When the Flood Falls

by J. E. Barnard

  “Last night, you said something about a souvenir DVD of the gala. I’d like to buy one as soon as they’re ready.”

  “I picked them up in Calgary this morning, hoping to sweeten up the board harpies. I’ll get you the one for Dee. She might find it amusing, all that terrible acting. Although Camille’s main squeeze wasn’t half bad. Quite a stage pro he turned out to be.” Jarrad had been anything but a pro on stage. Rob’s sarcasm, if that’s what it was, seemed out of character for him as well as in bad taste. She was about to call him on it when he added, “Oh, I forgot! We’re watching it up at Jan’s tonight. She wants to invite you to dinner and the movie. I suppose she left a message at Dee’s.”

  “Much good that would do me,” said Lacey, activating the half of her brain that wasn’t busy comparing Rob’s casual mention of “Camille’s main squeeze” to the sex-gone-wrong scenario lingering in her brain. “I don’t know Dee’s voice mail code. I haven’t checked her mailbox either. I don’t know where her postbox would be, or its number.”

  Rob explained which super-box of the three across the way served their road. “The key will be on her ring. A fiddly thing of cheap metal, stamped with a number. So, can I tell Jan you’ll come?”

  Checking out a suspect’s alibi in his presence wasn’t ideal police procedure, but then Lacey wasn’t with the police any longer. Rob, if he turned out not to be a suspect, could be invaluable at filling in other people’s whereabouts.

  “I’ll call Jan to make sure,” she said. “Don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Two hours later, Lacey leaned back in her chair and licked salad dressing from her finger. “Great supper. Thanks.” And it was: thick steak, salad, crisp whole-wheat rolls, none the worse for being her second steak dinner in three days.

  “It’s great company that makes it.” Jan waved a hand inclusively at everyone, including the mutts. “I’m glad you didn’t mind us coming down to get the dogs. They miss the regular social round they had with Dee.” Boney and Beau did look happy. They lolled on the deck, tongues dragging and tails gently thumping whenever someone said their names or patted them in passing.

  “They sure do behave better with you than with me. I’d never let them leave the kennel on my own.”

  “Years of acquaintance,” Jan said. “Dogs can’t fake warm fuzzies, like humans do. Camille Hardy and her set are the fakest people I know. All smiles when they’re together, but if you ever talk to one alone, you can soon see the others’ shredded flesh hanging from her fingernails. I swear they’d poach each other’s husbands without a second thought.”

  “Camille would trade hers in a millisecond.” Rob set down his steak bone for Boney and started stacking dishes. “You should have heard her this afternoon, sneering over Mick for being cut up about his protege’s death. What a bitch.”

  Jan sighed. “She’s not upset, I suppose?”

  Lacey threw her bone to Beau, who eyed it and her with suspicion for a moment before the aroma seduced him. “She seemed completely taken up with whether she was a suspect. What was she gushing at you for, Rob? Did you ever figure it out?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Jan handed her plate to Rob. “Do tell.”

  “I was expecting her to be after my blood, but she nearly drowned me in syrup. She seemed to think something I said had cleared her of suspicion in Jarrad’s death.”

  “Did you tell the cops you saw them having sex in the dressing room?” Jan asked.

  “Not in so many words, but yeah. For her to think that that somehow clears her … Does it make sense to you, Lacey?”

  Lacey shook her head. It didn’t make sense on more than one level. Rob had obviously told his story to Jan and Terry before spreading it to Lacey or the police. Either he believed it himself, or he was deceiving his long-time friends. Except that what he said he saw was impossible. Jarrad was already down in the vault by that time last Friday night. Where had her other suspects been during those critical five minutes?

  She stretched. “Too bad we can’t watch the DVD out here. It seems a shame to take the dogs home just so we can sit ten feet closer to the TV. But I’m eager to see how Dee looked on film.”

  Terry held out his hand for her plate. “They’ll be fine on the deck if we only close the screens. And they’ll come back if Jan calls them. They like her much better than me. Probably because she makes a fuss when she photographs them. The big sucks lap up the attention like rock stars.” Jan was making a fuss now, smooshing their ears and murmuring a mix of baby talk and growls that they seemed to understand and appreciate. When she got up, they followed her to the door, stood hopefully for a minute, then settled down outside with heavy sighs. Everyone else had to step over them. At least this time they didn’t growl at Lacey when she passed. She sighed as heavily as they had before she followed the other humans indoors.

