In the Shadow of the Glacier (12 page)

But it was all in turmoil again. Tom Maas died, taking his support for the gardens with him, and Reginald Montgomery looked under every rock he could find to locate embers of opposition—of which there were plenty. Linda Patterson, the interim mayor, couldn’t fight her way out of a paper bag. The entire pro-park committee was expecting Lucky to do something. And she was just too darned tired.

She picked an invoice off her desk and waved it in front of her face. Would this damned heat never let up?

“What paper are you with, Mr. Ashcroft?”

“Please, call me Rich. May I call you Lucky? I’d love to know the story behind that name. Is it what your parents christened you?”

“My legal name is Lucy. Many, many years ago, I was in the drama club at the University of Washington.”

“My sister went there. I wasn’t so lucky. Oops, that wasn’t meant to be a pun.” He grinned at her, and she found herself smiling back.

“I was second string.” She hesitated, but Ashcroft was looking at her with interest, as if he wanted to hear the story, and so she drifted into memories. Of when she was young, and the world was electrified with the possibility of change, and she’d been head-over-heels in love with a math major with radical opinions by the name of Andy Smith. “Just a stand-in. But the lead actor in
The Glass Menagerie
caught a dreadful cold the day of our opening. She could barely breathe, never mind project. So I took her place. And for some strange reason, I was a hit. So they called me Lucky, and it stuck.” Andy Smith had been in the audience that night, leaping to his feet and cheering when Lucy Casey took her bows. “Lucky Lucy. Lucy Lucky,” her castmates had chanted when the final curtain fell. “Lucky Smith,” Andy said later as they watched the lights of the city twinkling in the distance. Then he’d told her that he’d received his draft notice and was going to Canada. He wanted her to come with him. She had never acted again.

“You’re interested in the Commemorative Peace Garden?” she asked.

“It’s an incredible story. After all these years, you people are still looking for approval.”

A warning bell rang in the back of Lucky’s mind.
You people?
“The garden isn’t about
us.
It’s a memorial to everyone who’s stood up to oppose war. Many at great cost to themselves.”

“I have a cameraman due in town soon, and if we act fast I can get this story out tomorrow. Prime time. So why don’t we….”

“Cameraman? You mean a photographer?”

“Yeah, a fellow who takes pictures. He’s good, one of the best. He’ll do your face justice.”

Lucky looked at Meredith. “The local media covered this story in depth. Why the renewed interest?”

“Rich isn’t…” Meredith said.

“I’d like to talk to you at the place where the garden’s going to go. Get some visual background. Seven okay, Lucky?”

“Sorry, but it isn’t. The death of Reginald Montgomery has changed the dynamics a bit, so the committee’s meeting at my house at seven. Tomorrow morning?”

“You’re getting together tonight? That’s a perfect opportunity. How about I bring my photographer around and interview you all at once? The
Daily Gazette
has your address, right?”

“It’s in the phone book.”

“How about seven thirty, then. Hey, I’ve had a great idea. Let’s make my visit a surprise, Lucky.”

“Why?”

“You know what people are like soon as they think their face’ll be on TV. Or in the papers. They’ll come all dressed up, and look unnatural. I want to get the feel of a real salt-of-the-earth, middle-America planning committee.”

“This is Canada.”

He laughed. Lucky didn’t like his laugh; she couldn’t see much, if any humor in it. “I meant,” he said, “America as in the generic North America sense.”

“You said you’re from B.C. right?”

He stood up. “I’m looking forward to this, Lucky. We can do a great story.”

And he left, Meredith following with such enthusiasm that Lucky wondered why a tail wasn’t wagging on her skinny behind.

She snatched up the first piece of paper that came to hand and fanned herself again. Why was the
Daily Gazette
treating this as if it were a new story? The whole thing had been hashed out for months. It was so damned hot. How could she think straight when she was so hot?

“Lucky.” Duncan stuck his head into her office. “Someone from the police is here. He wants to talk to you, about when you left work yesterday. It’s not Molly.” His voice was tinged with disappointment, and Lucky hid a smile. Duncan was obviously smitten with Moonlight, and Moonlight blind to anything but her police career. It might be up to Lucky to do something about setting them both straight.

