curtains, and raised the blinds.
"Too bright," said Carmel, throwing her arm over her eyes.
Who closed these for her? She told Trevor the girl needed light and air. Carmel lay back, hiding her face, her body rigid.
"Gloom isn't good for you. Sit up now and sip your tea."
Her voice sounded harsh, not firm as she intended.
"Did you put milk in it?"
"Yes."
"Too many—"
"No. We talked about this. You must drink, or you will become even sicker than you already are."
Hopeless, Anne thought. But she had to try.
Carmel struggled to sit but fell back, exhausted. The skin of her face blanched where it pulled taut over her knife-sharp cheekbones, and purple blotches stained the crescents under her sunken eyes. Anne put her arm around her and helped her. Bones, she thought. Just bones. After Carmel took a few sips, Anne handed her a cracker. A grimace passed over Carmel's face. "No."
"Yes. I have no other way to help you. Eat a little of it."
By the time Anne left, twenty minutes later, Carmel had eaten half the cracker, and nothing remained in her cup. A start, Anne thought, but only that.
Chapter Nineteen
Anne set the table and rang the dinner bell outside the door of the kitchen. Thomas laughed. "Try not to take it out on the bell, Anne."
"If they're hungry, I'll bet they'll all come down. Why doesn't anyone help? Eloise is the only one with anything to do, and she helps in here when she can."
David pushed open the door from the outside, his arms laden with wood. Behind him, Mike, with a similar burden, stamped the snow off his feet before he dumped his firewood beside the stove.
"Thanks, Anne," David said. "I should have been in here to help you."
"You had other work to do, you and Mike. I can't cook without wood. And that's something I never thought I'd have to say."
She opened the door to the oven and tested the sausage and pasta casserole with a red digital thermometer. "We're lucky there's so much food prepared ahead."
She drew on a pair of oven mitts, took out the dish, and put it on the stove-top.
"Will the children eat that?" David asked.
"Yes, it's kid-friendly food.”
"I'll call them and Eloise," he said and bounded up the stairs.
Moments later, little feet raced down. David lifted Olivia into her booster seat, and Eloise strapped Hamish into his high-chair. Andrea and Brad followed them down. Andrea immediately went to Hamish and tried to lift him up. Hamish yelled.
"Andrea, he's strapped in. Leave him to eat his dinner."
"I can hold—"
"No. He has a routine. Sit down, yourself," said Eloise.
"I won't be ordered about by the likes of you."
"Sit down, Mom," said Brad.
Andrea grumbled to herself and poured the wine that appeared at her elbow.
Who put that on the table, Anne wondered, placing water glasses in front of the other plates.
"Is the milk still okay?" Eloise asked.
"Yes," said Anne. "I added some ice to a container in the fridge, and the temp is okay so far."
"Why do you know so much about coping with this stuff?" asked Andrea.
"I've been through it twice before."
"What did you do upstairs?" Mike said to Thomas.
"What do you mean?" said Brad.
"They “investigated” in Vanessa's room, even though we all agreed to lock it up and wait for the cops."
"Who investigated?"
"Anne and Thomas. They took—"
“Hold it,” said David. "I asked them to take photos in case we had to move Vanessa's body outside.
"Why would you move it?” said Andrea.
Brad whispered in her ear, she blanched, and swallowed more wine.
"What did you take from Vanessa's room? She had expensive jewellery," Andrea said.
"And I'm sure that when David checks, he will see that it is all there. Be careful about your accusations."
Andrea settled back int
o her chair and looked at Thomas with frightened eyes. She was never sober, Anne thought and never entirely accountable.
"For heaven's sake, go easy on the wine, Mom," said Beth from the corner of the table furthest from Andrea.
"Leave Mom alone. Like you care?" said Brad.
"And you care so much you put wine at her elbow," said Kevin.
"I didn't do—"
"Yes, you did. I saw you."
"Would anyone like to go into the living room?" Anne said after they wolfed down the casserole and biscuits.
"I'll help with the cleaning-up if David takes the children," said Eloise.