  Terry set up the DVD and Rob brought more beers and snacks: two kinds of chips and dip, peanuts, and Smarties. “Watch out for these chips in the blue bowl,” he told her. “They’re salt free, trans-fat free, organic imposters. Jan’s fave.”

  Jan was already on the couch, half-draped in an afghan. The men did all the table clearing and guest-attendance chores as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn’t, for them. How could a woman be as sick as Terry said, and yet look so normal?

  The TV screen woke up. The show was on. But Lacey’s hope of isolating the exact time when Jarrad had disappeared was doomed. The gala disc was not the cheesy production she had half expected. In this digital age, when any festivity might be captured by amateurs armed with cellphones, the professionals had to provide something glossier than mere reality. The gala disc held only the most flattering footage of the board ladies, soft-focused the gnarled tycoons and aging media people, and panned panoramically to emphasize the spaciousness of the building. It was also not chronological. Instead, the scene bounced between the actual event and earlier footage of the building at various stages of construction, with sound bites from board members interspersed between group moments at the gala. Rob appeared briefly to discuss the significance of the biggest painting in the gallery, the Joe Cadot. He made sure to mention the oil baron who had loaned it by name. Good schmooze. Interspersed in the mix were praises sung for the facility by the provincial minister of culture and a rep from the RM of Rockyview, whose comments were tinged with faint damns that the new cultural showpiece was not in Springbank.

  Rob remarked, “He’s grumpy that they’ll have to bus Springbank kids down here once in a while, instead of Bragg Creek always sending their kids out.”

  When not trained on the stage, the cameras roved the audience to mark noteworthy faces. It was impossible to figure out the order or time of performances, much less where every suspect was when. As it wound toward the end, Lacey knew pretty much what she had known before: that Jarrad and Camille were on stage about fifteen minutes before he went into the vault. He was the same height as Camille, give or take a centimetre, but did that matter anymore?

  Rob said, with obvious satisfaction, “See, I told you Camille’s chew toy could act. Better than the other guy, by far. He could have a second career in theatre.” This time it was clear Rob wasn’t being sarcastic. He truly believed that.

  Terry snorted. “I’ve seen better acting by a broken broomstick.”

  “Must be love if you think he was even mediocre,” said Jan.

  “You guys are watching too much reality TV. He was the star of the evening. That bit from Thomas Mann was totally inspired.”

  Terry laughed. “Jarrad didn’t do the Mann monologue, doofus. That was the pro actor from Calgary.”

  “That was Camille’s main squeeze, honey. I should know. They were groping each other in dark corners all week long. Hell, Jan, you’re the one who told me his name.”

  “I said we all thought Camille was way too hands-on with J
arrad.”

  “Well, she was all hands with this guy. You also said, just last week if I recall, that Jarrad was back and acting in the gala with her. Nobody introduced me to him. I just assumed.”

  Amid exclamations from the Brenners, Lacey leaned forward. “You lived here all last winter and never met him, even though he was making waves over killing Dee’s dog and her smashing his windshield?”

  “Divine Dee beat up his car,” Rob mused. “I still have trouble with that picture. Anyway, I wasn’t moving in those exalted circles. I never got invited to a fabulous Wyman party until Jan and Terry dragged me along last weekend. Then I ended up leaving early to help tote that old guy back to his closet.” Rob set down his beer with a thump. “Oh my god, I told the Mountie Jarrad was the guy bonking Camille in the dressing room. Lacey, are they going to use thumbscrews on me if I tell them I was mistaken?”

  “I think you’ll find they already knew. What exactly did they ask you? And what exactly did you tell them?”

  “They asked when was the last time I saw Jarrad on the night of the gala, which I thought was odd because he was seen on the security video at least three times after that. I said I’d seen him with Camille in the dressing room when her husband was about to be hauled away in an ambulance. They asked if I was sure it was Jarrad, and I said, ‘I didn’t see his face, just his back, but it was the same guy she was rehearsing with all week.’ Oh, you mean they already knew it was the other guy? But how?”

