When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  Fortunately the elevator gizmo co-operated, scrolling up a neat list of card numbers on its little screen. Wayne’s key card number, the only one she recognized besides her own, was last, as it should be. The elevator hadn’t moved because the vault door was open.

  Wayne came out and closed the vault. She handed him the card reader and suppressed a shiver as the elevator doors closed her in. She hadn’t so much as remembered her old claustrophobia at lunchtime, but that was then. Deep breaths. At least it wasn’t underwater. Being trapped underwater in an enclosed space would have been her most terrifying RCMP shift come back to life.

  As Lacey stepped out onto the flagstone floor of the atrium, her goosebumps receded before the balm of sunlight pouring through the south-facing wall of windows. The rattle and clunk of distant power tools displaced the vault’s preternatural silence. Voices murmured from the Langdon Theatre overhead and the Natural History Gallery across the way. Paint fumes rose from the classroom level beneath the theatre, heading for the varnished log-roof beams three storeys up. No way to feel enclosed here, overlooking the sun-kissed Elbow River with its churning, brown current that set up an echo in her stomach. She pulled her eyes from the water, willed herself to stare at the landlocked front entrance instead, and reminded herself that she had not died. If nearly a decade in the RCMP had not cracked her, she would not cave on her first civilian job because of a near miss. She was fine. She would be fine when she had to go back into that gap later today. Or tomorrow. She would be fine. Deep breaths.

  Something bounced off her head and pinged against the elevator. More construction crew humour? She stepped aside.

  “Hey, up there! Whatever you’re dropping, quit it.”

  A baggie fluttered down, spilling triangular orange pills. From the landing half a flight up, a woman reached through the railing after it. Shaggy brown hair blurred her face. A baggy shirt and a loose skirt disguised her body. Add a droopy hat and here was the mess that had interrupted yesterday’s media event. Dee’s neighbour. What was her name?

  “My pills,” Shaggy whispered. “Please.”

  “You won’t want the ones that fell on the floor.” Lacey scooped up the baggie with its lone remaining pill and went up. She knew prescription speed when she saw it, and who but an addict carried Adderall in a baggie like it was trail mix?

  Shaggy’s hand shook as she fumbled the little orange pill to her mouth. “Please,” she whispered again. “Call Rob.”

  Gladly. Drug addicts were no longer part of Lacey’s job description. She pulled her phone and, lacking Rob’s direct number, called Wayne instead.

  “There’s a woman on the west stairs above the atrium, asking for Rob. Can you let him know?”

  “Will do,” he said. “Tell her to wait there.”

  Lacey turned her head away. “Tell him to hurry. She’s popping ADD pills from a baggie. Long-time abuser by her shakes.” If the woman flipped out, she would have to be restrained. What legal cover did a mere security installer have if she took down an out-of-control addict? She turned, saw the woman glaring at her, and hoped her words would be forgotten as soon as the little orange upper kicked in.

  Fast footsteps thumped on the glossy log stairs above them. The curator swooped down to sit beside the druggie. “Honey, you were supposed to stay off the stairs. You promised!”

  Stay off the stairs? Stay off the Adderall, more like.

  Shaggy leaned her head on Rob’s shoulder. “The paint fumes were killing me. The elevator didn’t come. I thought I could do it. I’m always better in summer.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Rob, patting her hand. “But it’s not really summer yet, and you promised you’d be careful if I let you come around today. What’s Terry going to say to us?”

  “My fault,” the woman whispered. “Take me home.”

  Rob’s patting stopped. “Oh, dear. I can’t, honey. Not right away. I’ve got to head off that shipment of paintings from the Petro-Canada collection. The vault’s not going to be ready this afternoon. But maybe Ms. McCrae wouldn’t mind.” He looked up at Lacey with a pleading smile. “Jan lives just up the hill. It would be a five-minute round trip. Nice afternoon. Lovely scenery. I’ll take her van up after work.”

  Jan — that was the neighbour’s name. “I’m on the clock.”

