Finding Elizabeth Read online

  FINDING ELIZABETH

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Finding Elizabeth

  Louise Forster

  After a lifetime in the bright lights and the big city as a prima ballerina, Katherine Bell has finally returned home to her small, snowy town where the weather might be frightful, but her friends and family are delightful. She’s ready for a quiet life using her skills and knowledge to help her community.

  But things aren’t as simple as she hoped. There’s a blizzard outside, a daredevil girlfriend in her house, and a persistent, sexy Australian called Jack Riley who needs to be kept at arm’s length.

  And something sinister has stalked her to her snowy hideaway…

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my family of avid readers; when it comes to critiquing my work, they’re the best.

  A big thank you to Danielle De Valera for her copy-editing. Danielle has been generous with unflagging support and advice.

  Thanks to my wonderful, long-distance friend Janine Rowe, whose honest opinion has been invaluable. Janine also came up with the best title for all three books in this Finding series.

  Romance Writers of Australia are a great group of encouraging people. Ask them anything and they’re ready to help, no matter how obscure the question.

  Australian Romance Readers Association, a hardworking group of women who aim to support and showcase writers from all over the world.

  For Fred, my love.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also Available From Escape Publishing…

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Don’t get your hopes up, Jack Riley thought as he peered through ice crystals clinging to the Airbus window. He knew the weather had nothing to do with his search. Nevertheless, the bleak terrain below messed with his mind. How the hell was he going to find someone who’d been missing for over thirty-four years?

  The pilot’s voice interrupted Jack’s deliberations. He ignored most of the thanks-for-flying-with-us routine until he heard mention of a wind-chill factor of twenty-five below.

  Holy shit, I’m dead!

  Nineteen hours from an Australian summer to an Arctic winter, and despite wearing the right gear, Jack knew his body was in for a shock.

  Coming down to land, he studied the flat terrain below and saw nothing but sprawling snow-covered suburbs interspersed with snow-covered sports fields and parks. Streetlights cast an eerie glow in the pre-dawn light. There weren’t many cars either. Probably no one wanted to venture out, and who could blame them.

  Calgary skyscrapers came into view. Water vapour billowed out of vents on rooftops. As it hit freezing temperature its droplets froze and fell to hang like a sparkling skirt over the lowlying parts of Calgary. In Jack’s imagination, the buildings looked like glistening concrete dragons. His stepfather Andrew had told him to postpone the trip until summer, but Jack couldn’t wait. He loved the old man. He’d seen him all too often search the Internet without success. Jack felt it was time to put the question to rest. Was the woman his stepfather had never stopped loving still alive? He had until late January–early March when Andrew’s vineyard grapes would be ready for harvest and the place came alive with pickers.

  The tarmac and black skid marks flashed past just metres below Jack’s window as he braced himself for the landing jolt. Engines screamed, the plane shuddered, and moments later the pilot taxied to the terminal. No sooner had the red seatbelt sign gone off when impatient passengers, jostling with bags, shuffled toward the door. Jack waited until the crowd had thinned to a dribble before gathering his rucksack from the overhead locker. He thanked the smiling flight attendant and followed the crowd to the luggage carousel.

  After security and customs, he was free to find an old Sydney University friend, Dave Wilson, a sports journalist, now living in Calgary.

  “Jack … Jack!” a familiar voice boomed.

  Craning his neck to see over the milling crowd, Jack manoeuvred his way through. Seconds later, his arms were pinned to his sides in a bear hug. “G’day, Dave,” he wheezed. “Crikey, what’ve you been doing? Where’s the pudgy couch surfer?”

  “Gym workouts, part of the job.” Dave stood back and patted his stomach, covered in a feather-down vest. “Don’t want to look like a slob anymore.”

  “Get outta here. There has to be a woman involved.”

  “She’s six foot, built, and wears spandex. Ooh mamma,” he grinned. The twinkle in Dave’s eye, meant to keep people guessing whether he was serious or not, was a game Jack knew well.