  “Because Jarrad was already in the vault by then.”

  “What?” came from three mouths simultaneously.

  Lacey held up her hand. “Whoa! Yes, Jarrad was in the vault before we put Mick in the ambulance. I checked the elevator logs myself. Jarrad went down there at ten twenty-seven p.m., according to the computer printout. My best guess is it was during the Mann monologue, but I can’t be sure. What I need to know from you, Rob, and you, Terry, is where everybody else was for, say, ten minutes either side of that time.”

  “Everybody? Can you narrow it down?” Terry, the voice of calm.

  “For the sake of argument, let’s say Camille, Jarrad, the pro actor, and the chihuahuas — sorry, I mean Camille’s pals from the board. Oh, and any audience members who came backstage before the final curtain.” She didn’t want to say Jake’s name, lest loyalties be conflicted and information withheld. If they brought him up unasked, that would be a different story.

  Rob bounced upright. “Are we helping you solve the crime? Sweet! Cue up the DVD, Terry. Take us to Jarrad’s final bow and I’ll walk you through the backstage action.”

  Terry ran back the DVD while giving a succinct account from his own vantage point. “Dee left us during the Tristan and Isolde bit to get ready for the presentation. Jake left his box a minute or so later, but I’m pretty sure the rest of the hockey contingent stayed put. They were talking during the monologue and I glared at them a couple of times. Jake came back barely before the presentation, when Camille escorted him down, but I don’t know where she was between leaving the stage and appearing in Jake’s box. From my chair I could see the other board ladies clustered in the wings, but whether they were all there all the time I can’t say. Rob?”

  “I think they were. But you’re confusing me. I know, I’ll draw you a plan of the stage.” He bustled around gathering paper and felt pens. “Now, here’s the stage, audience out this way, and the wings. These squiggly lines are the standing curtains. This ladder-y thing is the stairs down to the dressing rooms.”

  Jan was picking out Smarties from the bowl. “We’ll make the yellow ones the Chihuahuas. That’s such a great name for them, Lacey. I’m going to laugh every time I see them. Twyla, Tami, Chareen, and Tiffany. Camille can be orange, to stand out from them. Jarrad red, the actor blue. Who else?”

  Rob put on a pout clearly lifted from the vaultmaster. “I want to be blue.”

  “Fine. He can be brown,” said Jan. “Who else?”

  “Wait a sec. Let me get organized.” Rob spread the designated candies around. “Camille and Jarrad behind the curtain, actor dude in front, the board babes here, me there. Jake can be green, up there in his box. We’re missing Dee.”

  Jan selected another Smartie. “Dee can be pink. She’d hate it, but pink is a good people colour. Where was she during the monologue?”

  “Backstage,” said Rob. ”Rather, she came up the stairs during Camille’s onstage emoting but didn’t stay. That scene ran a bit long because of young Jarrad’s long pauses while he tried to remember his lines. I can’t believe I didn’t realize he wasn’t the same guy.”

  “When she didn’t stay,” Lacey asked, “where did she go?”

  Rob moved the pink Smartie. “Back down these stairs to the dressing rooms.”

  “Okay, the skit is over and the monologue on. Camille and Jarrad are offstage. Where do they go?” But at the end of moving about a lot of candy on Rob’s little chart, they weren’t much further ahead.

  Lacey summed up. “So four people visited the dressing rooms during the monologue — Dee, Jake, Jarrad, and the MC.”

  Jan interrupted. “Wait. Jake was down there?”

  “Yes. Dee ran into him when she was touching up her face, and had to hustle him upstairs to his box before the plaque presentation. Camille would have passed through not long after, catching up to Jake so she could be on his arm going down to the stage.”

  “Arm decoration is her life’s ambition,” Jan muttered.

  Lacey ignored the sneer. “That timing seems too tight for any of them. Does anybody know of a connection between Jarrad and the MC? Maybe he’s a hockey announcer or sports journalist?”

  Her witness pool looked blankly at one another.

  Rob shrugged. “As far as I recall, we wanted a media personality and Dee’s boss suggested his friend. None of us met him before that week.”

