When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  “Huh.” Rob stared down the hill. “Hard to think of the delightful Dee being at anybody’s mercy. Which one does Lacey think ran her down? Neil doesn’t square with the use of Jarrad’s car.”

  “Maybe Neil stole the car.”

  “Wouldn’t Jarrad be howling for blood if his precious Corvette went missing?” Rob answered his own question. “Nope. He left it at the museum after the gala, when he presumably went off with some woman for a dirty weekend. He’d missed his first flight but eventually he flew away to catch up to his teammates without a thought for the car. Likely assumed sick old Mick would collect it for him. If he’s not the one who ran over Dee, that is.”

  “The game.” Jan struggled upright. “I want to watch tonight, try to spot him in the audience.”

  “You’d know him from a brief glimpse? I wouldn’t. Half the time he was in the theatre he was sucking face with Camille, and apart from that I’ve only seen his naked ass and the top of his hat.”

  “That’s a weird combo. Why the hat?”

  “Our security tape. The Mounties picked out still photos: the car arriving and leaving and returning, the driver getting in and out wearing a jacket and a hat that hid his face. It was Jarrad’s jacket, I heard. He was identified from it.”

  “Jarrad was on there? So much for your theory that some puck bunny drove him to the airport. Unless …” Jan lay back and closed her eyes. The excitement of all this detecting was making her heart race. “What if Jarrad left his jacket in the car on Friday night? It was warm out, and he’d probably had a bit to drink.”

  “So?”

  “Anyone could come along Saturday night and steal the car to use on Dee. Then, when they brought it back, they used his jacket to fool the security cameras and send the police after Jarrad.”

  “Anyone meaning Dee’s ex, I assume? Is he the same size as Jarrad?”

  “Now that you mention it, I think Neil’s taller. Although when Jarrad’s on skates, he’s nearly as big.”

  “You should tell Lacey about this. She could check Neil’s alibi through her Mountie pals.”

  “Not tonight. Talking to her is so exhausting, Rob. You have no idea. No matter how polite she’s being, she gets under my skin, makes me furious at my own weaknesses. I’m not phoning her until we have something more to offer than the suggestion that Neil might have been wearing Jarrad’s jacket. If you think of some concrete way to test that theory, I’ll phone her when we have something.”

  “What if I brought you copies of those security stills? Or you could come down and look at the tapes yourself.”

  “Not tonight. I’m not sure I want to go down there tomorrow, either. Bad things happen whenever I set foot on that property.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to make copies tomorrow. The vault guy isn’t coming until Friday, and we’re extending storage contracts for another week. Bad time to be a curator. I don’t suppose Jake said anything about the job, or me?”

  “I haven’t seen him today,” said Jan, but her mind clung to the problem of Jarrad and the photographs. Even with her trained, artistic eye, she wasn’t sure she would be able to tell if it was him or Neil in his jacket and hat. She hadn’t seen either of them for months, except for a brief glimpse of Jarrad at that rehearsal, and never together. How could she enhance her chance of making an accurate identification? “The last Olympics’ hockey game recordings,” she said suddenly. “The CBC camera crew talked to Mick several times, and I’m sure Jarrad was with him sometimes. I know Mick’s about six inches shorter than Neil, so I can estimate from him beside Jarrad. Now, can I remember whether those were the men’s games or the women’s?

  “Anyway, it’s more important to know where Jarrad is now. The Stanley Cup game is about to start. Cameras will pan around during the pauses. He might get his face on the Jumbotron, seeing as he’s a player.” Jan flipped back the afghan and sat up, waiting for the blood to drain from her head before she stood. The pills could keep those wobbles at bay. Would they help her concentration through hours of videotape? Probably not. She’d survived without for the past few days. No sense starting again if she didn’t absolutely have to.

  “I’ll brew fresh tea for you,” said Rob. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll just get back to my social media whirlwind instead of watching with you.”

  “Not so much of a hockey fan when there’s no hot guy to impress?”

