A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) (11 page)

“Sure.” Rosalind wandered over to the book rack. Outdoor adventure books mostly, some on the environment, a collection on gardening and mountain living.

“You’re new to town?” Lucky asked.

“Fabulous place. Don’t know why I haven’t been here before. You obviously do a good brisk business. Probably slows down in the off-season, eh?”

“We cater to skiers in the winter, hikers and kayakers in the summer. The shoulder season can be slow, yes.”

“Not much in the way of year-round vacation homes.”

Lucky’s ears picked up.

“Good vacation property not too far away would bring a lot of visitors in. People who eat in restaurants, shop.” She wondered if his teeth were false, they must be to be that white.

“You have a great selection.” Rosalind placed an armful of books on the counter. “You could use some fiction, though.”

“Wolf River Books is only two doors down. We’re not in competition.”

“Nice to see a prosperous main street,” Darren said, pulling out his credit card. “Everyone relying on each other, everyone does well.”

Lucky rang up the purchases. It came to over three hundred dollars. The volumes with color photographs could be expensive.

Darren punched in his PIN, still chatting about the value of a solid business community.

They left. Rosalind didn’t look back, but Darren gave Lucky a cheerful wave.

Weird.

“So that’s the devil incarnate,” Flower said, leaning on the counter.

“The what?”

“Fernhaugh.”

“That’s his name.”

“You mean you haven’t heard? You of all people?”

“Heard what?”

“Fernhaugh represents a consortium that’s bought the Grizzly Resort property. Permission was given to the previous owners to develop the land, so all the new bunch had to do was put up the cash. They start work soon as they can dig.”

Lucky’s first reaction to the news was shock that she hadn’t known about it.

Then dismay at the reopening of that controversy. Previous plans to take a section of pure untouched wilderness and put up a fractional ownership resort died when the company pulled out. But not without first causing a substantial amount of conflict in town. Fernhaugh must be going up and down the street meeting the store owners, subtly reminding them that vacation homes meant business. Lucky wondered if Rosalind would actually read any of those books she’d bought.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the bell over the door tinkled. A man came in. “Afternoon, Lucky.”

“Good afternoon.” She struggled to remember his name. Regular customer, but he hadn’t been around much this season. Ordinary middle-aged guy, quiet but friendly. “What can we do for you today?”

“Just browsing, checking out the sales. Business good?”

“We’ve had a busy season, yes.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Have you been up to Blue Sky much this year? My daughter says the conditions are exceptional.” Lucky laughed. “She says that every year.” William, that was his name. William Westfield.

His lip twisted in a grimace. “I’m afraid I wasn’t able to get much skiing in this year. But I still like to look.” He was losing weight, Lucky thought. Not that he had much to lose. His cheekbones were sharp, his attractive blue eyes washed out, and traces of pain written in new lines in his face.

He walked to the back of the shop, where the sale merchandise was stocked. Flower hurried to assist him.

The door opened again. Margo Franklin, who worked at Eliza Winters’ art gallery a few doors down and across the street. Margo stood in the entrance, her eyes darting around the store. She made no move to come further inside, simply stood there, staring at the back wall and the rack of last season’s skis.

James gave Lucky a questioning look. She moved her chin, indicating he should see what the woman wanted.

“Can I help you?” James said. Handsome in a well-scrubbed outdoor sort of way, he’d turned out to be a good salesperson. He was a keen skier, and Lucky knew, although he’d not said so, he’d be leaving come spring. She’d be sorry to lose him.

Margo blinked, surprised James was addressing her. “Uh. I don’t think so. No. Thank you.”

William heard her voice and turned. He let go of the skis he was examining and they settled back into the rack with a clatter. He stared across the display of goggles and gloves, boots and poles, books and magazines. Margo flushed and mumbled, “My mistake. Sorry.” The bell clattered as she left the store. James shrugged.

“That was odd,” Lucky said to no one in particular.

“Do you know that woman?” William asked.

“Not really. She’s new to town, her and her husband. Retirees from the city.”

“She’s damned creepy, is all I can say. Following me, watching me. I want to buy a sketch from the art gallery and I feel I have to phone ahead, make sure she’s not working.”

Another peal of the bell. Lucky had never before noticed how darned annoying it could be. Perhaps because she didn’t usually help staff the store, but stayed in the back doing the accounts and such.

This time Moonlight, Lucky’s daughter, came in.

The girl had obviously come straight from Blue Sky. Not only was she still wearing her ski clothes, but she had that windblown look of mussed hair and ruddy cheeks, and the gleam in her eyes, the same color as her father’s, that she only got after a good day on the mountain.

“I lost one of my best gloves,” she grumbled by way of greeting.

“It’ll turn up,” Lucky said.

“Probably, but not before tomorrow.”

“You’re going back tomorrow? Aren’t you on nights for the next couple of days.”

“I am. But, well I figured I could do a couple of hours in the afternoon.” She studied the magazine display beside the counter rather than her mother. Something was up, Lucky knew.

She bit her tongue.

“Where did you see the glove last?”

“I must have dropped it in the parking lot when I was loading the car. I’ll get another pair now. Have anything good on sale?”

“For you, every day is a sale and you know it.”

James tossed her a pair. “Try these for size.”

She pulled them on. Flexed her fingers. “They seem okay. Thanks. See you later, Mom. I have to get home and change, and be at work at six.”

“Speaking of work…” Lucky said.

“Yes?”

Lucky glanced around the store. William had slipped away without her noticing, and no other customers had come in.

Flower had dropped into a downward dog yoga pose in the middle of the room while James stood listening to Lucky and Moonlight.

The clock behind the counter gave a ding to announce the hour. Five o’clock.