□□□

Ruth Tyler was delighted to receive visitors from the police. Sergeant John Winters had been the subject of gossip ever since he’d moved to town. Involved in the infamous Sanders case, it was said. So handsome, and married to Eliza Winters, the model!

Ruth showed her visitors into the living room. Winters was accompanied by the Smith girl, Moonlight. Such a ridiculous hippie name. But then Lucky Smith had always been a dreamer. And middle age didn’t seem to be mellowing her one bit. Lucky’s daughter was a pretty thing; Ruth would give her that, although the uniform didn’t suit her. Well, it wouldn’t, would it—it had been designed for a male body, and quite right too. Ruth insisted that Sergeant Winters take a seat beside the patio doors, in the best leather chair, with a view over the river.

She’d offered tea, which he politely refused. Moonlight pulled a notebook and pen out of her pockets. The girl’s boots were enormous; Ruth had wanted to ask her to remove them at the door, but somehow that didn’t seem a proper thing to say to the police.

Investigating the death of Mr. Montgomery, John Winters explained. Had she heard about it?

“Of course; it’s all the talk in town. I’d love to help you with your inquiries, but I’ve never met Mr. or Mrs. Montgomery.”

“Sometimes the smallest of details can help us, Mrs. Tyler,” he said. “Were you home last night, say from seven o’clock on?”

“Thursday’s the regular meeting of the Kootenay Kwilters Klub.” Ruth spelled out the unusual spelling precisely for Moonlight to write in her notebook. “The meeting finished at seven. I stopped to rent a video, and came straight home.”

“Was your husband here?”

“Louis is rarely home for dinner Thursdays. It’s the Dentists Association meeting night.”

“They meet once a week? Seems a lot for a professional group.”

Ruth shrugged. She didn’t care what Louis got up to on Thursdays. It was the one night of the week she looked forward to, when she could toss together a casual dinner, serve herself a glass of wine, or three, and settle in front of the TV to enjoy a movie he scorned as a chick flick. Louis found his Thursday meetings exhausting, and always went straight to bed once he got home.

She looked at Winters. He was a most attractive man. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. “The association does charity work, as well as discussing how to best serve the dental needs of the community.”

“Highly commendable. What time did your husband get home last night?”

Ruth scrunched up her forehead and thought. Something about last night had been different. “That’s odd,” she said.

“Odd? How so?”

“I put on
Pride and Prejudice
while having my dinner, and, do you know, the movie was almost over before Louis came in.”

“What time would that be, Mrs. Tyler?” he said. Moonlight’s pen scratched against paper.

“Ten? Louis is normally quite punctual, and gets home on Thursday nights around nine. Yes, I’m sure it was ten. I didn’t have to pause the movie to greet Louis and ask him how his day had been. It had just ended when I heard his key in the door. Perhaps it was an exceptionally short movie, although I don’t remember it being so when I saw it in the theatre.”

Ruth looked at her guests. John Winters was sitting straight in his chair, and Moonlight had stopped that annoying scribbling. “What could my movie viewing possibly have to do with Mr. Montgomery’s death? I rented the video from Mike’s Movie Mansion, where I always go.” She stuck the index finger of her right hand into her mouth. “Oh, my god,” she whispered.

Moonlight stepped toward her. “Don’t be too concerned, Mrs. Tyler. We’re only just beginning our inquiries. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Winters?”

“Thank you for your professional opinion, Constable,” he said. “Now, if you’ll return to your corner and continue taking notes.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ruth said. “You think Mike killed Mr. Montgomery. He couldn’t have. I rent movies from Mike at least once a week, sometimes more. He was in his shop when I arrived, and he’s always open until ten. So there. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your killer, Mr. Winters.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Winters got to his feet. Moonlight stuffed her notebook and pen into a pocket in the leg of her baggy pants with the blue stripe running down the leg. Winters headed toward the door, but stopped in the entranceway. “One thing more, Mrs. Tyler. I’d appreciate it if you could keep our conversation to yourself.” He smiled at her while Moonlight fumbled at the doorknob. “It is highly sensitive police business, you understand.”