  “Maybe half.” Rob headed for the kitchen. She heard the sink run and then he called back, “Look at the bright side: if Terry comes back with news of Jarrad’s bloated corpse on the riverbank, you won’t have to spend hours looking at old hockey footage.”

  “Some bright side that is.” Jan finished her move to the living room couch and brought up TSN for the game. The crowd noise and camera shifts tortured her overtired brain, but she forced herself to keep watching for the audience pans. No Jarrad that she could spot, although she recognized the hockey player Rob had been chatting up last weekend. Rob hadn’t mentioned him since and she decided not to ask if it had fizzled out. He was lonely enough these days with only Jan and Terry for companionship.

  When the game was over, the long dusk was over, too. Terry came in before she had time to work up another good fret about his safety. He shook his head in answer to her question. No Jarrad.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Morning found Lacey brushing her teeth in Dee’s hospital bathroom, peering at her bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Sleeping in a chair again. How would she cope at work tomorrow? Come to that, how could she go to work if Marie couldn’t come to sit with Dee? She spat into the sink and decided not to face that bridge yet. If Dee woke up coherent, if she could tell the police about the car or driver, maybe Neil would be arrested by nightfall. Then Lacey could have a good night’s sleep and a good day’s work, her first of either for nearly a week.

  The nurse came in to check Dee’s vitals, working through the now-familiar routine that included the Glasgow Coma Scale as Marie had explained it. Only this time, when the nurse spoke to Dee, there was a soft mumble in response.

  Lacey lurched from the bathroom. “Did she say something?”

  The nurse, focused on her task, said Dee’s name again. Dee groaned. Her head moved on the pillow. Her eyelids crunched up. When the nurse spoke her name for the third time, she opened them.

  “And I thought my eyes looked bad,” were the first words out of Lacey’s mouth.

  Dee’s head turned toward her. “La-ee?”

  “I’m here.” Lacey reached for her friend’s hand, careful not to disturb the attached tubes and wires. Tears stung her overtired eyes.

  “Lee,” said Dee, and zoned right out again.

  “Uh, is this a bad thing?” Lacey asked the nurse.

  “Quite normal. When she wakes up again, please buzz right away. Don’t give her anything to drink until her swallow reflex has been checked out. Make a note of anything she says. It will likely be a few more words each time.” The nurse jotted something on the chart and departed, leaving Lacey prey to new fears. What if Dee didn’t wake again? What if she didn’t have a swallow reflex? What if she didn’t remember the attack? What if her brain was more damaged than the Coma Scale predicted? More bridges to be faced. The Bragg Creek bridge with its rushing, rising water was a paper tiger compared to all that could still go wrong for Dee. Lacey wouldn’t be expected to appear at work tomorrow if the bridge was closed. So that would be okay.

  She nearly laughed out loud. One easy step from fearing the bridge would be flooded to hoping that it happened by tomorrow.

  Later, when it was plain that Dee was just sleeping deeply, she let go of her hand. In the bathroom finishing her minimal toilette, Lacey stared at her face. She was smiling for the first time since last Sunday afternoon. She went downstairs, called Terry Brenner, and passed on the glad tidings. Terry confirmed that Neil wasn’t friendly with the neighbourhood and certainly not wi
th Jake. He asked immediately what Jake had to do with anything.

  “He gives a lot of parties that Neil might have used as an excuse to spy on Dee,” Lacey said. She asked about the river search for Jarrad.

  “Unfruitful,” was the reply.

  Afterward, she ate a full tray of breakfast hauled up from the cafeteria and wondered about the hit-and-run investigation. Had her official notebook still been in her pocket, she would have jotted down some questions. Had Tom postponed telling Bulldog about Jake’s owning the recorder? Would Bulldog check Neil’s alibi for last Sunday? Did the RCMP have leads on Jarrad that they weren’t making public? Was Jarrad oblivious to the whole mess, off on some extended boozy orgy with one of Camille’s posse? Maybe the best question to ask was which trophy wife had suddenly gone “on vacation” after the gala. Jarrad might be romping at a villa in Invermere. Or he might be right here in Calgary with old Mick, watching the local TV news to track the police search.

