When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  Five minutes later she stood in the glare of the spotlight, backed by the full board of directors, while Camille escorted the museum’s most generous patron down the auditorium stairs to read the plaque that would soon adorn the main gallery upstairs. The Wyman Gallery of Western Canadian Art received its formal name to thunderous applause. The show was over, the celebration in its final phase.

  Afterward, Dee circulated through the sunset-streaked theatre lobby with a glass of champagne she couldn’t make herself drink, deflecting congratulations onto Rob, the workmen, the other board members. Her face ached from smiling and her feet longed for their fuzzy slippers, but at least her ankle wasn’t throbbing. Thank heavens for comfortable evening flats and the long rest during the show. At last the crowd thinned. Jake came to offer her a ride to the private supper planned for board members and VIPs.

  “Thank you, but no,” she said on a stifled sigh. “I need to stay here and see the caterers out. I’ll catch up.” He protested, but eventually she was able to cross the fast-emptying room to trade her warm champagne for a double of single malt. She sank into a chair by the riverside windows, too tired to care that she was almost alone. The rushing water outside reverberated in her limbs as her muscles unwound. Like getting a massage from nature. Lacey was around somewhere and Jarrad was not. The little monster had vanished right after his performance, and not a moment too soon for her frayed nerves.

  Terry Brennan’s reflection walked toward her in the vast window. “Any more of that Scotch?”

  “Tell the bartender to give us the rest of the bottle and a few more glasses. Anyone left now deserves a drink.”

  Lacey arrived, the green silk rustling as she strode across the space. “You’re almost the last people here. I thought Camille Hardy would be playing the diva post-show, but I haven’t seen her.”

  Terry looked around. “Now you mention it, I haven’t seen her or Mick. Maybe they’re having a flaming row backstage.”

  “No Jarrad, either,” said Dee. “If anyone’s having anything down there, it won’t involve Mick. Have you seen how bad he looks tonight? He could never get down those stairs.”

  Just then Rob waved at them from the theatre entrance. “I think this guy is having a heart attack.”

  They arrived at the farthest row of private boxes to find Mick lying back in his armchair, his face as grey as the curtains. Dee picked up his wrist. His skin was slippery with sweat but his pulse seemed steady. But then, he had a pacemaker, didn’t he? She had no clue what kind of pulse would signal an attack in a mechanized heart. She looked up helplessly and Lacey took over, her face a professional, neutral mask. She must have looked like that on the job every day, but it wasn’t a face Dee was used to.

  “Mr. Hardy?” Lacey spoke calmly. “Let’s get your feet up. That will help. And we’d better call you an ambulance.”

  He nodded weakly and whispered, “My wife?”

  “I’ll find her,” said Rob. Terry was already connected to an emergency dispatcher on his cellphone. He relayed questions about Mick’s condition. Dee stayed at Mick’s side, holding his hand and murmuring soothing words in the intervals between repeating his whispered answers for Terry. Mick should have been at home resting. Instead he’d been dragged here to be publicly humiliated by his wife and her lover, neither of whom had bothered to check on him afterward. How long had he been sitting here, unable to rise, unwilling to call for help? Even in the final throes of her own marriage, she would never have abandoned Neil if he’d been ill. Camille Hardy deserved to be slapped senseless.

  Camille arrived as Terry brought the paramedics from the elevator. She stayed back until they had her husband on a stretcher, ready to move. Then she said, “You would go and spoil my evening, Mick. If anyone sees Jarrad, tell him we’ll see him at home.” She stalked out, her golden skirt swinging.

  “Bitch,” Dee muttered, as the elevator door closed. She led the way back to the theatre lobby. The last bartender was rolling trays of used glasses toward the elevator. She snatched back the half bottle of Laphroaig and grabbed clean glasses from behind the bar. Settled by the windows, the hush of an empty building enfolding her, she raised her glass. “To Mick. I hope he makes it.”

  “Mick.”

  After a swallow, Terry said, “Rob, come up to the house tonight. That way neither of us has to drive, and we can drink to this evening being bloody well over.”

