Constable Molly Smith Mystery: Winter Of Secrets Part 20

She headed down the hill toward the lights of Front Street shops and restaurants. Dark and black. Cloud shrouded the mountain on the other side of the black river. She shivered and pulled her collar tighter.

Gary. He was so bitter, so angry at Jason and his friends. Perhaps he had a right to be. His father left town when Gary was in primary school, never to be heard from again. His mother married the town drunk and almost immediately joined her new husband in his favorite hobby. Barely twenty, and Garyd been sent to prison to pay for a minor crime gone wrong.

The Wyatt-Yarmouth crowd. Tossing money around like eighteenth-century n.o.bility visiting the peasants. Exchanging status for s.e.x with local girls who were searching for everything from a fun night on the town to a lifetime commitment with a trust-fund guy.

Might Gary have had something to do with the death of Jason? No, Jason died in a car accident. There appeared to be no doubt about that. Ewan? They hadnt uncovered any link between Lorraine and Ewan.

Smith turned onto Front Street. A bunch of tourists pa.s.sed her without a glance. Sometimes, in this town where it seemed as if everyone and his dog had either rubbed her head when shed been a toddler or had been arrested by her, it was nice to be anonymous.

The scent of spices spilled out from Trafalgar Thai. She could almost taste that yellow curry.

A couple came out of the restaurant. They were laughing, their arms wrapped around each other. Light from the streetlamp above them shone on snowflakes drifting to the ground. A car drove by, window down, the stereo playing Sarah Brightmans duet with Paul Stanley: You will never be alone, they sang. The woman tilted her head and the man bent to kiss her. Shed managed to get through almost the whole day without thinking of Graham once.

She brushed past the couple, blinking away the tears.

A slow chill crept down her spine. She looked up to see a dark figure standing at the street corner on the other side of the restaurant. The cap was pulled low, the jacket black and bulky, hands stuffed into pockets, boots large.

Inside Trafalgar Thai, wait staff were hurrying with plates filled high with fragrant dishes. Customers talked and laughed and drank green tea and beer.

He, and it was almost certainly a he, wasnt moving. Just standing and watching her.

Cars drove by and people looked into shop windows and read posted restaurant menus. A group of giggling teenage girls came down the sidewalk like a river in flood; they parted around the man as water pa.s.ses a boulder.

He lifted one black-gloved hand. The index finger moved slowly, beckoning her.

The girls swirled by Smith, a splash of voices like rapids running the narrows.

She couldnt see his face.

She was without uniform, gun, radio. His finger continued to move.

The restaurant door opened, spilling yellow light onto the sidewalk. Smith glanced to her left to see two elderly couples, enveloped in their winter gear.

When she looked back down the street, the corner was empty.

She hadnt seen his face. She hadnt needed to. Size and manner were good enough.

Yellow curry forgotten, she pulled out her cell phone.

"Ingrid, I need a parole check and fast."

"Happy to oblige, Molly, soon as I can. Ive got a Canada-wide warrant spotted in Uptown."

"This is bad stuff, Ingrid. Local bad stuff."

"Go ahead."

"I need to know if this ones out of jail. Ba.s.sing, Charles F. Thats F as in f.u.c.king."

Chapter Seventeen.

A late-model SUV, large and black, was parked in his driveway, a rental company logo slapped on the b.u.mper. Not Barneys; shed been picked up by Eliza at the airport.

Lights were on in his house, but that was no surprise. Nine p.m. and for Barney, all seventy-years old of her, the evening was only beginning. That all John Winters wanted to do was drop into bed, preferably in the soft, perfumed, satin-covered arms of his wife, wouldnt have crossed Barneys mind any more than the idea that hed want to go out back and perform a human sacrifice.

He opened the front door. Womens voices came from the living room. He plastered on a smile and went to join them.

Nothing in all of John Winters life ever matched the joy he got from a first glimpse of Eliza after a long, hard day. Tonight she was curled up in her favorite leather chair, smiling at something Barney was saying, lifting a gla.s.s to her lips. A floorboard creaked and she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.

