by Vicki Delany
She couldn’t get the dream out of her mind. In the past, the memory of a dream, no matter how pleasant or unpleasant it might be, would be gone almost the moment she stepped out of bed. Only these spooky images of the rebellious girl and her dysfunctional family lingered on in her mind, as clear as if she had really experienced them. Was she was going a little cabin-crazy? Would they find her emaciated body come spring, buried in a pile of unread computer magazines? Or perhaps she’d be wild-eyed and mangy-haired, wandering through the woods talking to the deer and squirrels and rabbits.
The shrill cry of the phone cut into her reverie and she grabbed at it with a burst of relief, glad to be yanked back into the world of people and technology.
“Hi, Mom, how ya doing?”
Shadows of the dream disappeared in an instant. “Great, James, just great. So nice to hear your voice, where are you?”
“At home, Mom,” he said, meaning his residence at the University of British Columbia.
“Have you bought your ticket yet? You’ve left it awfully late. Let me get a pen and I’ll jot down the details. I am so excited about seeing you again, it’s only been four months since you left but it seems like forever. Hold on a sec.”
Joanna moved the phone away from her ear, but he called out, “Wait, Mom, wait. I have to tell you something.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I won’t be coming home for Christmas, Mom.”
She pretended to herself that she misunderstood him. “I know, James. The house is rented, remember. But you’ll like it here. We already have so much snow, it will really be a white Christmas.”
“No, Mom,” he said softly. “I mean I’m staying in B.C.”
“Oh, but why?” A sinking feeling spread slowly outward from the center of her chest. She wanted to hang up the phone and pretend this conversation never happened. Instead she gripped the receiver tighter and held on.
“Listen, Mom, I’m really sorry. I know that you’ll be disappointed, but this guy that lives on my floor, I told you about him, Eric, remember? His parents own a condo in Whistler and they go there for Christmas every year. Well, they had a big fight over Thanksgiving, the parents I mean, and they almost got a divorce over it. Eric thinks his dad was having an affair, but he’s not really sure. Anyway, they want to try to work on their marriage so they are going to Mexico for Christmas, just the two of them.”
“But what has all this got to do with you, James?” Joanna sank into a chair.
“Well, Eric and his brother are going to be alone at Christmas, so their parents said that they can both invite two friends to spend the week at the condo.”
“Oh,” Joanna said in a tiny voice.
“I’m sorry, Mom, really I am. But, I mean, a week at a condo in Whistler. And the whole place is like fully stocked. We won’t have to buy food, or anything.”
She could hear the excitement creeping into his voice. He was trying to sound sorry and full of regrets but it wasn’t working. Despite herself she smiled. Who wouldn’t leap at the chance to spend a week in a private chalet in North America’s number one ski resort? And over Christmas, no less. The village would be a wonderland at Christmas.
“How old is Eric’s brother?”
“He’s twenty-seven. Mom, you won’t have to worry.”
But I will anyway. “It sounds wonderful, James. Absolutely wonderful. You’ll have a great time.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you.” More than you can imagine. She wiped at a tear in the corner of one eye.
“But you’ll have Wendy there right, with Robert?”
“Yes, they’re coming.”
“Ah, anyone else?”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“No, dear, not a word.”
“Don’t give up hope, Mom, eh? She’ll get in touch with one of us one day.”
“I know James, I know,” Joanna sighed. “But never mind, you have a really great time, okay? Phone me when you get there with the phone number of the condo so I can call you on Christmas day.”
“Bye Mom. Love you.”
“Good-bye, James,” Joanna hung up the phone carefully. She was disappointed right to the bone, but she reminded herself of what she had always known: we raise our children so they can leave us one day.
Chapter 20
On the spur of the moment, not wanting to digest James’ news, not just yet, Joanna phoned Scott O’Neill to invite him for Christmas dinner. His voice sounded full of regret as he explained that he had made arrangements to spend the holiday with his brothers and their families in Florida. “I’d much rather spend my Christmas up here, but even though I don’t get on with my brothers very well I try to have a good relationship with my nieces and nephews,” he explained.
The phone was barely back in its cradle before it rang once again.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Hastings, Inspector Erikson here.”
I really must get caller display, Joanna thought. “Yes, Inspector, what can I do for you today?” She tried not to sigh too loudly.
“I came by the other night but you weren’t home. Didn’t you get my note?”
“No, I didn’t see a note. It must have fallen off the door.” Joanna winced, she was a terrible liar.
“I didn’t say I put it in the door,” Erikson replied.
Joanna winced again, caught. Could a two-bit crook in a second-rate TV movie have handled that exchange any worse? “What can I do for you, Inspector?”
“I have a few more small points to clear up and I would like to drop by to discuss them.”
“Couldn’t we talk about it on the phone? No need for you to go to all the trouble of coming all the way out here, now is there?”
“No we couldn’t. And it’s no trouble. I can be there in about ten minutes.”
“Ah, I was just on my way out. How about tomorrow?”
