A Sister Would Know Read online

  No word from Helena after all. Amalie’s disappointment fused with the guilt she felt about not going home this weekend as usual and shoveling that long driveway for her father.

  She knew the guilt was irrational. Jeremy’s party had been important to Davin, and he deserved a little fun. Weekends with her parents in the small town north of Toronto ran a predictable pattern. Saturday, she did the odd chores they couldn’t seem to manage on their own. Sunday, all four of them went to church in the morning, then came home for a big midday meal. Afterward, she and Davin piled in the car for the two-and-a-half-hour drive home.

  Only occasionally did she and Davin remain in Toronto for a weekend, but when they did, her mother created such a fuss it was hardly worth it. For instance, that reminder about church. Her mother knew Jeremy’s party had been scheduled for Sunday at eleven.

  Her friend Jenny was always bugging her about taking too much responsibility for her parents. “You need to lighten up and have a little fun,” she urged over and over again.

  But Jenny had two brothers and a sister, and her mom and dad weren’t the type to make demands on their children.

  Amalie’s family was totally different. Her parents had immigrated from Germany when she and Helena were only seven, and they’d never fully integrated into their new country. As they got older, they relied on her more and more, and she felt she owed them whatever help she could offer.

  Especially since she knew that she and Helena had both been such disappointments to them.

  Amalie reached for the phone, then decided not to return her mother’s call at the moment, in order to keep the line open. With any luck she would hear from Helena soon, so she could stop worrying.

  If only there were some way for her to contact her sister. But Helena’s occasional note or gift for Davin rarely included a return address. Her phone calls were even less frequent, and Amalie had learned not to ask where she lived or what her phone number was.

  The two sisters hadn’t actually seen each other since Davin’s birth, and he was already eleven.

  Yet Amalie had never needed to see her sister to know when she was in trouble.

  “Oh, Helena, where are you?” Amalie laid her head down on the kitchen table, atop her folded arms. Being an identical twin was part blessing, part burden. To be so close to another human being meant never to be truly alone. But it also meant having to struggle for a separate identity.

  For Helena, that struggle had been harder. Amalie was certain that was why she’d moved so far from home, so rarely kept in touch.

  It was because of her, and the knowledge hurt. Firstborn, Amalie had always felt responsible for Helena. Yet no matter how she tried, in the end she’d always let her sister down.

  Closing her eyes, she attempted to focus in on her subconscious communication with her sister. Amalie pressed her hands to her temples, tightened her jaw. Phone me, Helena!

  But it wasn’t until the following evening that the call finally came. And it wasn’t from her sister.

  AMALIE WAS LIFTING the lid from a pot of boiling water when she heard the first ring. The lid slipped from her fingers and fell back on the pot with a clash, sending bubbling water spraying over the element, where it hissed angrily.

  She turned off the heat, then reached for the phone, praying it wouldn’t be another call from her mother.

  “Hello?”

  A throat cleared over the line before a man identified himself. “This is Grant Thorlow. I’m the manager of the Avalanche Control Section of Highway Services in Glacier National Park.”

  The bombardment of words, none of them familiar, had her groping for pen and paper. First she scribbled down his name: Grant Thorlow. “Where did you say you were calling from?”

  “Rogers Pass,” he said. “That’s in British Columbia.”

  “Yes. Of course.” The treacherous Rocky Mountain corridor of the Trans-Canada Highway was a well-known Canadian landmark.

  “I was wondering…” He paused, and she could hear him swallow. “Is there any chance you’re acquainted with a woman named Helen Fremont?”

  This was it. She clung to the receiver, fear and hope making her heart pound. “Do you mean Helena?”

  “I don’t think so. It says Helen here on her bank card.”

  Amalie discounted the small difference. Helena had never been happy with the old-fashioned German names their parents had baptized them with. “What does she look like?”

  The resulting pause was alarming, giving Amalie time to consider possibilities. There’d been an accident. Helena was in the hospital.

  “Tall, blond, blue eyes,” he said finally. “In her late twenties.”

  “That’s my sister. Is she okay?”

  With any luck the injuries would be minor.

  Grant’s response crushed her hopes. “No. I’m afraid she isn’t. We’ve been searching for next of kin for most of the day. Your sister didn’t carry a lot of identification on her. We found your phone number in her apartment, but there was no name”

  “Never mind about that.” The man’s rambling was driving her crazy. She gripped her pen and tried to keep her voice level. “Please tell me what happened.”

  “Well…” Again he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we believe your sister was caught in the path of an avalanche yesterday afternoon. At this point, we’re presuming she’s dead.” Another pause, then he added, his voice a little rougher this time, “Both she and the man she was skiing with.”

  Dead. Amalie’s hand went to her heart. Oh, she’d known, she’d known.

  But wait one minute. “Presumed dead? Does that mean there’s some chance—”

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. We haven’t been able to retrieve the body, but there’s no doubt Helen Fremont was skiing on that mountain when the snow released. Her backpack and personal effects have been positively identified.”

  “But…” Amalie remembered family vacations at Mount Tremblant, with Helena complaining about the cold, the discomfort of her downhill equipment, the long lineups to use the lifts.