  After the caterers left, Dee sat with Terry on the river terrace while Lacey set the alarm system and Rob walked the outside perimeter to test all the doors. Thunder rolled through distant mountain passes, but down here the air was so still she could hear mos­quitoes whining in the trees. The river had risen since this afternoon, deceptively smooth over its wide, rocky bed. Would they close the bridge by morning? If so, she’d be down here sandbagging, because another foot of water would threaten the offices and the whole lower level, including the vault. The architects had designed against a once-in-two-hundred-years flood, and here they were, on the brink of another once-in-a-thousand one while the 2013 flood’s destruction was still raw. Would any of the locals show up to help sandbag here when established homes and businesses were at risk? She made a mental note to investigate renting some of the new water-filled tube dams. It would hit the budget hard, but not as hard as being flooded before they’d even opened the doors.

  Overhead a few high clouds blotted the stars, but enough moonlight came through to shimmer on the water, mesmerizing her tired eyes. Terry hadn’t said a word, just sat there thinking his own thoughts, a bulwark against the chill sliding down the valley from the snowy peaks. She hadn’t felt so safe outside at night in months. The gala was done, the museum formally converted from a work-in-progress to a working cultural building. The water would soon stop rising. She could wind down and start to enjoy her summer.

  When Lacey and Rob reappeared, she wasn’t ready to leave. Driving up the hill would end this peace, this freedom snatched from the cage of cars and buildings. The unknown prowler had trapped her indoors as surely as if he’d locked her up. She tested her ankle. No grinding, no pinching. The flats had really helped. She could walk up to the house. A fence of friends was better than getting back into her car right this minute.

  “Anybody up for a moonlit stroll?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she hoisted her gown up past her calves and led the way across the parking lot, past scattered cars and SUVs that waited for owners unlikely to return until morning. “I don’t care how ungraceful this looks,” she said, twitching her skirt. “So nobody tell me, okay?”

  “Good thing the river didn’t get any higher,” said Rob, “or the ambulance might not have made it.”

  Terry, falling in beside Dee, said, “It’s not supposed to crest until sometime Monday, but there’s rain in that breeze. Could bring the whole snowpack down at once, like last time. Got your emergency supplies laid in, in case the bridge closes?”

  Behind them Lacey gasped. “Oh god, the bridge might actually be closed? For how long?”

  “Not to worry.” Dee turned to see that her friend’s face had gone even whiter than the moonlight. “They’ll give us notice if it looks like it’ll rise that high. Anyone who’s got concerns will have time to leave.”

  “But is there another way across? Will we be trapped?”

  Terry looked back, too. “If it comes to that, Jake will have his company’s chopper parked on his lawn for the duration, and you can hitch a ride out on the daily grocery run. No mere flood can interfere with his feeding of the hockey squad.”

  They crossed the main road and started up the hill, the men exchanging idle comments about people and moments from that evening. Lacey was silent. Dee ignored them all, wandering along, letting the night air flow over her skin. So many months since she had walked outside at night. How she’d missed this. At her own driveway, she turned. “Goodnight, lads. Thanks for the company.”

  Lace
y followed her. As the trees closed in around them, thunder rumbled in the west. When the dark house loomed into view, Dee’s steps slowed.

  “You okay?” Lacey asked.

  “Real life is rushing over my grave. I can’t believe I forgot to leave some lights on. If you weren’t here I wouldn’t have the guts to walk up to my house alone. I’d have gotten Terry and Rob to come up for a drink, just so I wouldn’t have to turn that knob without backup.” She took a few more slow steps up the drive, willing the gatepost sensor to pick up her movements and il­luminate the long, dark lane through the trees.

  “The new lights will come up when we reach the steps,” Lacey said. “You should get Wayne to give you a quote on a permanent installation.”

  “Sure.” And have him think I expect a steep discount in return for expediting his museum invoice. “As soon as I pay down the second mortgage I had to take to buy out Neil, and clear off the legal bill for my divorce. Even at insider rates, it wasn’t cheap.” The garage light came on then, and the LED posts along one side of the drive. She moved a bit faster and reached the house — her cage — with only a slight racing of her heart.