The others left.
"That was unpleasant," said Eloise.
"Yes and the longer we're stuck here, the worse it's going to get."
The fire cast a cheerful glow over the circle of sofa and chairs. A peaceful family scene, Thomas thought, with David playing with the children. David's face lit up with a grin when Eloise came back into the living room. Thomas wondered how long David had loved Eloise and what he would have done to escape the wedding. Or had he not known. Some men were like that. He, on the other hand, knew what or rather who he wanted and had for all the time he'd known her. They just had to survive this weekend.
"Come, Olivia," Eloise said. "It's quiet-time."
The little girl stuck out her lower lip and knitted her eyebrows together. Stubborn, Thomas thought, but he suspected David and Eloise could handle her. "I want to stay with Uncle David."
"Grown-ups need quiet-time, too."
Olivia turned to David and used her most wheedling tone. "Uncle David?"
"Eloise decides, Olivia."
He lifted her, gave her a kiss, and put her down next to Eloise. Eloise lifted Hamish into her arms, took Olivia's reluctant hand, and climbed the stairs.
She was good with the children, Thomas thought. David could do worse and almost did.
Anne brought in a tray of coffee and Trevor helped her hand the mugs around. She looked tired, Thomas thought. Worn down with the worry and the work. What else could he do to get her out of here?
"I'm going to check on Carmel," Trevor said. "I'll be back down."
Thomas glanced at his host, leaning back in one of the club chairs with his eyes closed. A faint snore fluttered across the room.
"How can he sleep," Brad said, "with Vanessa dead and all of us cooped up here with a killer? Why isn't he trying to find a way to reach the outside."
Across the room, David stirred but didn't waken.
"Up at first light to cut wood," Mike said.
"And who are you, anyway. Nobody knows you. Maybe you killed her."
"Who knows you? You're only here because Dave invited Hamish's grandmother, and you tagged along."
Thomas listened to the voices, shouting now, but watched David. No response. He heaved himself out of the soft chair and strode over to David, calling his name. He shook him and then pinched a muscle. Nothing.
He bolted to the kitchen door. Anne wasn't there. He raced up the stairs.
Anne stood at the window of their room for a few moments. The wind howled in the chimney and, across the lawn, the old pines nodded their fragile, ice-laden heads. And still, the snow fell. She turned away and picked up her book. Louise Penny's latest.
She looked up when the door swung open and was on her feet before Thomas spoke. "Quick, something's wrong with David. I can't rouse him."
"I'll bring my bag."
Downstairs, she raced across the room, knelt by David's chair, and felt for a pulse in his neck. There. Slow but there. His breaths slipped out at long intervals. She checked his pupils. Pinpoint. Would he have taken narcotics or was someone trying to kill him too?
She glanced up at Thomas when he squatted beside her. "Opioids."
He opened her bag for her and she grabbed a package of auto-injectors and stabbed one into David's arm. After an agonizing few minutes, not long, although it seemed as though an hour passed, he moaned.
"David."
"Hmm."
"Open your eyes."
His eyelids fluttered and rose. His pupils were mid-point. "What?"
"Did you take something? Pills or a needle."
"What?"
"You have opioid in your system. Did you take something?"
"No."
She rolled up the sleeves of his blue cotton shirt. No marks of any kind. "Let's take him upstairs. I must stay with him."
"We have to stay with him. Help me, Mike."
The two men supported David to the stairs and half-carried him to his room.
"Walk him around for a bit, if you can," said Anne, coming in behind them.
"He can't."
Once he was on the bed, Anne retook his pulse and blood pressure and noted the size of his pupils. Thomas brought her a notepad from David's desk, and she charted the time and her findings.
"Will he need more?"
"Likely. That depends on the dose of opioid."
"Did you know?" Mike said.
"Know what?"
"That he was an addict."
Anne gazed up at him and shook her head.
"He isn't. Someone tried to kill him."