  “There has to be a mistake. My sister isn’t the type to go skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Still, this man had found her phone number….

  Amalie dropped the pen and pressed her hand to her forehead. She was afraid she was going to burst into sobs. If only she could hold off a minute or two. While she had this man on the line, she didn’t want to break down.

  “Are you sure it was Helena on that mountain, Mr.—” she glanced at the paper “—Thorlow.”

  That throat-clearing business again, then he said, “Look, I realize this is a shock…”

  “Yes, it is. But if you knew my sister…”

  “I knew her.” His voice held a quiet certainty. “I knew her, ma’am, and I can assure you there’s been no mistake.”

  Dear God, he sounded so positive and at the same time so callous, as if he didn’t want there to be any mistake. And the way he kept saying “ma’am” made her want to scream. This is my sister you’re talking about!

  Amalie closed her eyes, desperately seeking that old connection that would tell her Helena was alive and not buried on some distant mountain.

  She felt nothing, though.

  The man was right. She’d known it herself. Helena was dead.

  Hearing the horrible fact was one thing. Accepting it was another. Helena dying in an avalanche was just—preposterous. This Grant Thorlow didn’t seem to realize that. But this wasn’t something you settled over the phone.

  “I’ll leave tomorrow, Mr. Thorlow.” She thought of rearranging her work schedule, Davin’s schooling. “Maybe Wednesday.”

  “You’re not thinking of coming here!”

  “Of course I am.” God, she’d have to travel across Ontario, through the prairies of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, then Alberta and the Rocky Mountains.

  “We may not be able to recover the bodies for a while, ma’am. Conditions are—”

  “You said you were calling from R
ogers Pass—is there a town?”

  “Golden to the east and Revelstoke to the west. Rogers Pass itself is midway between the two. There’s an information center and hotel on one side of the highway and our office compound on the other. That’s where I’m calling from.”

  “Helena’s apartment—where is it?”

  “Revelstoke,” he said. “But—”

  “I’m coming,” she repeated firmly. “And I’ll be bringing my nephew—”

  Oh, Davin. How would he take the news? He’d never been close to Helena, of course. How could he be—they heard from her so rarely. But she was his mother.

  “Ma’am.” There was a new, hard edge to his voice. “I strongly recommend you stay home, ma’am. Roads are especially treacherous in these winter months. Besides, there’s little you can do.”

  Amalie knew what he meant. If her sister was dead, nothing could change that. So why tackle an arduous cross-country trip?

  But the alternative was staying in Toronto, never knowing exactly what had happened. She couldn’t live with that. “There may not be much I can do. But I’m coming anyway.”

  A pause followed while he absorbed this. “Why don’t you give me a call in the morning, when you’ve had a chance—”

  “I’ll call you when I get there. In about a week. And Mr. Thorlow?”

  “Yeah?”

  “When we meet, please don’t call me ma’am. My name is Amalie.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “MR. THORLOW?”

  Grant raised his head from his paperwork and saw the face of a dead woman. Helen Fremont.

  He dropped his pen, stiffened his back and stared.

  It was her—exactly. Long blond hair, even features, crystalline blue eyes. Had they made a mistake? Had she and Ramsey managed to ski out of that bowl and disappear together for over a week?

  Then he saw the boy at her side. He had the same coloring as the woman, and his expression was openly curious, not particularly somber.

  The nephew.

  The prickles, which had danced along the skin on his face and neck, subsided. Not a ghost after all; this had to be Helen’s sister.

  “We were identical twins,” she said. “I take it you didn’t know.”

  Her voice was different from Helen’s, not as high-pitched; or maybe it was just that she spoke slower and more quietly. One thing that was the same, however, was the slight German accent.

  “No. I didn’t know.” But he sure as hell wished he had. He stood and offered his hand. “I’m Grant Thorlow.”

  “Yes.” Her hand and words were cool. “I’m Amalie Fremont and this is my nephew, Davin.”

  He noticed the tiny emphasis she placed on her first name, and inwardly shrugged. He was aware he’d made a bad impression over the phone. But she’d been so damn unreasonable, insisting on traveling all this way, and for what?

  He realized the kid was staring at him. “Hey, Davin.”

  “This place is totally awesome.”

  Amalie took a small step forward. “Davin is my sister’s son.”

  Whoa. Helen Fremont had had a kid? He would never have guessed, had never heard anyone refer to a child.

  “Officially, I’m his mother. I adopted him at birth.”

  Which meant Helen had deserted him at birth. Now, that he had no difficulty believing.

  “Well, I’m sorry about your mother, Davin—and your sister.” He looked back at Amalie, jolted yet again at the resemblance between the two women. And this time by the difference, as well. It was in the eyes, he decided. Helena’s had been the blue of a shallow pond. Amalie’s held the intensity of a deep mountain lake, glacier fed.

  “We haven’t heard from Helena for a while. But last I knew she was living in Seattle. I can’t imagine what could have drawn her to this place.”

  He took the insult to his home without a blink.

  “And I certainly can’t picture her skiing in dangerous mountain terrain.” Amalie placed her hands on his desk, her blond hair swinging forward as she leaned in toward him. “Helena was a timid person, and she was never very athletic.”

