A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) (20 page)

“Thank you.”

“You haven’t told me how Cathy died. Or why you think she was murdered.”

“She was shot. From a distance. By someone who’s a good marksman. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hamilton.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Molly Smith collapsed face first into a heap of snow. Her left leg twisted and the ski detached itself from the boot. She sputtered and groaned and checked herself out for pain or anything not working as it should. She wiggled her toes, as much as she could in the solid ski boot. Everything seemed to be in order, and she flipped onto her back, spitting out snow.

Tony crouched beside her, his body at an awkward angle in his own skis. “You okay, Molly?”

“Just a tumble. Where’s my ski got to?” She pushed her goggles up and wiped more snow off her mouth and chin.

“It’s over there. Need a hand up?”

She held out her arm and he half lifted her to her feet. One pole was looped around her wrist, the other lay about five feet away. Her errant ski had come to a halt at the edge of the run, up against a tree.

She pulled off her glove and stuck her free hand into the neckline of her suit, scooping out snow.

People whizzed past, crouched low, moving fast, bodies tight.

Tony snatched her pole out of the path. “Better get out of the way.” He took her arm and helped her to the side of the run. The wayward ski was unharmed, and she bent over and snapped it onto her boot. “Good to go.”

“Do you need to rest a minute?”

“No, I’m fine.” And she was fine. The landing had been soft, a straight forward face plant with no twisted limbs, encounters with snow-covered rocks, or trees suddenly appearing out of the cloud of mist and falling snow.

They’d been racing through powder, and she’d tried to overtake him. One wrong move, one moment of inattention as she gloated over her impending victory, and she was down. An
ignominious
lump.

“I’ve had about enough for today, anyway,” he said. “Let’s take it easy for a while.”

They glided the rest of the way down and she enjoyed the slower pace, letting her muscles relax, letting her mind wander and appreciate the beauty of the woods and the day. The lifts would soon be shutting down for the night. She’d gotten off work at six this morning, napped until noon, met Tony at the hills at one. They’d pushed themselves hard, themselves and each other, one run after another, one race after another. In the valley temperatures were rising, the snow slowly melting into dirty, slushy puddles, but up on the mountain winter’s firm grip still held.

The muscles in her thighs and arms ached and
she knew she’d be in for it. She had tonight off, thank heavens, but had to be back at work tomorrow to put in an extra shift.

She needed some sleep.

“Care for a drink this time?” Tony asked.

“Sounds like a plan.”

They left their equipment in the racks outside the building and waddled up the stairs to the lounge. One long room with the kitchen at the far end, the serving counters and cash registers, then rows of rough wooden tables and benches. Backpacks were slung across tables or hung on pegs, and the floor was wet and filthy with melting snow. The scent of frying food, bubbling grease, and curry spices mingled with the odor of socks and mittens steaming in the heat of the room. A small alcove tucked into a corner made up the bar, featuring a huge fireplace, cozy tables, and overstuffed couches.

At this hour, the lounge was emptying out as families headed home, and the bar was filling up with those eager to recount the highlights of their day.

“Whatca having?” Tony asked.

“Kokanee, please.” She was driving, but one beer couldn’t hurt. He pushed his way through the crowd at the counter, and she found a table for two close enough to the fireplace that they could admire it, not so close they’d roast.

She pulled off her helmet and ran her fingers through her hair. She was trying to grow it out, it was now at that horrible stage of being too short to make a bouncy ponytail but too long to look good ungroomed.

“Hey, Molly, Nice to see you.”

She smiled up at a man standing beside her table, beer in hand. The mechanic from the garage which serviced the police cars. “Have a good day?” she asked.

“Great. The kids are with their grandparents. Not often we get a day on our own. This is my wife, Sandra. Sandra, Molly Smith, one of Trafalgar’s finest.” The woman, plump cheeks ruddy with cold and exercise, nodded in greeting. Smith struggled to remember the man’s name.

He glanced around. “Adam here? He came by last week to talk about a truck and…”

Tony put two beers on the table and pulled out the spare chair. He looked at the mechanic, smiling, wondering if he was going to be introduced.

“Uh…No,” Smith said. “This is Tony, my ski partner.”

The men shook hands. “Sid Armstrong. Nice to meet you. See you around, Molly.”

He turned back to his wife and their circle of friends.

Smith forced herself to smile as she picked up her beer. Tony dropped into the chair. “Cheers,” he said. They clinked bottles.

Nothing wrong, she reminded herself, going skiing with Tony. Nothing at all. She and Adam weren’t married, they weren’t even engaged.

Adam had called her last night. She’d ducked into the doorway of a closed shop to take the call, and they’d talked for a long time. He’d talked, mostly, which wasn’t like him. Nothing important, chatter about his parents and his sister and her family. Toronto had no snow, just a continuous cold, driving rain, making it difficult to entertain the kids. A man could only take so many movies suitable for the under-ten set. The kids were keen, he told her, to meet Norman. Maybe he’d invite them out in the summer. They were old enough to fly on their own. He could take them camping, do some hiking, kayaking. “Should be right up your alley,” he said.

“Sounds like fun.”

“Getting a lot of skiing in?”

“Not a lot. It’s tough with working nights.”

“You’ve got vacation coming, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Let’s plan something. Something really nice. Spring skiing, maybe. How about Whistler? A top hotel, nice restaurants. Really spoil ourselves.”

