Prologue
Saturday, August 26, 2017
Jack Lily
Calendar House
Late on a wet winter’s night, Jack Lily arrived home to find his front door wide open and the antique carpet drenched. The hall light and the living room lamps were on. The dog dozed by a generous fire. His wife’s shoes and evening purse lay neatly on the floor beside the couch. Draped over a chair was her sable coat. Her diamond necklace and earrings sat on the occasional table beside a half-drunk glass of champagne.
Celia was not in their bedroom or in the bathroom. Their daughters were sleeping peacefully in their beds. As he searched, he thought of how angry his wife had been with him earlier in the evening, and he began looking in the lesser used of their fifty-two rooms in case she had hidden herself from him. It took some time. The Calendar House had four floors, one for each season, twelve hallways, and seven staircases. Parts of the house were locked off—the northern wing on the third floor, the attic. He unlocked these doors and, with increasing concern, called her name into the darkness. There was no answer.
He hurried down the old servants’ narrow stairwell and strode into his study. In this long room he kept some of his most precious artifacts and paintings, and these were untouched. Six of the seven entrances on the ground floor were secure. Nothing suggested an intruder.
Something in his chest tightened as he went out the front door and stood on the veranda. The wind made his eyes water. Lightning cracked above the poplar trees. A woman did not wander out into the heaviest rain Vanishing Falls had received that winter, for no reason. The only thing to do was to call the police.
Two young constables arrived swiftly, traipsing mud across the parquetry. They noted that earlier in the evening Jack had argued with his wife. They searched the house and spoke to his daughters. They stopped short of declaring the Lilys’ grand old house, and their farm with all its outbuildings—apple sheds and hay barns, the stables and boathouse—and the pastures from the lake to the river a crime scene. They simply said they would return in the morning.
Jack did not need the benefit of the twenty-five years he had spent practicing law to understand he was in trouble.
Chapter 1
A week earlier
Saturday, August 19
Joelle Smithton
Vanishing Falls village
Brian said to be careful walking into the village to buy his newspaper. Even though the rain coming down was less than yesterday he thought the pavement on the main street would be slippery. As usual, he was right. Several times Joelle’s gum boots slid on wet leaves or the moss growing around the cobblestones, and each time, in surprise, she cried out, “Flip.”
In Vanishing Falls the winter rainy season lasted from May until the end of September. It rained every day in heavy downpours or fast sleet that came sideways and stung her cheeks or a slow drizzle or, her favorite kind, a soft billowing dampness that felt like she was walking through a cloud.
Every kind of rain gave Brian a reason to think of a warning. Since she married him and moved to Vanishing Falls twelve years ago, there was no safety advice he had not given her. It had started the moment they saw the welcome sign, with the big picture of the waterfalls tumbling into a water hole. It was a tourist attraction because there was no river or creek taking the water away. Brian said the water drained through underground creeks that emerged in the wetland kilometers away. Lots of people swam in the water hole but that was dangerous because they never knew when they might get sucked into the underground creek. Even on a hot day, when the water was so inviting, like frothy cold lemonade, she had to remember that she could get stuck inside a dark river tunnel forever.
It was hard to remember all the safety instructions. Never wander off the track in the rain forest behind their house. Don’t drive on Murdering Creek Road in a heavy downpour as it could flash flood. He never ran out of advice. He even warned her about obvious things like wearing a leather apron and steel-cap boots in the butchery, or not talking when she was using the mincing machine. Her best friend, Miss Gwen, said he only spoke out of love, so she couldn’t let it annoy her, but sometimes—like when he said the teapot was hot—she would roll her eyes and say, “Good advice, Brian.”
It was Saturday and Vanishing’s main street was starting to get busy. Joelle called a happy greeting to every person she saw, even if she didn’t know them. She went past the Rosella Café, the bakery, and the hardware store. Alfred was taking a delivery outside his fruit shop and he gave her a cheery wave. She paused and carefully studied her watch. There was not time for a quick hello with Alfred.
“I can’t stop,” she called out. “I’m in a rush. I’m working at the school fair later today!”
Alfred smiled with his lovely straight teeth. She waved. He waved. She kept waving until he went inside. Farther down the street, Nev was standing on the steps of his news agency, waiting for her.
He looked at his watch. “You’re a bit late today. I was getting worried.”
She went up the news agency sandstone steps and squeezed past him. He closed the heavy door. It was nice and warm inside.
“The cat ran off again,” she said, taking off her scarf. “But he came back.”
“He always comes back.” He offered her some licorice. “That’s on the house. As long as you don’t tell Mr. Smithton. Don’t want him getting jealous that you’re in here talking to me.”
“Come off it, Nev. You talk to all the ladies like that.”
“Oh!” He put his hand on his heart and pretended his feelings were hurt. “I only have eyes for you, Joelle.”
Nev was her second-best friend, after Miss Gwen. She joked back, “Tell me another one.”
“Have you read the paper today?” Nev asked.
She liked how he always assumed she read the paper. “Not yet.”
“There’s a big story on the Apple Queen Tribute Evening.”
In the paper was a black-and-white photo of Miss Gwen taken in the olden days when she was crowned Apple Queen. She wore a tiara and a long gown. The evening would commemorate the town’s history. Old-timers like Nev remembered when growing apples had made everyone in Vanishing Falls wealthy. Each October, at the start of spring, a festival was held, with float parades and a lovely dance, to celebrate the blossoming apple trees. For a reason no one understood, the government paid everyone to pull the trees out, and the town turned poor.
“Will you be going on Saturday evening, my dear?”
Joelle frowned. “That’s going to be a crowd. I don’t like crowds. It gets noisy and I can’t even think. It’s like everyone’s shouting inside my head or something. Are you going, Nev?”
“God, no. A man only goes to something like that if his wife makes him.”
“You’re lucky, then.”
“What?”
“Lucky you don’t have a wife.”
His jolly laugh made his jowls shake. “You’re a pearl.”
“I’ve got to go. I’m working on the barbecue stall at the fair today.”
“Good for you, my dear.”
She told Nev how, when her daughter gave her the notice for the fair barbecue roster, she refused. The twins brought lots of letters home from school about how urgently volunteers were needed. Joelle read each one carefully before putting it in the paper box beside the fireplace. But it was too late—Emily had already written her name down. Emily had said, it is only for one hour, the other mums are nice, and it will be easy.