Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (26 page)

“It’s a new development.”

“I see.” Karen walked into the living room. She looked around the apartment, not liking what she saw. Lucky gave Tracey an encouraging smile.

“The police called me,” Karen said. “Sunday morning. Looking for my son. They’d found my name in his contact list on his phone. I had to say I didn’t know where he was, I hadn’t spoken to him in some weeks. Things have been difficult between us lately. Jonathan thinks I spoil the boy. I only wish I’d spoiled him more.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Tracey said. “He might not even know we’re all so worried. I bet that’s it. He’s done that before, gone off into the backcountry when he needed to get his head on straight without a word to anyone. Yes, that’s what’s happened. He doesn’t take his phone or computer or anything with him, says he wants to be away from the world. He won’t know there’s a search on for him.”

“He’s always been like that. When he was a boy, he’d want to get away by himself. You must remember, Lucky. Matt was one of your regular customers, wasn’t he? Even before he got a job and made proper money, he’d be saving his allowance for a new sleeping bag or a Coleman stove.”

Tracey McMillan and Karen Keller smiled at each other, pleased with their logic. “There’s going to be such a to-do when he comes back to town and realizes the effort the police have put into searching for him. Paul will have a fit.”

“Paul?”

“Matt’s father. He never did have any time for Matt’s daydreaming, as he called it. I’ve always said, if Paul would have let Matt be himself, he would have turned out…”

“All of which is beside the point,” Lucky interrupted, her color rising. “Tracey, have you heard from Matt since we last spoke?”

“No.”

“If you do hear from him,” Karen said, “will you tell him to call me?”

“Sure.”

“I’d appreciate it, dear, if you could let me know immediately when you hear. Before calling his father or the police, I mean.”

Lucky chewed her lip, but said nothing.

Karen looked around the apartment. She went to the window and pulled back the dusty white sheet that served as a curtain. Passing cars threw light from their headlamps into the room, illuminating the lines of stress and worry on the women’s faces. “I’m sure this is a lovely view during the day.”

“It is,” Tracey said, pleased Karen was trying to find something good to say about their home. She should offer her guests a drink. But she didn’t have tea, and the coffee in the cupboard was instant, and there wasn’t milk or cream to go with it anyway. Unlikely either Lucky or Karen were the sort to quaff domestic beer straight from the bottle.

“You and Matt don’t live here alone, do you?” Karen asked.

“We need help with the rent so we have roommates. One of them left this morning, and I’m hoping the other will be gone soon. He’s not very nice.”

Karen dug in her Coach bag and placed several new twenty-dollar bills on the coffee table.

“I don’t need…” Tracey began.

“You’ll have expenses until Matt gets back. I want to help. It’s not much.”

Tracey felt tears behind her eyes. Mrs. Keller looked at her for a long time. “Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you for caring about my son.”

Tracey sniffled.

Karen placed a card on top of the money. “This is my number. Call me any time, day or night, and tell Matt to call as soon as you hear from him. Tell him to phone me before he speaks to his father.”

Lucky cleared her throat. “The police…”

“The police,” Karen said, “can wait. His mother comes first.” She headed for the door, put her hand on the knob. “I’m glad we had this talk, Tracey. I’m sure all will be resolved soon.”

She left. Lucky followed.

Tracey shut the door, and leaned up against it. Wow, Karen Keller wasn’t such a snooty bitch after all. Her stomach grumbled. She eyed the money on the table. Better save that in case she needed it to help Matt. Let Smith buy her dinner.

Chapter Forty-six

CHINA WOK RESTAURANT. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY NIGHT.

More expense. Smith sighed and put away her phone. Tracey wanted to meet for dinner. No doubt she’d expect Smith to pay. Wouldn’t be so bad if she actually wanted to eat, but she’d indulged in a huge ribs and fries dinner and about the last thing she needed now was more food.

Hopefully Tracey would choose some place more down-market this time.

It was shortly after ten o’clock. Tracey said she’d be at the China Wok on Banff Avenue in fifteen minutes. This time Smith drove herself into town. Sylvester bounded happily in the back. She didn’t intend to have much to drink, not after last night. She’d been to Reds, trying to find out what she could about Matt. The place was quiet so the staff had time to talk. Unfortunately, they had nothing to say. They didn’t socialize with Matt after work, didn’t know much about his life or where he lived. Didn’t know and didn’t care. One of the waitresses, a tall icy blonde, mentioned that Tracey came in sometimes, sat by herself and nursed a drink for hours, watching Matt through adoring eyes.

Smith finally ran out of questions to ask and people to ask them of. She killed time waiting for Tracey to call by taking Sylvester for a walk down Banff Avenue, the town’s main drag. Cascade Mountain, its outline visible in traces of moonlight, framed the end of the street. Along with the usual array of tourist shops both cutesy and junk-filled, galleries featuring local art, and high-end women’s fashions, the town sported some pretty good wilderness equipment stores. She peeked in windows, drooling at the array of supplies, while Sylvester sniffed under lampposts and left messages telling any dog who might follow that he’d been here.

She was debating coming back tomorrow when one particular store was open and trying on the ski jacket in the window when Tracey called.

By the time Smith got Sylvester back to the car and arrived at the meeting place, Tracey was seated, with a bottle of beer in front of her while she studied the menu. The restaurant was decorated the same as every Chinese restaurant Smith had ever been in. Walls colored red and gold. Small tables, unadorned by tablecloths or candles. Paper-wrapped chopsticks and a couple of small bottles of sauce. This time of night, on a holiday Monday, the place was empty other than Tracey and the waitress who bustled over, smiling, to greet Smith as she entered.

“Just green tea for me, please.”

