Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (24 page)

Toweling herself off, she returned Jonathan Burgess’ call. He answered immediately and repeated the invitation to join him for a drink. “Give me twenty minutes,” she said. It was coming up to the top of the hour, and she wanted to catch the local news on TV.

The death of Barry Caseman and the disappearance of Matt Keller was, as could have been expected, the top story. Smith sat on the bed to watch. Blechta came on first, giving rough details of what little they knew so far, trying to make it sound as if an arrest was imminent. A few shots, taken from a distance, of the police walking in and out of an apartment building and cruisers parked on the street with lights flashing. Then a photo of Caseman appeared on the screen. He was an ugly son-of-a-gun, with greasy blond hair and thin lips. Then Matt’s picture, with a plea for anyone who knew his whereabouts to contact the police. They didn’t say that Matt was wanted for murder. They didn’t have to.

Smith leaned forward. It had been a lot of years since she’d seen Matt Keller, and she never paid him much attention even then, but he hadn’t changed much. The resemblance to Paul Keller was strong.

The piece ended, and she switched off the TV. She dressed, brushed out her hair, and applied a touch of makeup. At the last minute she added a silver necklace and replaced gold studs in her ears with giant silver hoops.

Burgess was waiting for her in the lobby. Wearing sharply-ironed khaki trousers and a hand-woven sweater, he stood as she approached, smiling in welcome. “Where’s Mrs. Keller?” Smith asked, after initial greetings.

“Resting. I thought it best if you and I have a private chat.”

Smith eyed him warily. “Why?”

“You don’t beat about the bush, do you? For a moment there I forgot you’re a police officer. It’s been an emotionally draining day, as you can imagine. Let’s have that drink.”

He led the way up the stairs to the Grapes Wine Bar. This early, the small bar was almost empty and they took seats in an alcove beneath enormous windows set into wood-paneled walls, looking out over the Bow Valley.

The French doors were open to a closed-off balcony. “If you’re chilly, I can close the windows.” The waiter arranged menus and place mats.

Burgess lifted an eyebrow in question. Smith said, “It’s fine, thanks. The fresh air’s nice.”

“I’m going to have a beer. Molly?” Burgess said.

“Kokanee, please.”

“A true B.C. girl.”

She shrugged.

“Karen told me your name’s Moonlight, but you call yourself Molly?”

“Moonlight’s the name I was given when I was born, but it’s hardly a cop name. I prefer Molly, although Mom refuses to change. I’m okay with that,” she added quickly. Although she wasn’t. Anyone who met her under the name Moonlight automatically assumed she was some modern-day hippie chick. She remembered the first time she’d gone to court. Her first time as the charging officer. She’d been so nervous, awake half the night. The judge read out her name and the defendant, up on a drunk driving charge, laughed out loud. Ever since then she’d made sure all police and court records said Constable M. L. Smith. Moonlight was bad enough. God help her if people found out the L stood for Legolas, the
Lord of the Rings
elf with the long shiny blond hair.

Gracing her with an unfortunate name was the about the worst thing her parents had done to her, and she knew she was lucky indeed.

“I thought it best if we get to know each other without Karen around,” Burgess said. “She still has a, shall we say, sensitive spot about your mother.”

“She shouldn’t. She left the chief, as far as I and everyone else knows. What did she expect him to do after that? Take his vows?”

“I’m only telling you the situation, Molly. How well do you know Matt?”

“I haven’t seen nor heard of him since I was in high school. He’s older than me, and he dropped out of school early.”

Burgess’ face fell. “For some reason I thought you’d kept in touch.”

“Not at all. Who told you that?”

“Just an impression, I guess. In that case, it was nice of you to come and try to help find him.”

“I’m doing it for my mom. And my boss.”

They stopped talking while the waiter served their drinks and asked if they’d like something to eat. They both passed. “This is a beautiful room, isn’t it?” Burgess said. “It was originally the writing room. In the days when ladies and gentlemen would spend an entire afternoon writing letters before going in for afternoon tea. Hard to imagine, sometimes, all we’ve lost in the rush to the modern world.” He glanced around, taking in the paneled walls, the tall glass windows inset with lead panes and crests of stained glass, the paintings and framed maps.

“I scarcely know the boy myself. Not that he’s a boy anymore. We’ve only met once, about two months ago. Karen wanted a visit, so we came here for one night, and met Matt for lunch. He asked his mother for money. I understand that wasn’t the first time, either. Kids these days.” He forced a smile to take some of the sting out of his words, but to Smith the smile was all teeth, no sincerity.

Still, she’d cut Burgess some slack. It couldn’t be easy, trying to start a new relationship when you didn’t approve of the woman’s adult child. And, from what little she’d been able to gather, Matt sounded like a slacker.

“He was a good skier,” she said, for some reason feeling she had to come to Matt Keller’s defense. “I remember that.”

Burgess sipped his beer. “Karen told me he was looking for a loan. A loan to tide him over until ski season began and he got more work. I would have liked to believe her, but I got the impression she’s given him many loans. Which were never repaid. But that’s neither here nor there. I was hoping, Molly, you’d be able to give me some insight as to what’s happening with the search for Matt.”

“Why?” she asked bluntly.

“What business is it of mine, you mean? I’m about to ask Karen to marry me. I’ve booked a Christmas vacation in Turks and Caicos and intend to pop the question while we’re there. If this business is hanging over her, I’d like to know as much as I can.” He cleared his throat. “I am, Molly, not without means. I intend to make Karen a happy woman. I do not intend to have her son scrounging off me.”

“Fair enough. Everything I know, you understand, is strictly informal. No one but the chief has told me anything and I doubt he’s been kept fully in the loop. The working theory is that Matt has taken off into the backcountry. He’s good in the wilderness, and he’s probably equipped.”