  Wayne’s voice came from the foot of the stairs. “You can take her.”

  Lacey swallowed her impulsive protest. Hiring her was ex-sergeant Wayne’s favour to his ex-constable, Tom, to whom she owed three weeks’ lodging, the job, and — more than once over their shared years on the Force — her life. Tom’s reputation was, in part, riding on her shoulders here. If Wayne wanted her to haul this addict home instead of doing any of the rush jobs that had to be finished by Friday, she would do it.

  Rob helped Shaggy to her feet. “Jan, just tell Lacey where to go once you get into the car. Okay?” He passed her arm over Lacey’s rigid shoulders. “Hang on to the railing, honey.”

  Lacey turned under the limp arm and supported Jan around the waist. Wayne came up a few steps and took the other arm. Nobody mentioned the little orange pills on the carpet, but Lacey made a mental note to go back later and make sure they were safely disposed of. Prescription speed in candy colours — just what you didn’t want scattered around a building that would soon be open to school tours.

  Wayne steered them all outside and deposited Jan on a bench in the shade. “Get your car, McCrae. I’ll stay here.”

  When Lacey returned, Jan was sitting up more or less straight, her back to the varnished log wall. Drugs must be kicking in. She could probably drive herself home in another five minutes, except that two former Mounties couldn’t let an obviously impaired woman operate a vehicle. Lacey got her buckled in and steered the Civic to the road, savouring the early summer scents of clean mountain air, newly leafed trees, and the glacier-fed river. After those terrifying moments in the vault, being outside was a balm, even if the task at hand was one she should have left behind with her badge.

  “Where to?”

  “Turn right onto the road, then left at the bridge.” Other than that, Jan kept her mouth shut and stared straight ahead. Occasionally she trembled. Lacey turned uphill past the first log-and-glass mansion. It was not flying the flaming C of the Calgary Flames hockey franchise, but the next two houses were. She hadn’t noticed them on her way downhill to work this morning. This high-end rural route was clearly a hockey neighbourhood. Did local support explain the museum’s hockey exhibit?

  At a hand gesture from her passenger, she turned off the road a bit uphill from Dee’s drive, following paving stones around a modernist house that was all glass and angles. It, too, had a Flames flag hanging from a sunroom cantilevered out over the steep hillside. She stopped on an oblong of paving, as close as possible to the only visible doorway.

  “I can manage now.” Jan groped for her seat belt, fumbled it open, then struggled with the door handle. Getting her feet outside took a lot of concentration, and once they were on the ground, she sat there breathing heavily.

  “I’ll see you to the house.” Lacey unbuckled and went around the car. Jan stood up, swayed, and clutched Lacey’s arm.

  “Just to the porch.” Jan hobbled over the paving stones and eased herself onto a chair.

  Lacey’s phone rang. “McCrae.”

  Wayne was terse. “Vault guy’s unavailable. Take off early. See you in the morning.”

  Crap. Two hours’ pay down the tubes. He’d have found something else for her to do if she hadn’t left the building. Or did he know she was too shaky to work, anyway? Did he despise such weakness in an ex-cop? Would the next message be telling her not to bother coming back? She could end up working mall security by the weekend.

  At least malls tended to be large, open spaces, almost like here. She looked out over the valley. The museum, with its nearly fatal vault, was a toy building down be
low, but behind it the river churned. Was it eating at the riverbank beyond the museum’s terrace? Was that the next fear she would face — being trapped down in the classroom level while murky water beat against the windows? She shuddered and turned away. Never again.

  Jan was squinting in the sun, enough Adderall behind her eyes now to lift the sag out of her face. Lacey revised her age estimate down to the midthirties. Almost a contemporary.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Jan walked almost steadily to the door. She didn’t fumble her key in the lock at all, just strode on through as if her previous shakes had never happened. The door shut behind her, leaving Lacey alone on the paving stones with the sweet June breeze whispering through the treetops and the museum far below, tiny and too postcard-like to have caused such mayhem in her life by three o’clock in the afternoon.