"John! How wonderful." She jumped up. She was dressed in loose gray slacks and a sweater of soft pink, without jewelry. Her face was scrubbed clean and her dark hair hung loosely around her chin. She grabbed his face and gave him a lush kiss. "Youre earlier than I expected."

"You look like a man in need of a drink," Barney said. "Whatll it be? Were drinking mimosas, but Id guess a man of the world would prefer something stronger."

He smiled. He did like Barney. "A beer would be nice."

"Coming right up." She dashed for the kitchen.

"John," Eliza said, her hand light on his arm, turning him slightly. "This is my new friend Patricia."

A woman was sitting in the wide-winged armchair by the window, draped in shadow. He approached her, hand outstretched, and she leaned forward. The lamp caught her face. Finely sculpted cheekbones, neat chin, wide brown eyes, soft brown hair, artfully streaked. Perfect make up and expensive hair couldnt hide the pain behind her eyes.

He took her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Patricia. Welcome here."

"Thank you." Her voice was deep and rich.

Barney came back with his drink: golden liquid with a creamy head wrapped in an icy gla.s.s.

He took a seat, calculating how long hed have to make friendly before escaping to bed. But first, he needed to eat. Should have picked up something in town. Elizas skills did not lie in the kitchen.

"Are you new to Trafalgar, Patricia?" he asked. A husband doing his duty toward his wifes new friend.

"Just visiting. Its beautiful here. Early days yet, but Im thinking I might want to buy a vacation home."

Barney launched into a discussion of the value of property in the area. Skyrocketing, she put it.

"Youve missed your chance," Eliza said. "There were plans to build a major resort outside of town. But that all fell through at the end of the summer, and the developer ran back to the city with his tail between his legs. The propertys now for sale."

"Why?" Patricia asked.

"No one, almost no one, knows." Eliza glanced at her husband from underneath dark lashes. Frank Clemmins and M&C Developments had packed up and left as if a posse were after them. Rumor and suspicion swept through town. Someone claimed the site was an ancient alien landing ground with a curse placed against Earthling interlopers.

The reason M&C developments had so abruptly scurried back to Vancouver had nothing to do with s.p.a.ce ships or hostile aliens. After being involved in not one, but two, murder cases, Frank Clemmins wanted nothing more than to abandon Trafalgar permanently.

"Resort or no," Barney said. "You couldnt do much better than buying a place in the Kootenays. Heavens, youre not even from Alberta. Thatll give you a leg up right there. They do hate anyone from Alberta, isnt that right, John?"

"They produce good beef in Alberta," he said. "Speaking of which, is there anything to eat?"

"We had a late lunch, so didnt worry about supper. There might be a pizza in the freezer," Eliza said, sounding not at all sure of her facts.

He finished his beer. There had to be something he could eat-a hunk of cheese, a can of soup, bread, perhaps even the remains of last weeks packaged pot roast. "If youll excuse me, Ive had a hard day. Pleasure to meet you, Patricia." He fought his way out of the deep chair. "Will you be in Trafalgar for long?"

"As long as required," she said.

A strange answer. He glanced at Eliza. She moved one finely-sculpted eyebrow. He looked at Patricia. The womans eyes were red, the fine skin underneath dark with new strain.

All he wanted was to have something to eat and go to bed. With or without his wife. Instead he sat back down and put his beer on the side table. "Patricia. May I ask your last name?"

Rob sat in the big leather armchair by the fire. He lifted his arm to wipe the blood from the cut on his lip onto his sleeve. Kathy handed him a tissue and placed the box onto the side table close to him.

"You okay?" she asked.

"They really arrested Jer?"

"Off he went to the slammer. Molly Smith grew up in this town. Everyone knows her, so she tries to act real tough, throw being a cop into your face."

"bout time someone got tough with that jacka.s.s. Maybe a night in jailll give him some perspective on things."

"I bet it will. Molly knows what shes doing."

He dabbed at the cut on his mouth.