Erikson’s voice took on an edge of steel. “Ms. Hastings don’t play games with me, please. This is a murder investigation and you found the body of the victim. I will be there in ten minutes.” Without a good-bye she hung up.
Joanna stood in her living room, staring glumly at the silent phone in her hand. All she wanted was a little peace and quiet, to put her troubles behind her and sort her life out. Instead she was living in the Village of the Damned and smack dab right in the middle of a homicide investigation at that. It was becoming too much.
With a screech of rage she ripped the phone cord out of the wall and hurled the offensive instrument across the room. It missed her late mother’s handmade pottery wall sconce by inches and fell to the floor with a dull thud. She yelled again and kicked at the computer table. This time she gasped in pain as foot made contact with wood.
She refused to give in to the self-inflicted injury and stormed into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of wine and drank it in a gulp, then poured another. She was halfway through the second glass when the crunch of car wheels on snow and the slamming of doors echoed through the woods. She finished the wine in one swallow, then carefully washed out the glass and put it away in the cupboard. Wouldn’t want the police to know she had been drinking. She pasted a smile on her lips and walked across the cabin to open the door.
Erikson and Reynolds were just mounting the steps. Staff Sergeant Reynolds reached out his hand and shook Joanna’s with enthusiasm. She almost felt sorry for the old guy-the village constable was having a lot of trouble dealing with death and suspicion among his friends and neighbors.
Inspector Erikson marched past them and into the cabin. “Having a problem with your phone?” she asked dryly.
Joanna grimaced. Wisely she remained silent.
As she did at the beginning of every interview, Erikson pulled her notebook and pen out of her mammoth purse. She flicked the little book open to a blank page.
Joanna remembered that she was trying to be friendly. “Please, can I take your coats?”
Reynolds moved to open his mouth but Erikson was faster. “No thank you. We won’t be very long.” Reynolds wiggled his coat back onto his shoulders, trying not to look as if he had been in the midst of slipping it off.
“Would you like to sit down?” Joanna persisted.
This time the staff sergeant was first. “Yes, thank you,” he said, sinking into the chair closest to the fire, “that would be very nice.” Erikson relented and took the second best chair.
“I want to ask you about the Bulls jacket,” she began.
Joanna nodded silently. She was only surprised at how long it had taken them to come to this.
“Tiffany Jordan says that she lost the jacket. I think that you know a bit more about it than you are saying.”
Joanna considered offering her unwanted guests a drink. She could use one herself right now.
“Ms. Hastings, do you know how Tiffany lost the jacket?”
Joanna got up and knelt in front of the little stove, opened the iron door and carefully placed another log on the fire. She stirred the embers until they flared up to catch the remains of the last log and eagerly reached for the fresh fuel. Only then did she shut the door, return the poker to its stand and turn her attention back to the police officers.
“I know only what she told me,” Joanna said. “She was in the Last Hope bar, or something with some such stupid cowboy name in North Ridge, having a few drinks. Even though she is well under age, I rather think that the bartender at the Last Stop doesn’t worry too much about that sort of detail.”
“I’ll look into that.” Reynolds puffed himself up in an attempt to get into the conversation.
Erikson glared at him-she did not appreciate the interruption. “And then…”
“And she says that she left her jacket on a chair and when she went to get it, it was gone. It does happen, Inspector. You know how often these sort of trendy big-city clothes get stolen.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And, unfortunately, these jackets are pretty common, it’s not as if it is a one of a kind designer thing, is it?” Joanna hurried on. Now that she was talking, the words were stumbling over themselves in their haste to get out. “You don’t know that the jacket found with Luke was Tiffany’s, do you? It could well be a similar one.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Hastings.” Erikson rose abruptly with a snap of her notebook and Reynolds scrambled to his feet.
Joanna stood at the door watching as they made their way down the shoveled path. Gathering her wits at last, she raced after them as they climbed into their car.
She tapped furiously at the passenger window as Reynolds, who was driving, put the car into reverse and glanced over his shoulder to back out of the narrow drive. He stopped suddenly and Erikson rolled down the window.
“Was it Tiffany’s jacket?” Joanna gasped, bending over to peer into the inspector’s face. “The one found with the body, I mean? I have invited this girl into my home, I think I have the right to know.”
Erikson looked at her solemnly, undecided. Then she nodded, to herself more than to the two people watching her. “There are no identifying marks on the jacket, no personal labels or name tags or anything of the sort. It is extra large but we all know that most people today wear that type of jacket as baggy as it can get. No, Ms. Hastings, I have no proof that it is the Jordan girl’s jacket. Although, it would be very nice indeed, if hers turned up.” She rolled down the window and nodded to Reynolds. He took his foot off the brake and backed carefully up the snow-packed driveway.
Joanna watched as they turned into the road and drove slowly away.
As she walked thoughtfully back into her cabin, the first thing that caught her eye was the hole in the wall marking where the phone cable had so impulsively been freed from its constraints. The telephone itself lay on the floor on the other side of the room, broken into a jumble of small pieces. It was dark outside now, probably too late to use the cell phone to call the phone company, not if she wanted to get a real, live person on the line. And tomorrow was Sunday; highly unlikely anyone would be around to take her call then.
