Free A Dark and Stormy Night by Jeanne M. Dams

don’t mean to be rude about your family, but surely their absence is something to look forward to.’
    â€˜Yes . . . well . . . you’ve gathered we don’t exactly get along. To tell the truth, Julie and I never did.’ The brandy, or something, was loosening her tongue. She became confidential. ‘I’m the eldest, and Julie was the middle child. We had a kid brother. He died when he was a teenager – hit by a car – but he was the pet child before that. And I was the one who was given responsibility. Julie, the middle kid, had nothing special. I think she thought it would be better after Stevie died, but my parents never got over him. Well, naturally they wouldn’t. I mean, you don’t get over the death of a child, but somehow they resented Julie for still being alive when Stevie was dead. They had always compared the two of them. You know, “Why can’t you do as you’re told? Stevie does, and he’s only a baby.” That sort of thing.’ She polished off the brandy.
    â€˜Sounds like an unwise way to raise a child,’ I commented.
    â€˜Oh, it was, but they couldn’t see it. Anyway, I didn’t mean to tell you my life story. The point is, Julie has always resented me, and when—’ She broke off, suddenly cautious. ‘Good heavens, I think I’ve had too much to drink . . . I’d better go see what everyone’s doing about the bridge.’
    Lynn and I exchanged glances, then followed her out the door.

EIGHT
    W e could hear the snarl of the chainsaws, even over the rising wind, the minute we stepped outside the house. Jim had two of them, in different sizes, and both were going full blast. It’s a sound I’ve always hated, a sound that nearly always means the destruction of some living thing. In this case the trees were already destroyed. That didn’t make the sound any more pleasant.
    No progress had yet been made in bridge-building. They had to get to the river first, and the drive was impassable. Everyone was working hard to clear it. Even Pat, to the imminent ruin of her manicure, was helping the vicar tug and roll logs out of the drive as the other men positioned them and cut them apart.
    It was a heartbreaking job. The drive was a mile long, and there must have been fifteen or twenty big trees lying across it, in some cases one atop another. Mike, slender though he was, was working like a lumberjack. I saw him single-handedly nudge one oak tree off another, nimbly skipping aside so as to protect his feet. I must have been staring, because he caught my eye and grinned. ‘Nothing at all, compared to lifting a hefty ballerina forty or fifty times a night.’
    Well, most of the ballerinas I’d seen were the reverse of hefty – anorexic, one might have said. But I took his point. Dancers were athletes, first of all.
    They’d dealt with one tree so far. Jim and Mr Bates had used the chainsaws to cut off the portion actually lying on the drive, while the others used handsaws and loppers and axes to remove protruding branches. At this rate it would take days even to get to the river, much less bridge it. And how long could they work at this pace? Most of them weren’t young, and none except Mike had any genuine physical strength.
    And how long would the gas hold out?
    Lynn and Joyce moved into the work area and picked up tools. I found a pair of loppers and looked half-heartedly for some branches to cut. It all just seemed so pointless – emptying the ocean with a teaspoon.
    I had created a small pile of brush and a couple of large blisters when Alan and Laurence hove into sight. I laid down my loppers with relief and went to meet them.
    â€˜Well? Have you figured out anything about her?’
    Alan looked confused.
    â€˜The skeleton,’ I said impatiently. ‘Weren’t you trying to identify her, or at least fix an approximate time and cause of