  Jan ate the orange Smartie with a snap of her teeth. “Nothing useful here, unless you think Dee did it, which I don’t. Jarrad could have reached the elevator via the classroom corridor or through the clay room’s locker corridor. Or he could have met up with someone anywhere on that level and gone with them.”

  Rob nodded. “The school kids and teachers were gone. Everyone else who wasn’t needed on stage would be in one of three places: watching the finale, warming up the bar, or out for a smoke.”

  “One person must have been unaccounted for.” Lacey ate a handful of Smarties from the bowl while she worked out the possibilities. Jake had gone downstairs around the critical time. If Camille’s evening bag was in the dressing room then, he could have taken her key card. Dee might have seen him with it, or with Jarrad. She might have been run over to silence her before people started asking questions about those critical few minutes downstairs. Car keys? If Jarrad’s had been in his pocket, Jake had had all of Saturday to drop by the Hardy house and look for a spare set. He could also have slipped the card back into Camille’s purse, either then or at his Finals party. If he knew Dee was awake and able to answer questions …

  She jumped up. “I’ve got to call the hospital.”

  Terry pointed her to the hall. “Number two on the speed dial. We check daily, for all the good it does.”

  Although Lacey got through to Dee’s ward rapidly, the nurse on duty would not forward the call to the room. “It’s after ten,” she said severely. “Mrs. Phillips is down for the night. Call again in the morning.”

  “Is the security guard still in the corridor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. She needs protection.” Tonight maybe more than ever. “Please make sure the guard doesn’t fall asleep.”

  The nurse sniffed.

  Back in the living room, Rob and Jan had come up with a plan to cement people’s whereabouts. “We know the guy who made the DVD,” Jan explained. “If he kept the raw footage of the gala, it will have time-stamps. I’ll ask for a password to
his secure editing website, where I can look at the uncut versions. By this time tomorrow we ought to be able to confirm who was on stage at what exact minute, and maybe spot anyone else out of their seat at the critical moment. Like, for example, Jarrad’s ex-boyfriend. Sorry, Rob, but you know a spurned lover is bound to be suspected.”

  Lacey walked home an hour later with Rob to “protect her” while Terry drove Jan and the dogs. Rob offered to come in and check for burglars under the beds. From any other man it would be the prelude to a pass. She invited him in for tea, just for a few minutes more of company.

  “Should I invite Jan and Terry in, too?” she asked.

  “Nah. They could use an hour without me. Pretty soon I’ll be out of excuses to stay up there keeping Jan company. I hope you’ll visit her once in a while, like Dee used to. She’s stuck at home so much, and she gets a bit depressed sometimes.” He went out to send the Brenners home.

  Lacey put the kettle on. When he came back, she asked, “Is Jan really so ill that she can’t reliably walk to Dee’s and back again? She’s seemed so, well, stable the last few times I’ve seen her.”

  “In her own low-chem house, staying warm and resting a lot, she does pretty good. Sunny days are better than cloudy ones and summers are easier than winters. When it’s colder, her body can’t create enough energy to both stay warm and run her immune system. Not to mention her brain. For weeks on end, she can barely hold a coherent conversation. Basically, from November through March, Terry rolls her up in a blanket on the couch and brings her soup at intervals. She goes nowhere and sees nobody. Some life, huh?”

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Getting on for five years now, with a worse spell in the middle. And before you ask, no, there’s nothing the doctors can do. They don’t know what caused it and they can’t cure it. They can’t really fix the symptoms, either, just medicate people enough that they no longer feel the grief at all the things they’ve lost. I’ve gotta tell you, I thought Terry might leave her when he realized the full scope. It wasn’t the money she was no longer earning, or even that their great travel plans evaporated. It was giving up hope of having kids. Nobody knows if her illness is genetic, or how her body would cope with being pregnant. If she ended up needing full-time care, Terry would be on his own, with a newborn and a drastically sick wife to look after. So they can’t risk it. They just hope there’ll be a cure, or at least a reliable treatment, before she’s too old. He watches Saturday morning cartoons faithfully on his own, and I think it’s his way of keeping the torch alive for the kids that might someday come. A little ritual of hope, if you like.”