“You’re not eating,” Tracey said, disappointment in her voice.

“I had dinner earlier. You go ahead. I’ll get it.”

“Thanks.”

“What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your face. Did someone hit you?”

Tracey flushed, and dipped her head into her menu. “Of course not, don’t be silly.”

“Hardly silly. What happened?” The girl’s jaw was bruised, looking as if she’d fallen and it had struck the pavement. Or someone had held it, hard. “It’s fresh, must have happened within the last couple of hours.”

“Nothing happened. I bumped into a door. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Never heard that one before. Have you seen Matt?”

“No! Not since Saturday, as I keep telling people. And even if I had, Matt never hit me. He wouldn’t.”

“Someone did.”

“Drop it, will you? Why are you so sure, anyway? Are you a nurse or something?”

“Not a nurse. No.”

“Okay then.”

“Ready to order?” The waitress’ smile was stiff, her eyes wary. She’d heard the raised voices.

Tracey requested egg rolls, General Tao chicken, green beans in spicy sauce, and steamed rice. Smith repeated that she’d have green tea.

Tracey had nothing new to tell her, and Smith realized the girl had only agreed to meet hoping for another free meal. She should have been annoyed, but something about Tracey’s vulnerability touched Smith deep inside.

She hoped Matt Keller was worthy of this intense, loyal young woman.

She doubted it.

She remembered Matt as a strutting high-school athlete, popular among his peers and the girls, center of attention, cocky in school, minor troublemaker out of it. The young Matt wouldn’t have given this timid, insecure girl a second glance. She was young, very young, compared to Matt’s early thirties. Not hard to see what Tracey saw in Matt, but the other way? It wasn’t even as though Tracey had some money behind her. No accounting for taste, Smith reminded herself, and it had been a lot of years since she’d known Matt Keller.

People could change.
Couldn’t they?

Smith sipped tea while Tracey ate.

“You gonna tell me what happened to your face?” Smith said as Tracey scooped up the last of her rice and sauce.

“A guy at work. His name’s Tom. He shares the apartment with Matt. It’s nothing. He’s on edge. We all are.”

“You’re on edge, as you say. Have you hit this Tom?”

“Of course not.”

“My point exactly. I don’t care what’s eating him, he can’t go around hitting you.”

“He didn’t hit me.”

“If you say so. Causing bruising to your face, however done, is not acceptable behavior among colleagues.”

Tracey mumbled into her food.

“Do you want me to go with you to the police?”

“No! I was asking him questions. Butting into stuff that’s none of my business.”

“Always an excuse. Next time, call the police.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Sure there will. There always is. You’re making a mistake, Tracey, but if that’s what you want, fine, let it go. You have to promise me if you learn anything about Matt, hear anything, hear from him, you will not keep it to yourself. Absolutely no good will come of that.”

Tracey studied Smith’s face for a long time. The waitress slipped the bill onto the table, and it lay there between them, untouched.

“I’m afraid,” Tracey said at last. “So afraid.”

Smith’s hand reached across the table. She laid it on the back of Tracey’s. “I understand. But anything Matt’s trying to do on his own, whether hide from the authorities, track down the killer himself, or just run away, will come to grief. Believe me on this, Tracey.”

“I do.” Tracey’s voice was very low. In the kitchen, a man said something in Chinese and the waitress laughed.

Smith picked up the bill. “I’ll give you a lift home. You look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“I haven’t.”

Chapter Forty-seven

BEARTRACK TRAIL. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY NIGHT.

Lucky Smith and Karen Keller walked the half-block to Paul’s car in silence. Lights were on in many of the apartment units and music blared from more than one open window. Cars drove past, and people walked dogs. The night air was crisp, but not cold, clean with the scent of snow on the mountains and coniferous trees in the forest.

Lucky touched the key fob and the car blinked at them in greeting. They climbed in, and Lucky put the key in the ignition. Before she could turn it, Karen said, “Did Paul tell you I wanted to stop the divorce?”

Shocked, Lucky half-turned in her seat. They were parked beneath a streetlight, and long shadows filled the crevices in Karen’s face. “It’s true. I soon regretted leaving him. We hadn’t been getting on for a while. I wasn’t happy at my job. They had new owners who were making what they called efficiencies, and I called mean-spirited. I was missing my friends and my sister in Calgary. The kids didn’t need me anymore. I was tired, depressed. So I told Paul I was leaving him, and I packed my bags and moved to Calgary. It didn’t take long to realize I was no happier in my new job, living by myself in a small apartment, with my sister constantly introducing me to her singe male friends. Most of whom were well into their seventies, and hadn’t washed their underwear since their wives died. That was precisely what they were looking for in a woman. An underwear-washer.

“I foolishly insisted we sell the house. I wanted an apartment of my own, and I needed my share of the money. I wasn’t prepared for how fast it sold.”

Neither, thought Lucky, was Paul. He’d been lost, cast adrift when his wife left him, his house sold pretty much out from under him. He’d wanted to move in with Lucky and she’d decided things were happening far too fast and she wouldn’t see him anymore.

“I’d always known he loved you, Lucky. I bet you didn’t know that either. When we first lived in Trafalgar, when Paul was a detective, it was Lucky Smith this and Lucky Smith that. I was so pleased when Paul got the job in Calgary and we finally got the hell out of Trafalgar.”

“I never…”

“I know. It was obvious to everyone that you and Andy adored each other. Despite all his faults, and they are many, Paul is no philanderer. The years passed and I’d forgotten about you, so it didn’t raise any red flags when Paul was offered the position of chief constable in Trafalgar. And then we were back and not only was it once again all the outrageous things Lucky Smith was doing, but now Moonlight Smith came into his life.”