She wondered if perhaps she should get a TV. She had hardly ever watched the one the family had in the city. But how long and lonely the nights were proving to be. She poured herself another glass of wine and stood in the kitchen doorway, looking around her little cabin, as if seeing it for the first time. Her eyes came to rest on her desk and then they lit on the scrap of paper containing the rough notes she was randomly jotting down as ideas popped into her head for the training manual. As if out of nowhere, a great concept for the format of the graphics on the web page popped into her head. A burst of excitement propelled Joanna forward to her desk. She looked once out the window into the impenetrable darkness of the forest and the unseen lake beyond. The wind was high tonight and she could hear the naked branches of the trees rustling together. She reminded herself that this is what she had been wanting for many years. So let’s get to it. The disturbing dreams, the police and the missing jacket forgotten, she worked late into the night.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, she did not dream that night, or if she did, the ghostly images disappeared at the moment they were experienced, as dreams so often do.
She chewed her breakfast bagel and sipped her coffee with something approaching enthusiasm. Her work last night had gone well and she was pleased with the results. She would have to read it all over very carefully; work done late at night was known to take on a particularly rosy tinge, but she knew that she had done well.
The police were aware that Tiffany’s jacket was missing, that was probably not a good thing, but at least they could not positively identify the one found with Luke as the same one that belonged to Tiffany Jordan.
Her mind shifted to the problem of the dead phone. She was hoping Wendy would call tonight after they got back from Montreal. Joanna was anxious to discuss Christmas plans with her eldest daughter. She used her cell phone for outgoing calls only, and no one, not even Wendy, had ever been given the number.
As she ate, she remembered the small sign posted in the grocery store in Hope River. “Electrician available” was all it said. She probably didn’t need the phone company to fix the connection; after all, it was only a few wires coming out of the wall. The shattered phone itself would be a problem, though. She finished her bagel and popped another into the toaster. A surplus electronics store occupied a piece of land on the side of the highway leading out of Hope River: they might have telephones.
Good mood forgotten at the necessity of leaving her cozy, warm home in pursuit of an errand that was, indeed, entirely her own fault, she grumbled the entire way into the back room to get her purse and car keys. And she was still grumbling to herself on the short drive into town, in search of the number of someone she might be able to call to come and fix the blasted phone.
Fortunately, the electrician answered on the first ring and was more than happy to come out to Joanna’s cabin, for special Sunday rates of course, to repair the phone wiring. She made an appointment to meet him later and set off in search of the surplus hardware store.
It lay on the outskirts of Hope River, apparently too disreputable for even that none-too-opulent little town. From the outside it resembled nothing more than an old-fashioned junkyard dealer and Joanna almost gave up the search for a phone right there. But thoughts of another drive into North Ridge to search for a more reputable store had her gliding to a stop on the side of the highway. What bit of a parking lot there was, was jammed to overflowing with broken appliances and strange parts, large and small, for she knew not what.
She pushed open the door and a little bell clanged in cheerful announcement of her arrival. To her surprise the store was almost full, not only of assorted bits and pieces of almost any type of electronic or mechanical equipment one could hope to find, but a good number of the town elders as well. The men lounged against the counter, smoking steadily and watching her approach. All conversation ceased.
Jo
anna smiled greetings to Jack from the grocery store and two of the other men whom she recognized from her visits to town. All the men nodded politely or mumbled hello, save for Jack who spat a large wad of chewing tobacco onto the floor at her feet. Gracious fellow. She ignored him and spoke directly to the one man standing behind the counter. Younger, much younger, than the rest, full of smiles and false charm, he led her to the back to investigate rows of surplus telephones. As they walked down the crowded aisles Joanna was surprised again. There were piles upon piles of spare computer equipment, monitors and motherboards, modems and SCSI cards, and boxes filled with assorted chips. She promised herself to return another time and see what she could pick up, hopefully without an audience watching her every move. There looked to be enough here to build an entire computer from scrap. Maybe she could put together a machine for Tiffany, not the most up-to-date, but a decent working computer at little cost.
As soon as she moved off down the aisles the men picked up their conversation where it had been cut off.
“… drugs,” she heard the oldest of them exclaim, coughing around the words. “Drugs and them single mothers. Nothing but trouble.”
“Don’t think there are any single mothers in Hope River.” His duties done, the clerk settled back into the conversation.
“Don’t matter,” the old man replied. “City folks and drugs done old Luke in.”
Joanna pricked up her ears and replaced the telephone she had chosen, pretending to search through the bin for a better one. She peeked over the dusty shelf and saw the other men nodding their agreement.
“These big city drug dealers are coming up to Hope River, you mark my words.” Jack waved his finger at the circle of men. “These teenagers will do most anything for drugs and those types know it. I seen a couple of them myself, hanging out around the store. Pants hanging down to where it ain’t decent, hats on backward, giving girls the eye and waiting for my back to turn to make their deal.”