“Is he a suspect in this killing?”

“My impression is that he’s the only suspect.”

Burgess leaned back in his chair. “What’s your opinion, as a police officer?”

“I’m not a detective, and I don’t have enough facts to have an opinion. But I do know Matt ran from the scene and isn’t coming forward as a witness. That’s highly incriminatory. Provided, of course, he’s able to come forward. Look, Mr. Burgess…”

“Jonathan, please.”

“Jonathan. You asked for my opinion, so I’ll give it. For what it’s worth. I’d recommend you not put any more money down on your Christmas vacation, okay. Matt Keller was at the scene around the time a murder took place, and then he fled. This isn’t Mexico or Columbia where he might conceivably be on the run from crooked cops. Even if Matt bolted into the night after calling his dad because he thought he’d been seen by the killer, he has absolutely no reason to stay hidden.”

“I appreciate your honesty. It’s why I wanted to talk to you. Without Karen.”

She finished her beer. “Thanks for the drink.”

He pulled out his wallet, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and got to his feet without waiting for change. They walked out of the bar together. The elevators were directly across the hall. “I’d better go up to check on Karen,” he said.

“I’d better go out and check on my dog.”

He pushed the up button. “You brought a dog?”

“Yes, I brought a dog. My mom’s mutt. I couldn’t think of anything else to do with him on the spur of the moment.”

A soft ping announced the impending arrival of the elevator. It was going up and it was empty. Burgess got in and turned to face the front. “I won’t tell Karen about our conversation, and I’d prefer it if you don’t, Molly. She’s worried enough.” The doors shut with a silent whoosh.

Smith took the stairs down to the lobby. She hadn’t cared for Jonathan Burgess on first meeting, but she was warming up to him. His concern for Karen Keller did seem genuine. Nothing wrong with worrying that he was about to be stuck with gigantic legal bills for a young man he didn’t know well or even like.

Chapter Forty-three

GLOBAL CAR RENTAL. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY EVENING.

Jody looked up as Tracey entered the car rental office. “Anything?”

Tracey shook her head.

“No news is probably good news,” Jody said. “It’s better Matt stays out of the cops’ way.”

Tracey didn’t quite see it that way, and she doubted Jody did either. But she was trying to be supportive, and that’s what mattered.

Jody got up from her seat and followed Tracey into the back room. Tracey hung up her jacket, and Jody took her raincoat off the hook.

“Stay strong, eh?” she said. “Matt’ll be back and they’ll catch the guy who attacked Barry and everything will be back to normal.”

Normal
. Only two days ago, the last thing on earth Tracey wanted would have been for life to be normal. Now, it sounded like the best thing possible.

Jody wrapped Tracey in a hug. It was a good hug, from the heart, and Tracey clung to the other girl as the tears she’d fought all day began to rise. Jody broke away and said, “See you tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

Tom was coming into the office as the women walked out. There were no customers, and Mr. Simpson was nowhere to be seen, so Tom grabbed Jody around the waist, pulled her close, and gave her a long kiss, noticeably grinding his hips against hers. Then he released her, slapped her on her rump, and said he’d be around when he got off work.

He glanced at Tracey and the edges of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

Jody was a nice girl. What on earth she saw in Tom, Tracey couldn’t imagine.

She took her seat at the counter and logged onto the computer to check what was scheduled to happen this evening.

Soon a couple came in to pick up the Lexus SUV they’d reserved. At Global Car Rental they didn’t get a lot of high-end cars. The Lexus had only been booked this morning, for four days. The people were from Ontario.

Tom leaned up against the counter. The woman talked to Tracey while her husband studied maps on display.

“You’ll enjoy driving that car,” Tom said to the man. “Where you off to?”

“We drove in from Vancouver, spent a couple of days at the Banff Springs. Fabulous place. Some folks at the hotel were telling us Waterton and Glacier are pretty special. Figured we’d try them out.”

“You’re planning to cross the border?”

“Yup.”

“Look,” Tom said, dropping his voice. “I don’t usually ask favors of the customers but if you’re going to Glacier, I wonder if you can take something down for me?”

The man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Certainly not.”

Tom laughed. Perhaps only Tracey heard the tension behind that laugh. “It’s a book. Not wrapped or anything, nothing inside it but paper and words. My sister wrote it. An aunt of ours wants to read it, and my sister insists she has to have a signed copy. I was about to mail it, but you’re going down there anyway. Won’t even be out of your way. My aunt owns a café in the park. She’ll treat you to the best coffee and peanut butter squares in Montana.”

“I…” the man said.

“Here, let me get the book. I’ll show you.” Tom dashed into the office, and was back before the customer could gather his wits. He held up a glossy trade paperback and flicked through the pages. “No hidden compartments, no secret partitions. Just paper and ink. A book. What do you say? You’d be doing me a favor. Tell you the truth, I was supposed to mail this weeks ago and my sister’s been on my case.” Tom snatched a piece of paper off the counter and jotted down an address and phone number. “It’s not much of a book. My sister’s sorta, well, mentally challenged is the phrase they use, and the book’s self-published. But it means a heck of a lot to her.” He thrust the object in question out with an embarrassed smile.

The man had little choice but to take it.

“Hey, thanks. Here’s the address of the café. Like I said, best coffee and squares in the West. I’ll fetch the car now. I’ll give it a special going over ‘cause you’re doing me a big favor.”

And Tom was gone.

“What,” the woman asked her husband, “was all that about?”

He shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

Paperwork completed, they took chairs in the waiting area. Before long, Tom delivered the gleaming Lexus. They walked outside to meet him, and he handed them the keys. They drove off and Tom came inside.