When the Flood Falls. J.E. Barnard

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 below, 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