Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (20 page)

“Don’t you dare be sick,” Amanda shrieked.

Tracey ran for the bathroom. She was in there for a long time. Her stomach wanted to throw up, but there wasn’t much to come up. She washed her face and drank a lot of water.

She was late for work. Kevin would have a fit. She needed a shower, but she’d have to call Kevin first. She opened the door and came out. Amanda and Crystal had tidied up the couch and were sitting on it, faces stern with matching looks of disapproval.

“This isn’t working out, Tracey,” Amanda said. “We’ve been talking it over, and it’s time for you to leave.”

“Leave?”

“Yes leave. Move out.”

“But…”

“We don’t mean like today,” Crystal said. Amanda threw her a sour look. “How about the end of the month? That should give you time to find someplace else, won’t it? You can’t be happy here, anyway, not sleeping on the couch.”

“Weren’t you and your boyfriend going to move in together next month anyway?” Amanda said, malice glittering behind her excessively made-up eyes.

“We won’t have the money until December,” Tracey said.

“I guess another month…” Crystal began.

Amanda cut her off. “Another month will run into two months. And before you know it, it’ll be summer and she’ll still be here, stinking the place up. Besides, who knows where the boyfriend will be next month? In prison probably.”

Tears gathered behind Tracey’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of these two. Matt was not going to prison. Matt hadn’t hurt anyone. He was scared and he ran, that was all. He’d be back, maybe he was back now. Maybe he’d tried to call her and she hadn’t heard because she was asleep. She patted her pockets. No phone. The jacket she’d been wearing last night was tossed over a chair. She crossed the room in two strides, grabbed it, thrust her hands into one pocket and then the other. Nothing. Throwing the jacket aside, she pushed between Amanda and Crystal, dug her hands into the back of the couch, felt among the crumbs and lost coins. The girls jumped to their feet with squeals of protest.

“Give me your phone,” Tracey said to Crystal.

“What?”

“I said give me your phone!”

“Okay, don’t have kittens.” She handed it over. Tracey dialed her own number, her hands shaking so much she had to keep correcting herself.

Then, from beneath the coffee table, music sounded.

She threw Crystal her phone and dived under the table. Tracey came up with her own phone and checked the display.

Disappointment washed over her. She dropped onto the couch. Two calls—the one she’d just made and the restaurant.

“I coulda told you you’d gotten a call,” Amanda said. “Without so much fucking drama. I heard the damn thing earlier.”

“It’s my work, wondering where I am, I guess.”

“Better tell them then, hadn’t you? Look, I have to go. Unlike some of us, I don’t like to be late for work.” Amanda was a clerk at a store, a place that sold low-end, made-in-China souvenirs: plastic carvings of bears and moose, sweatshirts with panoramic pictures of high mountain ranges, fake “native-Canadian” jewelry, mass-produced prints of famous paintings. “End of the month, Tracey. Be outta here.” She picked up her bag and left, slamming the door behind her for emphasis.

Crystal gave Tracey an embarrassed shrug. No point in arguing with Crystal. She’d agree to anything Tracey asked and then say she hadn’t meant it when Amanda got through talking to her. Amanda’s name was the one on the lease. “It’s probably for the better,” Crystal said. “You don’t want to hang around here. I saw Matt’s picture on the news. The police are looking for him. He killed that guy, Tracey. Forget about him. Go back to Ontario. See you later. Maybe we can catch a movie or something before you go.” Crystal left.

For a moment, Tracey considered doing just that. Packing her stuff and going home. She didn’t have much, nothing more than would fit into her two suitcases. She could be on a Greyhound bus headed east by noon. Her mom would take her in. Say what you liked about Tracey’s mom, she always took her daughter in.

If Matt cared, really cared about her, he’d know how worried she was. He’d call, wouldn’t he? Get a message to her somehow. No matter what, he’d let her know he was okay. Let her know he was innocent of whatever they said he’d done. Tell her he’d be back for her.

She called the Lighthouse Keeper. “Sorry, Kev,” she said, when he answered. “But I slept in. I was up all night, trying to find Matt.”