  “Nothing’s changed,” Jack laughed and dug in his coat pockets for a pair of gloves. “Damn, it’s cold.”

  “We’re in an air terminal, for Chris’sake.” Dave’s voice rose above the general hubbub. “Wait ’til you get a taste of the outside. The air will freeze your nostril hairs and they’ll snap off.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll see …” Dave muttered. “Anyway, how tired are you?”

  Jack eyed him. “I feel like a dog’s breakfast, and someone sandpapered my eyeballs. Why?”

  “Okay, that’s not too bad. Have a shower, and you’ll be fine for the um … I have to do someone a favour, and you’re invited.”

  Out in the sub-zero temperature, Jack took a deep breath. Icy needle-sharp pain hit his lungs, and he coughed. Voice muffled behind a gloved hand, he called out, “Give!”

  Eyes squinting against a gust of wind, Dave glanced over his shoulder as he continued to manhandle Jack’s suitcase over lumps of crusty ice. “I offered to write a piece for a friend.”

  “This friend is a girl?” Dave’s eyes lit up with a devilish grin. Jack continued. “And she asked you just after a really good fu … workout?”

  “Well, yeah, she’s got great tits.” Dave cupped his free hand over one of his breasts. “But that doesn’t matter, I would’ve anyway. She has to have her wisdom teeth surgically removed and …”

  “And she’s having this operation just before Christmas?”

  Jack could almost see gears ramping up behind Dave’s eyes. Moments later a broad grin split his face. “Ha! I’ve been had, but hey, the workout was worth it.”

  “Dave, one of these days your dick will drop off,” Jack chuckled, slapping him on the back. “Look, I’ll just crash on your couch while you go watch your sport.”

  Dave threw Jack’s luggage into the back, and slid behind the wheel as Jack climbed into the passenger side. “Did I say sport?”

  Not taken in by Dave’s innocent look, Jack asked, “Why does this give me an uneasy feeling?”

  “Nah, it’s all good. I’ve got two great tickets and …” Without warning, he swung around in his seat and clung to Jack’s lapels, desperate yet amusing. “I can’t do this one alone. You come with me and I’ll help you find whoever—um, Andrew’s lost woman.”

  Too tired to argue, Jack rubbed the stubble on his face and said, “Deal. Where are we going?”

  “Ballet.”

  Jack’s belly laugh echoed through the car park.

  “Jack, are you ready?” Dave called as he walked into the bedroom.

  “I don’t think this is going to work.” Jack came out of the bathroom tugging at suit sleeves.

  “It’s my second-best suit,” Dave grinned. “So it’s a little short, wear your coat.”

  Jack picked up his sheepskin coat, and Dave pulled a fac
e. “Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t expecting to go watch a ballet. Why don’t I just stay here and get some shut-eye?”

  “No, you’ll be fine,” Dave said. “Just check your coat in when you get there.”

  “C’mon, let’s go,” Jack sighed.

  Hunkered deep in his sheepskin coat, Jack followed Dave through the basement to his car.

  “Brrrr …”

  Quickly he fastened his seat belt and tucked his gloved hands into his armpits.

  Dave gave him a look. “You’re not going to last long. A coupla days and you’ll be on a plane home. Mate, I’m gonna miss you. We could’ve had fun at Big Wally’s playing pool, watching girls. Eating hamburgers, watching girls eat theirs. Watching the game, watching girls wiggle with excitement watching the game …” Dave’s voice trailed off as he swung his Jeep Wrangler out into the traffic.

  “I might be freezing my arse off, but I’m not giving up my search, however long it may take.”

  The canyon of glowing skyscrapers, dazzling neon signs and Christmas decorations stung Jack’s tired eyes and made him squint. Thankfully, The Grand Theatre had a mellow ambience. Hundreds of people meandered or stood in little groups, laughing, sipping wine and chatting. Dave was right about Jack’s coat. Jack threw it over the counter at the coat-check window. Hands deep in the pockets of his pants, he wandered around the lobby admiring large posters hanging on the walls. A masked dancer on her toes and wearing a red costume stood out from the rest. Jack was about to take a closer look, but a toffee-nosed bloke wandered through the crowd tinkling a little bell, and people shuffled towards open doors leading into the hall.

