When the Flood Falls. J.E. Barnard
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gear, I’d have been hypothermic in minutes. But a chinook blew through the night before, brought the temperature up thirty degrees by morning, and it was still near zero at dusk. Boney and Beau huddled up with me and that helped. Ironic, though: I’d been on top of the world four hours earlier, shaken hands on a huge East Village development deal after lunch, and was freezing to death by suppertime, with a useless phone and my dog dying at my feet.” She let out a sour laugh. “From development tycoon to Darwin Award candidate in half a day. I was damned close to falling into a frozen sleep when rescue finally arrived. The devil on horseback, as they say.”
“The devil being your ex-husband?”
“Neil? No chance. He never comes out here anymore. At least …” Dee hesitated. “I don’t think he does. He slimes around my office occasionally, trying to winkle deal tips out of my staff, but not when I’m there. This was one of my uphill neighbours, Jake Wyman. He was literally on horseback, out riding, and on the road only because he thought the hill trail would be too slippery for the horse in the dark. I’d hardly seen him since I handled some property for his ex-wife, and he might have been holding a grudge. Although I’m sure he would have helped, anyway. You don’t pass by on the other side out here, especially in winter. People would die.” She sighed, with gratitude or maybe resignation.
“I owe him a lot. He wrapped me in his heavy jacket and then called his groom to get the horse, a blanket and transport for me, and a mug of hot tea, plus a vehicle to take Duke to the emergency animal hospital. While our other neighbour drove me to Calgary to get my foot X-rayed, Jake took Boney and Beau home for me. He didn’t mention his ex during all that, although when he came to get me from the hospital the next day he asked if I’d give him her current address. He’s not one to miss a chance.”
A wife who didn’t want to be found by her ex-husband was a smart wife, in Lacey’s book. A woman was at highest risk of being killed by an ex-partner in the year immediately following separation. One reason she was a province away from Dan. Not that she thought he would come after her, but then she’d have said he would never raise his voice, much less his fist. After that first time, who knew what he was capable of? She swung the car onto the paved road, ignoring a back-seat growl and the prospect of herding these hostile setters into their pen for the night. “Did you give this Jake the information he wanted — out of gratitude, maybe?”
“Of course not. Any lawyer would know better. I suggested he write to her in care of me and he said he would think about it. He never brought it up again. His chef brought me meals every day for the whole next week, which was a godsend because I was woozy with pain pills and grief, barely able to stand. Jake came every day, too, checked if I needed anything, and took Boney and Beau out running with his horse. He still does. They love it, and I sure can’t take them running right now.”
“And the reckless driver?” As she signalled for the turn up to Dee’s road, Lacey realized she’d been driving beside the churning river and had not let it get to her. So that part of her cop’s focus hadn’t deserted her. Information gathering ahead of emotion. Always. “How did the police get him?”
“Tip from a neighbour, and he surrendered himself a couple of weeks later. Too late to tell if he’d been drinking, but the hockey players around here party hard during the midseason break. They’re mostly rising NHL stars with too much money and fame and not much responsibility, except to their team. Anyway, he’s going to court next month.”
“On what charges?”
“A bunch,” said Dee. “Reckless endangerment, I think, and something like careless use of a vehicle. I’m a real estate lawyer; driving offences aren’t my strong suit. Nothing for killing my dog, though. He didn’t hit me, and a dog’s life doesn’t count in the police’s eyes. But I’ll get to make a statement, and I won’t hold back on what his actions did to my life. That’s my driveway coming up.”
The dogs, to Lacey’s relief, went directly to their pen and took turns gulping the water left for them. She closed their gate, helped Dee up to the deck and around to a side door, then finally got her first look inside the vast varnished house. Mudroom first, cluttered like all of them with boots, coats, shelves stacked with miscellany. The kitchen beyond it was all varnished wood, black granite countertops, black appliances. That was her first impression, quickly displaced by the enticing aroma of baking pineapple. “Mmm.”
Dee hobbled to a stool. “Should be almost ready. I didn’t mean for you to make supper, but if I just sit here and give orders, can you finish the meal prep?”
“Sure. You do remember I can’t really cook, right?”
Dee laughed, just a small one, and some of the tension left Lacey’s chest. With Neil out of the picture, the Dee she knew might yet emerge from the shell of perfection that had seemed impenetrable on their last visit. Her earlier reluctance to see Dee seemed silly now. She’d expected to come here, hat metaphorically in hand, with her police career and her marriage in tatters behind her, grovelling for house-hunting contacts from a woman notorious for having her own life together. Not that she was revelling in Dee’s misfortunes, but they were a timely reminder that rain fell onto even the most organized lives. Friends got out the umbrella for each other. Today she was holding the umbrella, even though it meant dog drool in her car and exercising her culinary cluelessness. “What do I do first?”
Half an hour later, the pasta was drained and Dee was tossing the salad. She was still propped up on her stool and alternating between ice wraps and warmth for her ankle.
The dogs barked steadily at Lacey from the moment she stepped outside, growled while she poured their kibble over the fence into their bowls, and only stopped barking at her back once she was inside the house with the door shut. No welcome there. “I gave you a ride home, you ungrateful mutts,” she muttered, but not loud enough for Dee to hear.
After that, she descended into the basement to bring up bottles of wine that would go well with the pineapple chicken. “Not that I can tell one vintage from another, anyway,” Dee confided. “The one we’re having tonight has fruity elements that I figure won’t be horrible with chicken or pineapple, and that’s the extent of my wine lore.”
The basement and as much of the main floor as Lacey glimpsed through archways off the kitchen were more homey than the house’s facade. The furniture was comfortable, if expensive, its neutral hues livened up with textured throw pillows and blankets. The rooms were dim, though sunlight haloed every curtained window.
“Do you mind if I open some drapes?” she asked after setting down three bottles of white. “It’s a lovely evening and I don’t get to be outside much, between work and the commute from Calgary.”
Dee flipped over a few bits of leafy greens before answering. “Uh, sure. Just remember to close them tight before you go. I can’t be hobbling after you.”
“Seems like you wouldn’t need drapes much out here.” Lacey slid back the kitchen curtains. “No neighbours close enough to peer in.” After a moment with no reply from Dee, she went on. “I was careful about my window coverings in Langley, never more so than when Dan first moved out. He wasn’t handling things well, and I was always conscious that he might be outside somewhere, watching my movements.” She let her voice betray some of the fear that lingered from those dark winter weeks. Let Dee know that it was okay to be afraid of her ex, if that’s what she was afraid of, and that the fear was nothing to be ashamed of.
But Dee didn’t rise to that bait. “I always said he wasn’t good enough for you. Are you pouring that wine or not?”
The pouring went on well after the meal had ended. In the vast living room, before they settled onto soft couches amid the colourful cushions and throws, Lacey again opened the drapes, partly to watch the spectacular view of distant mountains and partly to see how Dee would cope. She resolutely ignored the ribbon of turbulent brown water winding through the valley and thought that as long as she couldn’t see the bridge from here, she might be able to ignore the risk that it would be closed by morning. She sank into softness as Dee brought out a photo album of their hike through the Algonquin Trail with puppy Duke. They toasted him and reminisced