Flower bolted upright and headed for the back to get her coat in anything but a meditative rush. She had an amazing ability to simply live in the moment. James followed at a more sedate pace.

When they’d gone, and James had flipped the sign on the door from open to closed, Moonlight said, “What’s up?”

“I heard something about Cathy Lindsay today from some high school students in my group. I don’t know if you’re interested in gossip, but it might be important.”

“What’d they say?”

“She was, according to the kids, having an affair with a fellow teacher.”

“Wow. That might be important, all right.”

“It’s just gossip. You can’t use it, can you?”

“We can’t take gossip to court, no, but we can certainly investigate and see if there’s anything to it.” Moonlight pulled a face. “I mean Sergeant Winters can investigate. Not me. Why don’t I call him and you tell him what you heard?”

“If you think he wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course, he wouldn’t mind, Mom. Not if you have a lead. This early in an investigation like this one, he’ll be working around the clock.”

She dug in her bag for her cell phone and made the call.

Chapter Fourteen

John Winters was indeed interested in what Lucky Smith had to say. The woman was an information gold mine. Was there anything going on in Trafalgar she didn’t know about?

They should put her on the payroll. Except that she was as likely to inform the other side as to what the police were doing as vice versa. Lucky was a vocal proponent of the decriminalization of marijuana and a vocal opponent of wilderness development. Exactly the sort of idealistic old hippy he’d never had much time for. Until he got to know her, and discovered he liked her very much.

He stopped thinking of Lucky Smith as a double agent, and considered what she’d told him.

With plenty of caveats and warnings and evasions, she’d eventually spat out the rumor from Trafalgar District High School that said Cathy Lindsay was having an affair with a fellow teacher.

Nothing like an illicit relationship to spark murder.

He’d thanked Lucky and walked with Molly to the street.

“Is that important, you think?” she asked.

“Could be. Might be a waste of time. Won’t know until I talk to the gentleman in question. You went to that school, Molly. Did you know him? Mark Hamilton?”

“No. Must be after my time.”

“Do you keep in touch with any of your old teachers who’re still there?”

“I wouldn’t say keep in touch, but I see a couple of them around sometimes. In town, at the school if we get a call.”

“School’s out for the rest of the week, more’s the pity, and we haven’t been able to interview most of her colleagues. If you get a chance to talk to any of them, ask about this, will you, Molly. No names, just see if they know anything about Cathy Lindsay that’s not on the record.”

“Mrs. Grady, my old English teacher, plays in the indoor soccer league. I saw her at the rec center a couple of weeks ago when one of the spectators had a heart attack. I said hi and we talked for a couple of minutes. They play on Monday nights. Don’t know if they will tonight, because of the break, but I can drop in.”

“You’re on the street tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“If the opportunity presents itself, find out what you can. Don’t let it take you away from your other duties.”

“Glad to.”

She left him with a cheerful wave, and John Winters made his way back to the police station.

Ray Lopez was in the GIS office, fingers flying across the computer keyboard.

“I’ve a name of a possible person of interest,” Winters said, throwing his coat over the rack in the corner. “See what you can find on one Mark Hamilton. Teacher at Trafalgar District High School.”

“Sure. He’s in the frame?”

“Just a rumor so far, but more than anything else we have.”

“Perhaps not the only thing,” Lopez said with a grin that was designed to make Winters ask.

He obliged. “What’d you find?”

“Gord Lindsay, the grieving widower, has a business office in Victoria.”

“We know that.”

“He spends about one week a month in that city. He told you he stays at various hotels, wherever he can get a deal at the time.”

“Right.”

“On November 15th last, the Victoria police were called to a breakin at a house not far from downtown. Electronics taken, computers, TV, the lady of the house’s jewelry. Probably a professional job, clean and neat. No one has been apprehended for the crime, and the property has not been located. What’s of interest to us, however, is the name of the homeowner’s friend. A friend who had been staying with her for a few days. Gordon Roger Lindsay.”

“Same guy?”

“Showed his driver’s license as ID. No suspicion that Mr. Lindsay had anything to do with the burglary, mind. He owned a MacBook Pro that was taken.”

“Maybe the woman’s a relative. A friend he bunked in with when he couldn’t get a hotel.”

“Might be. She’s a single lady, one Elizabeth Mary Moorehouse. Age forty-two. When questioned by our guys about Mr. Lindsay, her house guest, she said he stayed with her regularly. Whenever he was in Victoria. What made that seem important enough to get into the police report is that Ms. Moorehouse is employed at a hardware store where she’s a part-time salesclerk. The jewelry stolen was estimated to be of value in the range of three to five thousand dollars.”

“You have a suspicious mind, Ray.”

“Sadly, I do. As do our colleagues in VicPD.”

“So Gord Lindsay has what is quaintly referred to as a mistress.”

“Allegedly.”

“If he does have a lady he’s seeing when in Victoria, for whom he bought expensive gifts, might his wife have found out? And objected to same?”

Lopez lifted his eyebrows in question.

“Anything in that report as to if Ms. Moorehouse owns the house she’s living in?”

“No, but that should be easy enough to check. One other thing, insurance. I didn’t even need a warrant to find out about that. One of Madeleine’s friends is a teacher, so I just asked. They contribute to a life insurance policy as part of their benefits package. The insurance is intended to be enough to replace lost income for a couple of years. Nothing extraordinary, but…”

“But it would be a hefty lump sum, particularly for someone who has unexpected expenses.”

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

“Good work, Ray. I’ll follow up on Ms. Moorehouse. In the meantime, Gord might not be the only one playing games out of school.”

“So you say.”

“Get me what you can on a Trafalgar resident by the name of Mark Hamilton. Address and phone number first.”