  The first of the new lights didn’t come on until her foot came down on the step. She paused.

  “It’s just because you’re shorter than me,” said Lacey from behind. “Go on. The next one should come up any second now.” Then she grabbed the back of Dee’s dress. “Stop.”

  “Why? What’s —” Then Dee saw it too: a chair from the deck, blocking their path around to the mudroom door. The wind could not have shifted that chair. Human hands had done that. She reeled, tried to retreat, but Lacey’s hand was in the small of her back, pushing her up the stairs.

  “Get to the wall. I’m right behind you.”

  Dee stumbled forward, clutching her skirt. Her tiny evening bag swung down her wrist and banged against her thigh. She jumped back. Lacey shoved her up against the varnished logs and moved past her. Watching her slink toward the chair, her silk dress shimmering in the harsh white light, Dee swallowed a tendril of hysteria. She turned her head and stared out at the dark drive, the impenetrable shadows beneath the trees. Who was out there? Or were they inside her house, waiting for her to walk into a trap? She stretched out a hand to grab Lacey, stop her from walking into it, but found no silk dress there. Lacey was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lacey stepped around the corner into darkness. The motion-activated light sat dead on its bracket, barely visible against the eaves. The dogs leaped at their gate, howling to raise the dead.

  Behind her, Dee screamed.

  Lacey raced back to see Dee huddled by the wall where she’d left her. “What’s wrong?” she yelled over the dogs’ racket. “Did you see someone?”

  “I turned around and you were gone. I panicked.”

  “You made that quite clear.” Lacey put her hands over her ears. “If I go with you, will you get the dogs out? They’ll keep you safe while I check out the house.” And they’ll shut up so I can hear anyone else moving before I walk right into them.

  The dogs settled as soon as Dee spoke to them. A smart prowler would be half a mile away by now. Unless they were gaslighting Dee with this trick; they might be lurking to see the effect. Lacey pulled Dee with her to the dog pen and then hustled her to the mudroom door. The dogs picked up the mood and hung in close. A cold nose poked at the back of her knee.

  Using the flashlight on her phone, Lacey examined the lock before putting her key in. No scratches or sign of forced entry. The front door hadn’t been noticeably disturbed, either. Should she check the French doors before opening this one, or was it more vital to get the lights on? With Dee clinging to her and the setters panting loudly in the darkness, she opened the door far enough to get her hand in and flipped every switch she could reach. The deck, the terrace, the yard all flared into view. Nobody on the grass or on the paving stones. Nobody on the drive …

  But wait! There was movement out there, barely visible in the glow of the LEDs along the road. She pushed Dee behind her, not into the house, but against the wall. One of the dogs barked. The other whined. The movement on the drive became Terry and Rob running flat out.

  “Who screamed?” Terry shouted, passing Lacey’s car at a dead run.

  “Me, sorry,” Dee called back and stepped away from the wall. She stood tall and spoke clearly. No cowering in front of the neighbours. “I tripped over this chair and thought we’d had a bear, or something.”

  Lacey have her a sideways glance. Or something? Why doesn’t she tell the truth?

  Terry lifted the chair easily and swung it onto one shoulder. “Jarrad must have forgotten to put it back.”

  “Jarrad was here?” Lacey yelled. “When?”

  Rob got to Dee as she swayed. “You’re done in, honey,” he said. “How about I take you inside and fix you a drink?”

  “Not yet,” Lacey snapped. “When was Jarrad here, and why?”

  “Yes, why?” Dee had recovered her voice, if not her poise. She shrugged off Rob’s hand.

  Terry set the chair back by its fellows. “He and Mick were out on the trail this aft and Mick’s heart conked out a bit. Jarrad got him as far as here, and then Mick rested while Jarrad brought up the car. Dee, I know you hate his guts, but surely he did the right thing for Mick?”

  “Of course I don’t begrudge Mick a rest. Why didn’t you tell me he’d been here?”

  “It slipped my mind. Are you sure you’re okay now? Don’t want us to search the house for intruders?”

