Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (10 page)

“Matt’s in trouble. Paul’s with the police and he hasn’t come back. I’m getting very worried. I wanted to hear your voice.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“We think he witnessed a murder.”

“Oh, my gosh.”

“Either witnessed it or came upon it shortly after it was done. He’s disappeared. I called Paul a few minutes ago, but he didn’t have time to talk.”

“If I leave now, I can be in Banff by nighttime.”

“I’m not asking you to come, dear. It’s too far. What about Adam? What about your special dinner?”

“The dinner can wait.”

“It might be all sorted out before you get here.”

“Then you can call and tell me to turn around.” Smith had turned the oven on to preheat for the pie. She switched it off. “If you don’t want me to come, Mom, say so. Otherwise, I’m on my way.”

Her mother’s voice was so soft Smith could barely hear. “I need you, Moonlight.”

Smith put the pot lid on the pecan pie filling, thrust the turkey into the fridge, swept chopped onions into a bowl, and called Sylvester. The old dog came slowly, ignoring the impatient pleas for him to hurry up. What was she going to do with Sylvester? No time to try to find someone to look after the dog. Adam could easily spend more than twelve hours straight at work if something came up. Sylvester would have to come along. She phoned Adam as she threw clothes into an overnight bag, and explained what little she knew. Adam said he’d call the Banff Mounties and find out what was going on.

He told her to drive carefully on the mountain roads. The seven-hour trip from Trafalgar to Banff was not an easy one. The highway was good, but it went over mountain passes and even this early in the year there could be snow and ice at the higher elevations.

By ten-thirty Smith and Sylvester were on the road.

Chapter Twenty

GLOBAL CAR RENTAL. BANFF, ALBERTA. SUNDAY MORNING.

Tom watched the cop car pull up outside the office. Two officers got out.

This could not be good. He told himself to calm down, no telling why they were here.

He made no move to go outside and greet them. Let them come to him. Keep them as far away from that beige Corolla at the back of the lot as possible.

“I wonder what they want?” Jody looked up from her fashion magazine. The Corolla had just been delivered and checked in. Jody had accepted the keys and done the paperwork. Tom had pretended to check the vehicle for damage, and parked it in a distant corner. He’d been told it was coming, told it was a
special
car and he was not to clean it or let anyone near it. It would be picked up on Tuesday.

The bells over the door tinkled and the two cops came in. The man approached the counter, while the woman stood back, her eyes flicking around the small room, checking out Tom and Jody.

“Help you?” Jody asked.

The cop ignored her. “You Thomas Dunning?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I do. And don’t be funny about it.”

“Yeah. I’m Dunning.”

“You live at 214 Beartrack Trail? Apartment 23?”

“Yeah. What’s this about?”

“Were you at home last night?”

Tom threw a look at Jody. She returned it with a shrug. “No. I wasn’t. I don’t sleep there every night.”

“Where were you last night, between say midnight and three a.m.?”

“At my place,” Jody said.

“And you are?”

“Judith Wong. I’m called Jody.”

“Is that right, Tom?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t go home this morning? Change your clothes maybe, have breakfast?”

“No, I didn’t. I keep some stuff at Jody’s place.”

Tom felt the tension flowing out of his neck and shoulders; his hands released fists he hadn’t been aware he’d made. If the cops were asking what he’d been doing last night, then this had nothing to do with the Corolla or the car repair business. It had to be about Barry. The dumb fuck. What the hell trouble had Barry gotten himself into now? Had he cut some drunken college chick out of the herd, told her he had the best stuff back at his apartment? And did she, this time, have the guts to call the cops when it was all over and she woke up? He reminded himself not to look relieved at the direction this conversation was taking. He stared the cop in the eye and stood his ground. Let them fight for what they wanted.

“You share the apartment with Barry Caseman and Matthew Keller?”

“Yes.” Yup, Barry was in trouble for sure. Good thing he was paid up on his rent.

“We’re sorry to have to tell you this.” The female cop spoke for the first time. She didn’t sound at all sorry. “Mr. Caseman was found dead in your apartment this morning.”

Tom didn’t have to pretend to be shocked. “What the hell?”

“Oh, my God,” Jody said. “Are you sure? What happened?”

“Is Matt okay?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Matt must have been there, wasn’t he?”

“When was the last time you saw Matthew Keller?”

“Yesterday morning. He and Barry asked if I wanted to go to the Lighthouse Keeper for breakfast. I didn’t. They left. Matt’s girlfriend works there so he hangs around sometimes hoping for a free meal.”

“What’s his girlfriend’s name?”

“Tracey,” Jody said. “Tracey McMillan. She works here in the evenings.”

The female cop wrote something in her notebook.

“You didn’t see or speak to Matthew Keller since then?”

Shaking heads and a chorus of “No.”

“The landlord tells us there’s a fourth resident of that apartment, Alistair Campbell. Do you know where we can find him?”

“Alistair’s a musician. Does gigs around the area. He comes, he goes. I don’t keep track of them, you know.”

“Do you have a number for Mr. Campbell?”

Tom pulled out his phone, called up the contact list. Gave them Matt’s also. The female cop wrote the numbers down.

“If you hear from Matt Keller, tell him to call our office immediately.” She handed over her card.

Tom threw it on the counter. “Yeah, sure.”

“Make sure you do,” the male cop said. And then, with dark looks and no farewells, they left.

Tom and Jody were silent as they watched the police leave. Tom let out a long sigh. They might not be interested in the Corolla, but he wished it would get picked up. The sooner the better.

“Poor Barry,” Jody said.