“Of course.” A shiver passed through Ruth. She would die before betraying John Winters’ confidence. “I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart.”

Chapter Nine

“You’re back on the beat, Smith. Effective immediately.”

“I only thought….”

“You thought too damned much. That woman appeared to be on the verge of telling us that she suspected her husband of murder and you decided to let her know that it didn’t really matter.”

Smith clenched the steering wheel. Tears gathered behind her eyes, and she blinked as rapidly as windshield wipers in a hurricane, trying to keep them from spilling over. Traffic was heavy as they drove through town. It was a summer’s Friday afternoon; weekenders were pulling into town, and locals leaving work early. Her father stood in front of Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations, chatting to passers-by. “Mrs. Tyler didn’t say a word about her husband. She thought we were after the video store owner.” She’d been only trying to help. To be a good cop, and a good citizen.

“So you thought. Tell me, what would you have done if she’d admitted that her husband was the killer? Offered her a cup of tea, a shoulder to cry on?”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s most unfair. Mrs. Tyler did not finger her husband. In fact she didn’t even realize where your rather obvious questions were heading.” Smith plunged on, realizing that she was heading for a cliff, but, like a lemming, unable to stop. She pulled into the police station parking lot, not quite understanding how she’d managed to get here. She shoved the gearshift into park. “I’d suggest, Sergeant, that if Mrs. Tyler had a single ounce of guile she’d have been onto you in a moment and be stringing us a line that would stretch all the way to Kootenay Lake.” Molly Smith watched her career take wings and fly off into the clear sky. “She was so infatuated with you, she’d have admitted that Santa Claus visited last night, if that’s what she thought you wanted to hear.”

Winters turned in his seat. “How many years of expertise do you put behind that opinion, Constable?”

She took a deep breath. Oh, well, if she was fired from the police, she could always find work in her parents’ store. “Twenty-six years. Unless you think that we spring fully formed as if from the brow of Zeus the day we leave police college. In that case I have less than one.”

Winters looked out the window. Smith pulled the keys out of the ignition. She didn’t know whether to get out of the car or sit here and wait until he spoke to her. Always easier to do nothing. So she sat.

“The Chief Constable seems to think you’ve the potential to make a competent officer,” he said after a pause so long she wouldn’t have been surprised if it’d started to snow. “I’m aware that you know these people, some of them very well. That’s a complication I rarely came across in my years in Vancouver. But you’re a police officer first. You’ll arrest your grandmother if you have to. Think you can do that, Constable Smith?”

“I’ve thought about that. When I first decided to apply for the force, and almost every day since.” With an activist mother like Lucky, Smith knew that the possibility of her arresting her own mother wasn’t idle speculation. “But I want to be a police officer, Sergeant Winters, and a good one. And I want to live in the Kootenays, at least for now. So yes, I will arrest my grandmother, should she be caught digging up a neighbor’s perennial she’s had her eye on, or hitting a young man with her cane if he’s shown her what she thinks of as disrespect.” Smith looked at her hands, twisting the car keys over and over.

“Remember your place, Molly, in the course of this investigation. I’m looking to you for local commentary, not intervention. You are not replacing Detective Lopez. Do you understand?”

She understood all right. It was he who didn’t. This was not the big city, where everyone kept rigidly to their assigned roles. In a town the size of Trafalgar, you had to give and take a bit. “I understand.”

“I’m hoping that the preliminary report from the forensics team’ll be ready, and we can hear what the officers who visited the shops backing onto the alley found out. Let’s go.”

As she climbed out of the car, she lifted her eyes to the mountaintops. Sunlight sparked on the snows at the top of Koola Glacier. Winters might be an overbearing jackass, but he’d kept her on the case. And that was all that mattered.

Constable Jim Denton was at the front desk. A solid, reliable cop of the old school, happy to remain a constable and to staff the desk while watching the calendar flip toward retirement. He gave Smith a smile as they came in. She tried to smile back, but it felt weak.