  Even though her body was crying out for a nap after the disturbed night, she hated the thought of going back to Dee’s, to the barking dogs and the omnipresent rumble of the swelling river, not to mention whatever mood Dee had swung into by this time. A long, winding drive out over the open plain would feel great right about now, but driving would not get the motion-sensor lights installed. If she did those first, she could run into Calgary for extension cords and pick up more clothes from Tom’s at the same time. With luck, she’d even miss rush hour traffic.

  Except, she realized, as she backed up the car to leave the sharp-edged glass house behind, she had yet to inquire closely into which individuals really might be out to get Dee, in case she hadn’t imagined the whole thing. The suspect list might start with Dee’s ex, Neil, but it had to include that protester outside the museum and the rich man up the hill. Just because he was helpful with the dogs didn’t mean he was truly a friend or ally. And the man who’d killed her dog last winter — she was set to testify against him. That was motive enough for some people.

  All this was in Lacey’s mind as she sat across the black granite breakfast bar from Dee two hours later, eating some divine pasta Dee had imported from one of the trendy restaurants down in the hamlet. There was a glass of wine to go with it, of course, a crisp California chardonnay. But, mindful of the impending drive into Calgary, she wasn’t having any beyond a sip of Dee’s to see what she was missing. Someday, she might lose her overzealous adherence to alcohol limits, but not while her life remained in this highly unstable state. Getting busted for .08 would be a serious handicap to finding a proper job, not to mention house hunting and eventually moving.

  “We have to take this seriously,” she said past a mouthful of succulent seafood and sauce. “Start with the protester. What does he hope to gain, with the Centre nearly finished? What did he lose because of this project your company helped finance?”

  “The rural municipality approved the museum’s development. According to his handouts, he thinks the arts are a waste of time and money. It’s not an uncommon attitude in Alberta. I heard a rumour, too, that he’d had his own plans for the land, but his proposal was outvoted. It was before my time on the board, though, and I don’t think he blames me for it. He’s careful to stay off the edge of the property, so he’s doing nothing illegal. Just a nuisance.” Dee paused for a sip of her wine. “I hope he gives up when we open. It won’t do the tourist traffic any good.” She clearly thought the protester harmless; Wayne thought him a potential mass murderer. Lacey thought she’d better investigate a bit further, as soon as time permitted.

  “What about Jake Wyman? You said he had a grudge.”

  “I said he might have been holding a grudge. He hasn’t acted like it, though. And he’s never asked for his ex’s address again. Maybe she got in touch with him and he just hasn’t mentioned it to me. Not my business. I wasn’t involved with her divorce; I wasn’t her friend. I just manage her property while she’s out of the country.”

  “Any other legal matters that might have led to a grudge? Someone you outmanoeuvred in a development deal, or whatever you real estate lawyers do?”

  “I don’t see how. My listed address is a postal box, not my house. And anyway, lawyers don’t stalk each other. We sue.”

  “Is there any possible way Neil could benefit by driving you to sell this place?”

  Dee groaned. “Again with Neil. I know you didn’t like him, and yeah, you were right. He’s shallow and vain and manipulative, with an ego bigger than Castle Mountain. But to come after me? It would take too much of his valuable time to drive all the way out here. He might miss out on some breaking deal or glam social event.”

  “You were right about Dan, too,” Lacey said, surprised it was so easy to admit. “He’s a rule follower to the core, and that core is a true-blue chauvinist. He couldn’t stand me outranking him at work, and he took it out on me at home.” She wasn’t ready to go into details about his methods, and hurried on. “Neil’s in real estate, too. Could he get the house back if you felt you had to move? Maybe to sell for a profit?”

  “In this market? He wouldn’t touch it. I had to take a second mortgage to pay out his share, and now the market is slumping, so I’m stuck with it. Besides, his girlfriend’s house is bigger.” Dee shook her head. “If it’s him, I’m counting on you to catch him at it and make him explain. Beat it out of him if you have to. Not that you’ll have to. He’s a coward at heart. When he sees your car in the drive, he’ll know I’m not alone and he’ll call off whatever little plan he has. If it’s him.”