  Speaking of Mick, surely that was his head showing in the window. He rolled through the doorway in a wheelchair pushed by a brawny male in dark-blue scrubs.

  “Miss McCrae. Good morning.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hardy. What brings you here? Not more heart trouble, I hope.”

  “Just running a tickertape through the electronic ticker,” Mick said, wheezing slightly. “Make sure the gizmo’s connected to the whoozit and all that. This is my pal Ron. Hired by my wife to keep me out of trouble. You go get a coffee, Ron. I’ll visit with this young lady for a bit.” Ron left without a word. Now Lacey had two invalids on her hands. If Dee woke up enough to incriminate Jarrad, Mick’s next round of heart trouble would happen right here. He didn’t look quite as bad as last weekend, but his face retained that grey underlay, like wall primer imperfectly painted over with beige. At least he was able to smile this time. She smiled back.

  “How are you doing, Mr. Hardy?”

  “Call me Mick, please. Doing as well as expected. What they always say. That’s what they said about Dee when I phoned, and I look a sight more alive than she does.” Mick frowned at the bed. “Has she woken up yet?”

  “Sort of. She said my name this morning, but it might have simply been the word last programmed to reach her lips.” Better not to mention she would most likely be more lucid each time she woke. He might have contact with Jarrad. “If she wakes again, they’ll start investigating how much brain damage she’s suffered.”

  Mick’s face grew more wrinkles while she watched. He blinked a few times. “I’m real sorry people think Jarred would do this. Sure as I’m sitting here with a battery pack in my armpit, that boy would never deliberately hurt a woman. If he was going to, wouldn’t he have done it when she smashed up his windshield? Huh? But he didn’t. He stayed clear, just yelled at her to stop, that he was sorry about her dog. My boy does not hurt women.”

  “I know you have faith in him,” she said gently. “But it looks bad that he took off. He can’t be cleared until the police have heard what he has to say. If you know how to reach him, you really should urge him to show up and answer their questions.”

  Mick’s face drooped toward his collar. “God help me, I haven’t seen or heard from him since last weekend. I had no idea the police were looking for his car until I saw it on the news last night. Pulled from the river. I can’t stand to think my boy might be in that river himself.”

  Lacey didn’t like to think of it, either, or of Mick fretting his weak heart over that spoiled, sulky young man. She patted his hand. “Likely he’s gone off with friends and hasn’t seen the news for a few days. Didn’t they have big plans for a lot of golf and boozing?”

  Mick’s chin firmed up a bit. “You’re right. Just because I phoned everyone I know doesn’t mean I know everyone I should have phoned. I left messages all over. Sooner or later he’ll sober up and call me. He always does.”

  “How’s your wife holding up with all this stress? She must be worried half to death with you ill and Jarrad missing.”

  “Oh, she’s fine. She’s not that fond of Jarrad. Just as well she’s out at the river house, or she’d be telling me twenty times an hour how inconsiderate he’s being.”

  So Camille was staying home, supposedly alone. Terry and Jan could check that, and they might know if Mick and Camille owned any other properties at which to conceal their wayward protege.

  “You’re a good friend to our Dee, Miss McCrae. I guess you’ve been stuck in this hospital room for a couple of days now. If you want to stretch your legs a minute while I wait for Ron, I’ll sit here with my finger on the button in case she opens her eyes.”

  It was tempting, but Mick looked so frail. Even if she alerted him about Neil, he couldn’t stand up against a man half his age and a head taller. He wouldn’t believe, either, that Jarrad might be a threat to Dee, not until damage was done before his eyes. A kind offer, but she couldn’t take it. She said no, with thanks.

  “Well, then, can I fetch you anything from Dee’s house? Ron’s gonna drive me out there to round up a few things before the bridge closes.”

  “I think I got everything on my last trip.” If she went anywhere from here, it would be to Tom’s place for a nap. If Marie came today, that was exactly what she would do. All her limbs were shaky with bone-deep fatigue. She would soon be too whacked to comprehend whatever broke next in the investigation. She forced her wavering thoughts together and got down to the business of sifting through Mick’s memory of all the parties last winter.