  “We’re fine,” said Dee. “But thanks for rushing to our rescue. I hope Jan didn’t hear me or she’ll be worried.”

  “If she had, she’d have already phoned when your new lights came on. What’s up with them, anyway?”

  “Something’s been disturbing the dogs,” said Dee before Lacey could answer. “She hasn’t seen anything around here, has she?” To Lacey she added, “Jan can see right down into my yard from her sunroom. She watches the place when I’m out.”

  Could Jan be the one creeping around at night? “Do the dogs like her?”

  “Love her to pieces,” Terry answered. “She keeps an eye on them and they on her. She thought Mick was a bear this afternoon. She almost had me fire off a banger to save them. It would have scared the life out of him.”

  “Maybe literally,” said Rob.

  Lacey turned away. “I left my sneakers on the back patio this morning. Might as well get them while the lights are on.” The French doors, as expected, were still securely locked. The temporary lights in the back came up as she passed the sensors. The whole incident was a non-event started by a sick neighbour leaving a chair out of place. On her way back, she could see dust lines where the chair legs had been dragged right across an extension cord, pulling it from the wall. Jarrad, intent on helping his sick old friend, probably hadn’t noticed. She plugged it back in for the sake of thoroughness. The sensor picked up an arm wave from Rob and promptly illuminated Dee’s silver dress, shimmering like moonlight on water. The men, in their black tuxes, were pillars of formality beside her. Between them and the varnished logs, the scene could have been a movie still or an ad for luxury homes.

  Tonight of all nights would have been a perfect opportunity for someone bent on mischief. Yet it looked as if nobody had come. She reached Dee in time to hear Terry say that Jan had been too sick tonight to leave the house. Ah, that was one suspect who couldn’t be ruled out. Come to think of it, the other suspects — except Neil and the Beal brothers — had all been down at the museum. So, existence of prowler still not proven … nor disproven. Nobody could be ruled out yet. Even Terry and Rob might have sinister motives of which she was unaware. She added her goodbyes and watched them walk away along the dimly lit drive.

  “I’ll sit out here,” Lacey said, “until you get the dogs back in their pen.”

  Dropping into the chair Ter
ry had replaced, she tipped her head back. Once the front motion-sensor lights clicked off, the stars blazed with a vigour too often dimmed in the Lower Mainland by sea haze and car exhaust. Not even a mosquito buzzed in the clearing. Dee’s murmurs and the dogs’ shifting feet were all she heard. The quiet seeped into her bones. She breathed deep of the heavy scent from the hanging flower baskets. She could get used to this peaceful country living, especially if the alternative was a return to Tom’s crowded child-centric house in Calgary.

  Off to the west, thunder. A cold chill wafted down her neck. What was that Terry had said about the snowpack coming down if it rained?

  “Dee,” she said, sitting up and searching for clouds past the corner of the house. “Almost done there? Feels like it might rain.” She blinked. A red dot had briefly lit up near the window of Dee’s home office. Like a marker from a laser sight, but not tracking across the wall or window. Just on and off. Still …

  “Dee?”

  There it was again: high up on the far front corner of the window.

  She walked over for a closer look. Tucked right up into the corner, secured with brown tape to mimic the dark stain on the window frame, was a small silvery slab about the width of her hand. The edge of a control button was visible past the tape.

  “Hello?” she said experimentally. The red light gleamed, reflecting from the glass for a fraction of a second. The reflection was what she’d seen. “Son of a bitch! Dee, come over here, please.”

  The light flickered with every slow click of Dee’s shoes on the deck planks. Lacey put out a hand to stop her, and with the other, pointed up. “Can I assume you did not bug your own office window?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a couple of hours before the storm blew itself out. Rain still drummed on the roof, but lightning no longer crackled between the hills. The storm inside the house had subsided, too. Dee crept up the stairs on wobbly legs, watching Lacey’s green gown glide ahead. Two hours of spinning through all possible combinations of shock, grief, even relief, had left her as limp and creased as that silk. After the initial horror of confirming that someone had been sneaking around her house at night, corrupting her dogs, she finally had proof she was not losing her mind. The prowler was real.