He grunted. “I told you, you could have gone home early yesterday, but you didn’t want to. You can’t just not come in with no notice. I’m not running a charity here, Tracey. I had to call Ellen to come down and fill in. I’ll be paying for that for a long time.”

Ellen was Kevin’s wife. She worked at the restaurant only when she had to and made sure everyone, customers as well as staff, knew she was doing them an enormous favor.

“I can be there in half an hour.”

“Forget it,” he snapped. “It’s quiet today, holiday people gone home, and Ellen can manage.” His voice dropped and a touch of warmth crept into it. “I’m sorry about Matt, Tracey. I know you’re worried. But, take my advice, you’re better off without him.”

“He didn’t kill Barry.”

“That remains to be seen. The cops think he did, and take it from me, once they get someone in their sights they don’t let him go, innocent or not. Regardless of how this ends, Matt’s bad news, Tracey. Cut him loose. Be here tomorrow morning.” He hung up.

She went into the cramped, overcrowded bathroom. The countertops were covered with bottles and pots of makeup, hand creams, perfume, brushes, a hairdryer, used tissues. Amanda’s mess. The mirror was spotted with dried drops of water and sprayed toothpaste. Tracey eyed herself, checking out every flaw.

Matt. All she had in this world was Matt. She knew he was innocent, but was Kevin right? Would the cops convict him anyway? She’d wait for him to get out of jail, no matter how long that might be. But how would she live? She needed to get out of this town; she needed a decent job with good money and regular hours.

All that could wait. The important thing was to be here for Matt. Matt had brought something good into her life. Love. Friendship. And, for the first time she could remember, hope. Hope that they’d have a future together.

He’d be calling her soon. He’d want to clear his name, get on with life. She’d be here, waiting.

Chapter Thirty-five

BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY MORNING.

Smith crossed the hotel lobby. A long line snaked in front of the reception desk, as people waited to check out. Leaving the fairy-tale castle, heading back to their real lives.

She was probably the only one in the entire place who wanted to get back to her real life. Tension was carved into Paul Keller’s face like time into granite. No matter what happened, this was not going to end well. Best-case scenario—Matt would be found unharmed, cleared of the murder, and go back to his own life, still estranged from his father.

Worst-case scenario—no point in going there. Not yet.

Paul Keller was her boss. He was a nice enough guy, a hands-off sort of boss. He’d been a good cop in his day, was now a competent administrator. Smith had been dragged into his personal life—where she did not want to go—by her mother’s involvement with the chief.

Of all the people for the widowed Lucky to take up with.

Still, Smith reminded herself, it could have been a lot worse. There was a case in town about a year ago when a widow married a younger man and invested most of her savings in his business venture. Her son, who lived far away and never paid any attention to his mother in any event, only found out his mom was now penniless when she phoned asking if he’d heard from her husband who hadn’t come back from a business trip to South America.

The husband was now living in Brazil. The woman had turned out to have had—past tense—far more money than anyone, except for the man in question, had realized. And then there was a high school friend, whose lonely widowed father had married a woman whose bitter tongue and constant fault-finding drove all his friends, as well as his children, away.

Paul Keller was a good match for Lucky. We don’t choose our families and Paul hadn’t chosen for his son to turn out bad.

Today, Smith wanted to find Tom Dunning, the other roommate, see if he could tell her more than Alistair had. Tracey said Dunning worked at the same car rental place she did.

Other than that, she had no idea of what do to next. If Matt had disappeared into the wilderness, and if he had good equipment and knowledge of survival, he could stay there as long as his supplies lasted. Longer, if someone was helping him hide. Or until snow fell. She hadn’t thought to ask Alistair if Matt’s tent and sleeping bag were good for the winter.

If anyone was helping Matt, or keeping him hidden, it wasn’t Tracey. She was beside herself with worry about him. Smith would pop around to the Lighthouse Keeper this morning and ask if Tracey had heard from Matt overnight. If Matt told her not to tell the police, she’d do precisely as instructed.