  Jack made himself comfortable, but every time he moved an expanse of white shirtsleeve caught him by surprise. “At least your socks are black,” he muttered to Dave, sitting next to him. Their plush theatre seats were dead centre and five rows from the front. Jack relaxed into the backrest, thankful when the lights dimmed and the orchestra began the overture.

  Halfway through the performance, Dave was quietly snoring and Jack’s brain was floating in another dimension, and it had nothing to do with jetlag. He leaned forward, entranced, as he watched a dancer, wearing what he could only describe as a short, red, horizontal-puffy miniskirt, twirl and leap around on stage. Same dancer as on the poster. Her long, graceful limbs, and amazing strength—her aura robbed him of his breath. What was her face like behind the red-feathered mask? The mystery stirred his fantasies.

  All too soon, it was over. Jack couldn’t move, didn’t want to. Dave tugged at his sleeve and ushered him out to the foyer.

  “So,” Dave yawned. “Was it good?”

  “You missed … I can’t explain what you missed. If there’s a God, then that woman, that dancer, is the Goddess.”

  “Can I use that?” Dave asked, pulling out his pen and notepad. “You remember what the dance was called?” He looked up from writing stuff down, trying for a painful expression, difficult with a face like his, always on the edge of mischief. “Something like the burning bird, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re a Neanderthal,” Jack teased. “Give me that.” He plucked the apricot rose boutonnière from Dave’s lapel, and unpinned his own. “Turn around.” Dave eyed him sceptically. “Shut up and do it,” Jack said and pulled a business card from his wallet. He turned it over and wrote a message of appreciation, then pinned the roses to the card and scanned the foyer for an official-looking person.

  “That’s it, I’ve danced my last pirouette—almost,” Katherine muttered in her dressing room. She untied the ribbons on her ballet shoes, kicked them aside and frowned at her red aching feet.

  “Shit—it’s over!” Of course she had doubts, but it was simply nerves. Change was good, refreshing. Nothing to worry about. Knowing she was now free to do as she pleased brought a smile to Katherine’s face. A sense of peace eased through her body.

  She wriggled her bottom, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and peeled them off. She moaned with relief and pleasure and slumped back in her chair, legs splayed. A blur of scarlet tutu sparkling with sequins stood vertical in front of her face. She pushed it down. No more tutus and no more sore feet. Happy, she swung around and propped her elbows on the dressing table strewn with stage make-up, brushes and discarded tissues, and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. She peered at her make-up mirror. The surrounding globes gave off a mellow glow, reflecting a peaches-and-cream complexion and blue eyes sparkling with vitality. But it lied. Her body strained, her feet were in pain.

  So what? I have all the time in the world to recover. Don’t have to pack, catch a plane or watch what I eat. A stack of pancakes with maple syrup and ice cream was on her menu the moment she hit Spruce Valley.

  Head to one side, Katherine searched for elusive bobby-pins. Carefully she unfastened the delicate headdress of exotic beads and red feathers that plumed out like fire against her ebony hair. She pulled off the hairnet that held her bun in tight, and let her glossy hair tumble down over her shoulders.

  Behind her, the dressing-room door creaked open. With it came a cacophony of sounds, people calling out, and feet clomping along the old timber hallway. A draft of cold air floated in and chilled her back.

  “Are you decent, Katy?” Her uncle, and ballet company director, Pierre Garneau asked.

  “Yes, come on in.” Katherine took a calming breath and smiled.