  Timid? Grant thought of the woman he’d seen several times in the local pub. Clearly tipsy, dressed provocatively and hanging on to the arm of first one man, then another. She’d danced with wild abandon and drawn most, if not all, eyes to the dance floor. If this Amalie wasn’t so exactly like her sister, Grant might have thought they were referring to different women. He took Helen’s wallet from his drawer and passed it over.

  “This was your sister’s.”

  Amalie blinked. “Where did you find it?”

  “In an overnight camping hut on the Asulkan Ridge. She and Ramsey Carter skied in Saturday and spent the night there.”

  He swallowed, remembering the shock of finding out that it was Helen Fremont on the mountain with Ramsey, then seeing the horrible swath the avalanche had cut down the side of the mountain and knowing his friend was buried beneath it.

  As if she was sharing his memories, Amalie’s face, already pale, grew whiter. She reached across the desk to open the soft, light-brown leather packet that had belonged to her sister. Inside, he knew, was only a social insurance card, a bank card and five dollars cash.

  “Oh, Helena.”

  The whisper was laced with pain. Damn, but the woman looked ready to faint. Grant hurried around the desk to find her a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

  He brought two small paper cups—one for the boy, as well. They both emptied them, while he watched, fascinated, almost freaked out by the resemblance between the two sisters.

  When she was done, Amalie tossed hers in the trash. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I can tell you what we think happened. We went up to investigate when Ramsey didn’t return at the expected time—all overnight skiers have to register with the warden’s office. Unfortunately, we weren’t on the scene until about eighteen hours after the avalanche occurred.”

  He led her to a topographical map pinned to the wall. “Here’s the Asulkan Hut, where they spent the night. Late Sunday morning we figure they traveled in this direction.” He traced a path south alongside Asulkan Brook.

  “They were relatively safe up on this ridge, but for some reason they approached the lip of a steep mountain bowl we call the Pterodactyl. The slope, covered in fresh-fallen snow, would’ve tempted an inexperienced skier.”

  He crossed his arms, thinking of Ramsey, who was a doctor, not an avalanche specialist, but who’d grown up in mountain country and was definitely not inexperienced. Which meant Helen was the one who’d made the mistake, compelling Ramsey to follow after her.

  “We think Helen went first,” he said, “triggering a hard-slab avalanche with a path length of around 1,500 meters.”

  “What do you mean, hard slab?” Davin’s eyes were round.

  “When the snow releases on a mountain sometimes it scatters into powder as it cascades down the slope. Other times it breaks into big chunks like the ones we saw in the debris of this avalanche. There’s a lot of power behind the huge hunks of snow as they tear down those slopes. Enough power to uproot huge trees, that’s for sure.”

  Amalie was getting paler by the second. She reached out to her nephew, as if an arm could shelter him from the awful reality. “But until you’ve found the bodies, we won’t know for sure….”

  The woman obviously had no idea what they were dealing with. He tried to break it to her gently. “I’ve got a lot of experience with snow and mountains. Worked at Avalanche Control here at Rogers Pass for over ten years.” He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest. “In my opinion, there’s no doubt your sister is dead.”

  Along with Ramsey Carter. A good man who hadn’t deserved to die.

  Amalie remained skeptical. “What if someone stole Helena’s wallet? Maybe she was never on that trail.”

  “Then why didn’t she show up for work the next day?”

  Amalie’s gaze circled the small office. �
�She could have moved on.”

  “How would she have left? She sold her car shortly after she got here, before Christmas. We’d know if she took a bus or chartered a plane.”

  “Stop!”

  Amalie had her hand to her forehead, and he immediately saw what an ass he was being.

  “I’m sorry. I realize it can’t be easy.” He stared past the visitors, reminding himself it wasn’t their fault Helen had been so careless, so foolish. These people were suffering, like him, like Ramsey’s family.

  He tried to explain. “I just don’t want you to have false hopes.” What they couldn’t know was that he’d been through this so many times before.

  “I understand.” Amalie Fremont’s voice sounded bleak. “But if you’d known my sister.”

  She’d said that to him before, during their phone call. But he felt he had known her sister. At least, her type. He sat back at his desk and picked up his pen to sign the requisition forms in front of him.

  Amalie returned to the chair, leaving Davin by the map. He sensed her presence as she leaned over his desk, and finally gave in and looked up. In a low voice she said, “You didn’t like Helena very much, did you?”

  Now, there was an understatement. He’d first met the woman shortly before Christmas, and found her flighty, brittle and insincere, qualities he detested in anyone, whether male or female.

  He liked her even less now. Undoubtedly, her reckless skiing had caused that avalanche. Ramsey Carter was dead because of her.

  If only she’d never passed through their quiet mountain community. Her brand of trouble belonged in the big city as far as he was concerned and he was sure plenty of others would agree with him.

  As far as the twin sister went, though, he wasn’t so sure. Amalie’s gaze held qualities of intelligence and reserve that he’d never glimpsed in Helen. Plus there was that inexplicable buzz he’d felt from just shaking her hand. Not once had he felt that sort of attraction to Helen.

  “I can’t deny—”