  “Unless he’s driven by jealousy and thinks you have another man in here. Who knows what he’d do then?”

  “He wouldn’t care. He doesn’t love me. Sometimes I wonder if he ever did.”

  There was nothing to say to that, so Lacey said nothing. She spooned up the last of her seafood sauce, moved her plate to the dishwasher, and said, “I’d better get on the road if I’m going to be back to plug in those lights before the mosquito hour. Will you be all right on your own for a bit?”

  “I’ve got lots of paperwork to keep me entertained. And I’m sure there will be another half-dozen crises at the Centre that’ll have to be dealt with tonight.” Dee’s voice was light, but the lines were back around her eyes, and she couldn’t stop herself glancing at the open window. Would Lacey return to find the house buttoned up tighter than a meth lab again?

  Chapter Five

  Jan clattered pots into the kitchen sink, squinting a bit in the light from the west-facing window. The evening sky glowed, brilliant as midday this close to the summer solstice. The mountain shadows would take hours to creep as far as her house. It felt like the day could last forever. “I can’t believe how crystal clear everything is,” she said over her shoulder. “Every sound, every sight is crisp and clean. As if time has slowed down, giving my brain as long as it needs to process every signal. Those pills are killer.”

  “You said you weren’t going to take any today because they made you shake so bad.” Her husband brought the plates from the table, his strong, stubby fingers shoving them into the dishwasher with ominous vigour.

  “I know, Terry. I know. I just … forgot, okay?” Sunlight kissed the suds in the sink, bright and glistening as seafoam, seducing her eyes, wafting her thoughts onto distant voyages.

  “You forgot? Why am I not surprised?”

  Pulling her gaze from the bubbles, Jan stared at him instead. Tanned face, brown curls, strong neck, sturdy torso in a Search and Rescue T-shirt. He looked like Terry, but his expression was hard. Why was he objecting to this prescription? He had supported her through dozens of other treatment trials over the years, in full knowledge that there were no guarantees. This was the only one that cleared up her mental fogs. Maybe he just didn’t understand that.

  “When I was crashing down there alone on the stairs, it seemed like the only way to get enough energy to keep going. And they really feel wonderful. They give me back my old self for a few hours. My old brain.”

  “You’ve said that about other treatments. So much for your ol
d brain.” Terry flung cutlery into the dishwasher. A fork missed the basket and bounced through the racks to rest by the heater element. He bent to retrieve it, his shoulders as wide as the countertop. His muscled arms easily reached the dishwasher’s back corner. “You could have phoned Rob for help. He was right there in the building. He’d have come for you.”

  “I forgot my cellphone in the van.” Jan swiped suds over a lid, holding on to her temper as tightly as she gripped the wet dishrag. If Terry realized she’d been too messed up to remember that her phone was in her pocket the whole time, he’d never let her go down to the museum again. “And yeah, before you say it, I know I should have had it with me. It was just a bad day, okay? They happen. And one of the workers phoned him for me. No harm done.”

  No need to mention that the worker had called her a drug addict. Terry was already against the pills. She was sure he had come right out and said that at some point, even if she couldn’t remember exactly when. If it was important her super brain would fling it up to visible altitude any moment now. What was altitude in brain terms? What artists painted the inner workings of the brain? Likely Picasso onward. Nobody before that had believed much in an inner consciousness. Except maybe Hieronymus Bosch? Her mind clicked through its mental catalogue of art images until something else crashed into the dishwasher, sending her heart racing.

  Terry was halfway across the room before her head turned. “I’ve got to get ready. Have you seen my hiking boots?”

  Jan’s head reeled from the sudden shift back to snarky reality. “In the garage, right where you left them last week.”

  Terry padded sock-footed toward the mudroom. “Where’s Rob with that van? He said he’d be right up twenty minutes ago.”