She hesitated.

“My treat. I’ll even throw in a visit to a spa.”

“Adam…”

“I miss you, Molly. I can’t believe how much I miss you. And I’ve only been gone three days.”

Her throat closed.

He tried to turn the sentiment into a joke. “’Course I started to miss Norman after two days.”

“I never mind playing second string to Norman. Look, Adam, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be keeping the streets safe for the good citizens.”

“And the not-so-good ones. I love you, Molly.”

“Bye, Adam.” She’d shut the phone carefully, slipped it into her pocket, and stepped into the sidewalk.

Terrifying a young couple who were sauntering down the street, arms wrapped around each other, paying no attention to anything or anyone until a dark-clothed, armed figure emerged from the gloom of a shop doorway.

“How about dinner tomorrow,” Tony said, bringing Smith back to the here and now.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. To celebrate good skiing.” He lifted his bottle, his eyes fixed on her. “And new relationships.”

She shifted in her seat and glanced to one side. The security guard was standing at the door, checking out the drinkers. He saw her and lifted a hand in greeting. She waved back, and Tony half turned.

“Just someone I know,” she said quickly.

“You guys okay?” a waiter appeared at their table.

“I’ll have another one of these. Molly?”

“No thanks.”

“Where’d you learn to ski like that?” Tony said. “Did you ever race? Compete, I mean?”

“I grew up here, in Trafalgar. My mom says I could ski almost as soon as I could walk.”

A fresh bottle appeared on the table. Tony chugged half of it in one long swallow. “I bet this was a nice place to live as a kid.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Smith sipped her beer and told Tony about growing up in the mountains. Kayaking, hiking, skiing. She told him about her dad, Andy, encouraging her to be bold, to be unafraid. About her mom, telling her she could be all she wanted to be.

Tony listened, his head cocked to one side, his intense dark eyes focused on her face. She described growing up in the house at the edge of the bush, her first memories of coming to work with her mom, playing with ski equipment and hiking gear as other children played with toy trucks or Lego. Her dad teaching her and her brother to be guides, exploring the remote mountains and hidden valleys at his side.

The logs in the fireplace popped and flames leapt. All around them people laughed and chatted as they clutched bottles of beer or glasses of wine. Table tops were piled high with chicken wings, nachos, and discarded outerwear.

It felt strange to be talking about herself. She didn’t meet many new people. In this small town almost everyone knew her. Many had known her since she’d been born. No one ever had to ask about her history or the history of her family.

At one point she laid her hand on the table. Tony put his on top of it. His index finger stroked her soft skin. She pulled away with a jerk, face burning. He reached for his bottle and took another drink.

She did not talk about Graham. Nor of Adam.

Or about her job.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have rather gone on, haven’t I?”

“I enjoyed listening to you. You sound as if you’ve had a great life.”

“It hasn’t all been good.”

“Never is. Look, let’s have dinner tomorrow. Most places’ll be full on a Friday, but I’m sure we can get a reservation somewhere nice. You’re the local, where would you suggest?”

“I can’t. Sorry. I have to go to my mom’s.” The lie came easily to her lips this time.

“Again? You spend a lot of time with her.”

“My dad died…recently. She likes having me around.”

“Sorry to hear that. She can’t cling to you, Molly. She has to let go sometime.”

The waiter brought the group beside them their bill and exchanged a joke. By the time he turned, Tony had his arm in the air. “Get me another will you?”

“You’re driving,” Smith said.

“So?”

“Three beers in less than an hour? Not a good idea.”

Something moved behind his eyes. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and she told herself it had been the shift in the light as people at the next table pushed chairs back and got to their feet.

The waiter slipped away. He knew
Molly Smith.
He knew
she was a cop. If she said no beer, he wouldn’t bring it.

“Whatever,” Tony said with a shrug.

“Don’t you have to work or something? Didn’t you say you’re a ski instructor?” No resort would let staff take vacation over one of the busiest weeks of the year.

“I quit Whistler a couple of weeks ago.” He tilted his bottle to get the last drops of beer and began to turn looking for the waiter.

“Why?”

“Why? I didn’t get on with the boss too well. Figured I’d look elsewhere. I have some money saved up, no rush to find something else. Decided to check out the Kootenays. I heard Red Mountain’s hiring.” He grinned at her. “But then I met this wicked skier and decided to hang around for a bit.”

While he talked, his fingernails tore at the label on the bottle. She hid a grin. She made him nervous.

“This wicked skier has to be getting off home.”

“It’s not even six o’clock. Let’s meet up in town, go for another drink.”

She hesitated. She was bushed. She’d worked nights, and then slept fitfully for less than four hours over the past two days. Not to mention skiing full out all afternoon. She felt okay now, but knew that by the time she drove down the mountain, pulled up in the alley behind Alphonse’s Bakery, and climbed the stairs, she’d be ready to drop. “I’m sorry. Not tonight.”

His eyes narrowed. “I want to spend time with you, Molly. I want to get to know you better. I love skiing with you, but there’s more to life than skiing.”

She started to get to her feet. “I can do dinner on Saturday. How about…” She thought. Some place they didn’t know her. Didn’t know Adam. “
Feuilles de Menthe
,” she blurted out. The restaurant in the block where she lived. Nothing wrong with having dinner with a friend. No need to sneak around as if she were going behind Adam’s back.