  The only new thing she learned was that Jarrad had not gone to the All-Star party in January, although he was at Mick’s that week. Mick was starting to look at her oddly every time she mentioned Jake Wyman. It was a relief when the burly nurse returned and wheeled Mick to the door. The old fellow twisted in his chair. “Missy, Jake Wyman may be a generally good neighbour and a happy host, but don’t you mistake that simple rancher act he uses. If his interests are affected, he’ll stop at nothing to come out on top. That’s why he’s rich and we’re not. I think Dee mighta forgot that. She was cussing him out something awful at the party.”

  “Wait, Mick. When was this?”

  “Finals party last Saturday. Guess they didn’t know the window was open. I was sitting right by it, kinda accidentally eavesdropped before I realized what I was listening in on. She was real upset after, and left the party right away. She drove me home.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t know that. Was she angry with anyone else, do you know?”

  “Not that I could tell, but I didn’t ask her about it, either. Not my business. And young Rob from the museum was with us.”

  “Well, thank you for passing that on,” said Lacey, smiling at him as he left.

  As soon as he was out of sight, she let the smile drop. Dee could not have known the recorder came from Jake’s unless something on the recording had tied him to it. His post-accident helpfulness could all be cover. Why had Lacey not asked Mick exactly what he’d overheard? Shock, probably. She had been so sure Neil or Jarrad was the villain that she had not investigated Dee’s last evening. Another black mark against her investigative skills.

  Her head was still splitting from the possibilities when Marie arrived an hour later. “Go away,” said Marie. “I left bedding on the rec room couch for you. I’ll phone you if anything happens here.”

  “Thanks. You’re a good friend.” Lacey submitted to a brief hug. “What if I don’t wake up in time for you to pick up the kids?”

  “I’ll phone Tom to get them. Just go. And promise you’ll sleep.”

  “No fear.” Lacey yawned. “Nothing could keep me awake today.”

  Nothing, that is, except Neil grabbing her arm as she stepped out of the lobby elevator. He swung her sideways. When she stumbled over a newspaper stand, he yanked her upright. He shoved her against the wall, his flushed face crowding hers. His breath was damp on her skin.

  Lacey’s training, and h
er temper, kicked in. She twisted herself beneath his arm and came up behind his back. Her free hand forced his elbow up his spine until his grip on her forearm loosened. She applied that hand to his shoulder and put the pinch on. Hard.

  “Goddamnit! Let go, bitch.”

  She pushed his face against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Neil?”

  “Ball-breaking bitch. You sent your Mountie pals to Dani’s father’s place. If he throws me out over this, I’ll be coming after you.”

  “What could you possibly do to me? Send some thugs to beat me in a dark alley?”

  “I’ll tell everyone you screwed your partner, you adulterous slut. Get you in shit with your Mountie bosses.”

  Neil knew about her and Tom? Dee must have let that slip sometime before their marriage turned sour. Trust Neil to remember any little factoid that might someday come in useful. If he told Marie … no time to burn that bridge now. Better to convince him his ace wasn’t a weapon at all.

  “Who do you think will care, asshole? He wasn’t married then, I’m not married anymore. I’m not on the Force either, so they won’t sanction me for conduct unbecoming. I’m going to release you and step off, but if you try to touch me again, if I even see your overfed face up in Dee’s ward, I’m charging you with assault. Explain a court date to Dani and her rich daddy.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” said Neil, but he didn’t move when she lifted her hand from his neck. She lowered the arm behind his back, stepped well clear, and only then noticed the hospital security guards on either side of her.

  Neil saw them, too. “She pinned me up against the wall, goddamn it! Arrest her.”

  “I saw you grab her,” said one guard. “Security cameras saw it, too. Please leave the building quietly or we’ll have to call the police.” Lacey waited with him while the other guard followed Neil to the door. He said, “You related to him?”

  “Not me. His ex-wife is upstairs on a trauma ward with injuries from a so-far unidentified assailant.” No lie there, but she hoped the guard would make an assumption.