“Fuck Barry. I want to know what the hell trouble Matt’s gotten himself into.” Tom left the office as he began making phone calls. The boss needed to know the cops were poking around.

Chapter Twenty-one

BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. SUNDAY MORNING.

A handful of people were up and about, walking the hotel grounds wrapped in raincoats or carrying umbrellas. It was a gray morning. Low-hanging clouds and drifting traces of mist concealed the mountains above, and the river below was a band of silver.

Lucky had opened her book, but hadn’t read a word. She’d demolished all the sandwiches, including the ones she intended to save for Paul. She scarcely remembered eating them. When under stress Lucky Smith did tend to eat mindlessly. She thumped her more-than-adequate belly in disgust.

She was accomplishing nothing at all sitting here staring out the window.

Moonlight was on her way, and the thought gave Lucky a warm glow. She was going to have to be strong for Paul; she needed her daughter to be strong for her.

Funny how roles changed over the years. When Graham, Moonlight’s first fiancé, had died, Moonlight had fallen apart, but her parents, Lucky and Andy, had been there, strong and understanding, wrapping the young woman in their love until she was able to struggle back to her feet. Then came the shock of Andy’s sudden death, and Lucky and her children supported each other in their grief. Now it was Lucky’s turn to reach for help. No one dear to them was dead this time, and hopefully no one would be, but worry could be as debilitating as grief. Lucky had phoned her son, Samwise, in Calgary, to fill him in on what was happening. Calgary was only an hour and a half from Banff, and he’d offered to come down, but Lucky caught the hesitation in his voice and said no, not yet. It was Moonlight Lucky needed now, and Samwise had his own young family.

It would be many hours still before Moonlight arrived.

Lucky took her raincoat out of the closet and, making sure her cell phone was deep in her pocket, headed out the door. She needed a walk, to do something, rather than sit and stare out the window and wait for the phone to ring.

How, she wondered, not for the first time, did they ever manage to live without cell phones? In the old days, she would have had to stay in and sit by the phone, all day if necessary, waiting for it to ring. The thought brought a smile to her face as she remembered doing precisely that. Waiting in her dorm room while her girlfriends went to a party, sad and lonely and so hopeful because a guy by the name of Andy Smith she’d met in class that morning had asked for her number. Keeping the door open when she went to the bathroom, lifting the phone off the hook occasionally to make sure it hadn’t stopped working.

He hadn’t called, and she’d gone to bed in tears. The next morning her roommate said she’d seen him at the party, long straight blond hair, Fu Manchu mustache, tie-dyed shirt, bell-bottom trousers and all, wandering through the house, searching for something and looking very disappointed.

Easy to laugh now, but that night had felt like the end of the world.

The lobby was busy, people checking out, others preparing to head off for the day. A family group, four generations by the look of it—baby snug in its mother’s pouch, young children freshly scrubbed and brushed and dressed in holiday clothes, a proud octogenarian leaning on a young man’s arm, laughing and chatting as they headed for the restaurant.

Today was Thanksgiving Sunday. She and Paul had reservations tonight for the Banffshire Club, the hotel’s premier restaurant. She should probably cancel them. The restaurant would be full and want to know if they weren’t coming.

She’d hold off a few more hours. Maybe the case would be resolved, Matt would be found safe and no longer under suspicion. She could phone Moonlight to tell her to go home, and Lucky and Paul could continue with their vacation.

And maybe, she thought, winged pigs will swoop through the lobby at any minute.

She didn’t know if she’d be able to get a signal on her phone if she headed out on some of the more remote hiking trails, so she took her time wandering the hotel grounds. She pulled gloves out of her pocket and wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck. The air was mountain-fresh, crisp and full of the scent of pine and mulch with a taste of winter soon to come. Lucky stood still, back straight, and took deep refreshing breaths, scooping her arms up above her head and dropping them, hands together as if praying, down her front. She performed the movement ten times, and then continued her walk. She followed the signs and the neat path through the woods that led to the golf course. She hadn’t seen anyone carrying clubs so the course must be closed for the winter and would be a nice place to stroll. Plus, she couldn’t imagine those golfing businessmen types going anywhere they couldn’t get reception for their array of smartphones and other gadgets.

Lucky jumped as the quiet of the foggy morning was broken by a loud, high-pitched, almost unworldly squeal. It was repeated, then followed by a crash, sounding like someone had dropped a truckload of silver trays onto a ceramic floor. What on earth? People began running past her. Not in fear but in excitement, faces wide with pleasure, urging children on.

Lucky began hurrying also, driven by curiosity, and she emerged from the woods into a grassy, groomed clearing as the sounds came again, shaking the trees and the ground itself. Two huge male elk faced off on the green, heads down, hair bristling, pawing and snorting. Their impressive multipoint antlers were wider than their shoulders and almost doubled their height. A herd of small brown-and-black females stood on the sidelines, watching the fight along with Lucky and the excited tourists and hotel staff.

The smaller of the males once again bellowed the challenge. They charged. Antlers clashed together and locked. Birds flew out of trees, children shouted in delight, cameras snapped.

More people were arriving, everyone sensibly keeping their distance not only from the fighting bucks but also from the group of females.

Lucky studied the females. Did they care, she wondered, who won and who lost? Or did they go along with the winner, accepting their fate as it came, in the same way so many human females had had no choice but to do down through the ages?

The animals’ faces showed nothing, and Lucky turned back to watch the battle. One was a good deal older than the other, larger, stronger, combat-scarred. Poor old guy, having to fight off the young ones every year. Lucky thought of Paul with a smile. Not that young men were fighting for her attentions, but some life remained in her old guy yet and she’d been pleased that she’d invested in an expensive nightgown.