Kathy took a deep breath. Okay, so last night hadnt gone exactly as shed dreamed. But now that she was thinking about it, she realized he hadnt rejected her as shed thought at the time. "Not now," hed said. Not here, a sordid groping in the dark in her mothers house.

Later.

Hed said later.

She gave him what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. He looked at the floor.

Sophie clattered down the stairs. She dropped into a chair with such force the springs squeaked. "I want to go 'ome."

"So go," Kathy said. "No ones stopping you."

"Alain is tres difficult. He wants to stay. To be here for Jason, his ami."

"Jasons dead. Time you all got over it."

"Hey," Rob said. "Thats a bit harsh, Kathy."

She backtracked quickly. Jason was dead, and she didnt have much time before Rob might decide to end his vacation and go home early. After that fight in the common room, her mother would have been well within her rights to throw them all out onto the street, without a refund. Fortunately, Ellie felt sorry for them because of the death of their friends, and was satisfied at the arrest of Jeremy, who she saw as the troublemaker. "Sorry, that was unkind. I only meant that its bothering you all so much. I mean it should bother you, but not so..."

"Whatever," Sophie said with a shrug.

Rob said, "Christmas day Alan wanted to leave but you were set on staying. Now youve changed your minds. Youre both nuts. You dont have to stay here just because Alan wants to, do you?"

She studied the nails on her right hand. "No, I do not. But Alan, well you know what 'es like. Jealous."

"Yeah, I know. Come to think of it, didnt Alan and Ewan have a bit of a set to at the Calgary airport? Something about Ewan looking at you?"

Sophie preened. "As I said, Alan is jealous."

"As I remember, there was something about you looking back. You should tell the police about that."

She shot him a sharp look. "Dont be ridiculous. Alan told Ewan I was with 'im, and that ended it. No one killed Ewan, you know."

"I wonder. But if youre so unhappy here, go home."

"Alan has the ticket information."

"So stay then. Jeeze, Sophie, I dont care what the h.e.l.l you do. Just stop complaining about it, will you."

Sophie pouted. It was not, Kathy decided with some satisfaction, an attractive look.

She jumped out of her chair, but, to Kathys disappointment, didnt head upstairs to pack. Instead she crouched in front of the rack of DVDs and ran a recently manicured finger along the spines.

Rob stood up. "If youre going to watch a movie, Im going for a walk."

"Ill get my coat," Kathy said.

"Id rather..." Rob began, but Kathy was heading for the door.

"Pathetic," Sophie said.

Kathy had no idea what the Quebec girl was talking about.

In that strange land between sleep and awake, Smith could see Christa, bloodied and beaten as the paramedics carried her out of her house, then lying pale and bruised against hospital pillows. She could hear Christas voice: angry and frightened, turning all her rage onto Molly, who should have protected her. She saw Charlie Ba.s.sing, leaning into the window of the police van, leering at her, spots of blood dotting the front of his T-shirt.

It was still dark when she gave up any hope of getting to sleep. The bedside clock said six oclock. She rolled out of bed. She needed to tell Christa Charlie was back in town. But she was afraid to. It was probably too early to call John Winters. There was someone whod be up, even on a Sunday.

When Molly Smith walked into the kitchen of her family home, her mom was sitting at the big, scarred pine table, eating yogurt topped with Saskatoon berries harvested from the woods around the house over the summer and frozen. A cup of coffee at her elbow, she was reading yesterdays paper, dressed in her tatty old rainbow-colored housecoat, her blue flannel pajama legs sticking out and slippered feet adorned with the fluffy heads of grizzly bears. The slippers had been a Christmas gift from her grandson, Ben.

Lucky gestured to the coffee pot. "Finish it off, and make more for your dad, will you, dear. Hes not up yet."

Smith scratched the top of Sylvesters head. "Nice to see you, too, Mom. Im doing fine, thanks."

Lucky lowered her drug-store reading gla.s.ses. "I saw you only yesterday and you are obviously not doing fine or youd be home in bed. Youre on afternoons this week, right?"

Smith poured the last cup of coffee and reached into the cupboard for a fresh filter. "What are you, a mind reader?" she said, pouring coffee beans into the grinder.