  Pierre, tall and debonair, walked in, eyes glistening with tears. He was impeccably dressed as always, in his black tuxedo, stiff collar, white shirt and pearl-grey silk bow-tie. A Celtic silver clip held his shoulder-length grey hair back in a neat ponytail. He looked much younger than sixty-two. Cradled in his arms were two massive bouquets—one an assortment of flowers wrapped in clear cellophane, the usual formality from theatre management, the other a massive bouquet of yellow roses.

  “Katy, my sweet, what a performance. Simply stunning,” Pierre gushed.

  “Thank you.” Katherine’s heart leapt. “It’s finally over. I’m relieved.”

  In an instant, Pierre’s smile was gone. “You’ve been my outstanding principal dancer. You’ve given the company everything. And now it’s your turn to have a life.”

  “Hey, I had one … ballet.” Katherine struggled to her feet and gave her uncle a tight hug. “Thank you. My feet and my knees thank you.” She leaned back and smiled.

  “It breaks my heart.” Pierre’s voice trembled. “But you know what’s best for your body.”

  On tiptoes, Katherine kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck. They held each other tight, their way of saying goodbye to a brilliant career.

  Pierre swiped away his tears. “Your toes and knees cracked just now. You are indeed a noisy old lady,” he quipped.

  Laughter filled the small dressing room. “They did not.” She thumped him playfully. “Thirty-two is not old! I’m not creaky.”

  Pierre arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Okay,” he conceded, handing her a tissue. “You’re certainly not that old. Have they sent your exam results yet?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Pierre shook his head. “I thought Mum told you. Aw, sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you out of the loop. I passed with distinctions. I’m the new Injury Prevention and Rehabilitation guru at Spruce Valley Lodge for senior citizens.” Katherine grinned. “I’m ready to help the elderly regain their … whatever it is they think they’ve lost.”

  “They haven’t lost it, they just can’t remember where they left it.”

  Despite herself, Katherine laughed, then swung around and thumped his arm.

  “Ouch … Just don’t put them in a tutu and pointe.” Pierre cringed.

  “Pointe—probably not. Tutus—definitely. And bathers.”

  Pierre groaned. “The elderly don’t know how lucky they are to have you.”

  Katherine dabbed her face and ducked behind a floral screen to wriggle out of her tutu. “We knew hyperextension would get me in the end.” She slipped into a green, silk robe bef
ore sitting back at her dressing table.

  Her gaze shifted to her uncle’s image reflected in the mirror. The jokes were gone. Pierre’s soft brown eyes were full of concern. He had such a tight grip on the bouquets that the cellophane squeaked and trembled with reflected light. “I wished the swimming had helped. Henry always said—”

  “I know what Dad used to say, and I will keep swimming,” Katherine said. “Besides, I’ll be expected to give classes at the Lodge.”

  Pierre nodded and moved to stand behind her. “We’ll miss you terribly. The company will be fine—you know that too, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Bianca is perfectly ready to take over. Don’t forget I want to finish my career where it started. I’ll dance at the charity performance in Spruce Valley. My way of saying goodbye and thank you.”

  “Wonderful, and we’ll have a big party afterwards at the Banff Springs Hotel.”

  “You cheapskate.” Katherine threw a powder puff at him. “You have a party there every year.”

  Pierre deflected the missile with a bouquet. A few colourful petals floated to the floor. “Yes, but I will make this one extra special.”

  “So you should. You’d better put the flowers down before there’s nothing left.”

  “Anyway, before I forget, someone dropped these off at reception.” He pulled two apricot roses pinned to a business card from his breast pocket, and handed them to her.

  “How sweet.” Katherine read the card. “‘I have no idea what the dancing was about, but I have to say, you moved me. Kind regards, Jack.’ A convert. Excellent.”

  The yellow roses were over-the-top stunning; nevertheless, after all these years a bouquet like that had become passé. Katherine rummaged through the stems for the card. “Found it.” She frowned, staring at the handwriting. “Eric! What a complete arse.” She ripped the card up. “Give these flowers to anyone you like, but please don’t tell them who they’re from, it’ll only put them off.”