But first, Smith needed to take Sylvester for a walk.

A man and a woman were coming out of the elevator. Karen Keller, the chief’s ex-wife. She started when she saw Smith, and then put on a smile. “Molly, how nice to see you. Are you vacationing with your mother?”

As if Lucky would bring her adult daughter along on a romantic weekend.

Mrs. Keller didn’t look as if her recent divorce had done her any harm. She wore red ankle boots, gray slacks, and a red leather jacket over a white blouse. She’d lost weight since Smith had seen her last and her hair and complexion glowed, but fresh worry lines were appearing in the delicate skin around her eyes and mouth.

“I’m here to help Chief Keller.”

“That’s nice of you.”

A man hovered at Mrs. Keller’s shoulder. He was attractive, for an older guy, and had a highly prosperous air about him. He and Karen looked like they belonged here in the lobby of the Banff Springs Hotel.

He gave Smith a wide smile and said to Karen Keller, “Are you going to introduce us, darling?”

“Where are my manners? This is Molly Smith, dear, one of…one of Paul’s fine officers. My friend, Jonathan Burgess.”

He held out his hand and they shook. Smith waited for him to say something patronizing like, “they didn’t make cops so pretty in my day. Ha Ha.” But he didn’t, just said, “Pleased to meet you, Molly. Smith did you say?”

“Lucky’s my mom.”

“I see the resemblance. You’re much taller, and the coloring is very different, but it’s there.”

“So I’ve been told. My dad was tall and fair.”

His eyes focused on her face. No wandering to her chest, which would have been creepy, no looking behind her searching for someone more interesting, which would have been rude. Instead his smile was wide, his eyes focused, his look as professional as that of Andre the bartender. “It was nice of you to come. I don’t know what you and Paul can do that the Mounties can’t, but I figure all the help Matt can get, he needs, right?”

“Right. Did you hear anything new last night, Mrs. Keller?”

“You think I’d keep it to myself if I did?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Nothing.” Burgess put a calming hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Not a word. We have an interview with the detective in charge this morning.”

Karen’s face tightened, and her eyes narrowed. Her gaze shifted and she was looking across the room. Smith moved slightly, trying to see what had attracted the woman’s attention.

Lucky Smith and Paul Keller were crossing the lobby.

They formed an awkward group. The men exchanged good mornings, Karen glared at Lucky, Lucky pretended to admire a vase of flowers.

“I’ve gotta go and give Sylvester a run,” Smith said. “Call me when you have an appointment time, will you, Mom?” She dashed off.

Sylvester, as could be expected, was delighted to see her. She’d been out earlier to let him have a quick pee and to refill his water bowl, which he’d spilled all over the floor. Now, she took him into the woods for some exercise. He was used to being off-leash, but this close to the hotel she kept him on the lead. After he had a good long sniff of the underbrush, she set off at a light jog, the happy dog bounding along beside her. She’d spent all day yesterday in the car, and last night drinking far too much. She needed a good long run. But Sylvester was getting too old for that, and they’d both have to settle for five minutes or so.

The path was well-marked and well-maintained, the air crisp and full of the scent of the forest closing down for the winter. The undergrowth rustled. Sylvester’s ears twitched and his head swung in search, but they encountered no one else. Smith felt her head clearing as she sucked in cool crisp air and took strength, as she always did, from the woods around her. She’d spent her teenage years and her early twenties working as a wilderness guide for her parents’ adventure vacation business. She’d led multiday camping and kayaking trips in the summer, backcountry skiers in the winter. She missed it sometimes, now that she spent her days in a city--where the predators were far more dangerous and unpredictable than anything she’d ever encountered in the woods, where the exhaust from cars filled her lungs and there was no getting away from the smell and noise and light of humans. She’d enjoyed the two years she spent living in a small apartment above Alphonse’s bakery, overlooking Front Street, although light would always be stealing through the windows no matter the time of night, cars driving up and down the street, or people talking too loudly on the sidewalk below. It had been nice, for a while. But now she was living in the woods again, this time with Adam, and that was where she belonged.