Chapter Twenty
Beth rushed into the bedroom where Kevin dozed under a Hudson Bay blanket, jaunty with its stripes of green and scarlet, gold and navy blue. His portable radio played classical music—Brahms, she thought—softly in the background. He was always careful, bringing fresh batteries whenever they went on a trip anywhere.
"Kevin, wake up."
He moaned and rolled over. "What now?"
"Someone tried to kill David."
He bolted upright and swung his feet to the ground. "What?"
"Someone—"
"Yes, I heard you. How? How is he? "
"Poisoned with something. Anne gave him an antidote and she and Thomas are with him now."
"Who told—"
"Mike."
"For God's sake, stay here with me. Don't go wandering all over the house."
He rubbed his face with his long fingers and shook his head.
"You need to stay awake. All you've done here is nap."
"Between the murder and your scrapping family, it seemed the best thing to do."
He held up one arm, she plopped down beside him, and snuggled. What if someone killed him? What would she do without him?
As though he read her mind, he said, "We'll take care of each other, Beth. Don't worry about me."
"I can't lose you," she said, her head buried in his sweater.
"Nor I, you. Have you been to see your mother?"
"No."
"Why don't we go see how she's doing?"
A few moments later, they knocked on the door of Andrea's room.
Anne sat at David's bedside and took his vital signs every few minutes. When his pulse slowed, and the pauses in his breathing lengthened, she used another of her store of Narcan, injecting into his thigh this time.
"How is he?" said Thomas when he walked in a few minutes later.
"Better after that last one. I think he's waking up."
Thomas came over from his chair by the window and stood with his hand on Anne's shoulder. She reached up and held on to his strong fingers. How comforting to have him with her, she thought. How safe. But they would have to keep each other safe until they escaped this awful house. And the only way to do that was to identify the killer. This attempt on David changed everything. Perhaps together, she and Thomas could investigate.
She didn't want to, but they would have to, for their own sakes and for the others, especially the children. A cold ripple of fear crossed her back. Every time they interfered with a killer's plans, death neared for one of them. The last time she faced a professional killer but persuaded her to run rather than shoot. But this killer was likely an amateur and so far, unpredictable.
"Anne?"
David's voice croaked from the bed, and she rushed over to him. A faint stain of pink relieved the pallor of his fa
ce.
"I'm here."
His eyes focussed on her this time, and his pupils reacted quickly to the light. "What happened to me?"
"Someone poisoned you with an opioid."
His dark eyebrows knitted, almost meeting in the middle over a deep furrow and his mouth formed a thin, hard line. "What? Why?"
"Someone here wanted both of you dead."
Anger bubbled into his words. "But why the hell?"
She didn't want to upset him any more than she already had.
"We can think about that later. Right now, I want you to rest. I'll stay right here."
His face, again pale and wan against the sheets and taut with fear, stared up at her."What if whoever it is, comes again?”
"We'll be here," said Thomas.
"Mike needs help. The wood was getting low again."
"He's right. I'll stay here with the door locked. We'll be fine," said Anne.
She hoped they'd be fine and that whoever was killing was cowardly, needing his victims comatose before he confronted them. Thomas kissed Anne lightly, and she locked the door behind him.
"Why would someone want to kill both of us?"
Anne sat beside him again and took his hand. "Why do people kill? Revenge, money, hate, love: so many motives."
David shook his head, furrowed his forehead again, but tears welled up in his eyes. "But why Vanessa?"
Why anyone, Anne thought. Why this kind man who loved children and wanted a family?
"Revenge for Karen's death? Making you suffer?"
He shook his head again. "That would be Brad or Andrea or Trevor."
"What do you have that any of these people want? What plan did Vanessa interfere with?"
"She had no involvement with my business. She was going to be my wife and the mother of the children once the adoption went through."
"You planned to adopt together?"
"I planned it that way. Her attitude towards the children and the dogs shocked me this weekend."
He turned his head away from her. Hiding his sorrow or his anger?
"Will someone contest the adoption?"
"Andrea and Brad. Andrea loves Hamish, but only Hamish, not Olivia. Brad doesn't give a damn about Hamish but does about his share of the trust money. I think they plan to petition the court."
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