Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (27 page)

“My daughter has no relationship with Paul aside…”

“Aside from being one of his officers, yes. I doubt she even knows he’s prouder of her than he is of his own children. Cheryl’s doing fine. She and her husband own and manage a couple of Subway sandwich shops. Not a career Paul wanted for his daughter. As for Matt…well you know all about Matt.”

Lucky’s head spun. She’d fallen into her relationship with Paul Keller without much thought. She hadn’t given any more thought to where it was going. Was Karen going to ask Paul to come back to her? What would Paul say if she did?

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Lucky. That drink at the bar loosened my tongue, maybe.” Karen had downed two large glasses of wine in quick succession. It left a glaze across her eyes that made Lucky think she wasn’t used to drinking much. The abrupt attitude change toward Tracey, now true confessions to Lucky. She’d be sorry tomorrow. “I swallowed my pride, and told Paul I was sorry. I wanted to stop the divorce proceedings, come back home. I wanted us to try again.”

“What did he say to that?”

“It was too late. He’d bought a condo down by the riverfront. A condo suitable for a bachelor. He was in a relationship. I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard from a Trafalgar friend that everyone in town was talking about you and Paul. The odd couple, they call you. Perhaps I should have fought for my marriage, for my husband. But I had too much pride, so I didn’t speak to my lawyer and the proceedings went ahead. It’s surprisingly easy to get a divorce when there are no areas of contention, I found.”

Yes, Lucky thought, Karen should have tried harder. Paul and Lucky had stopped seeing each other for several months. Around the time he bought the condo. He was lonely, if nothing else, and he probably would have taken Karen back if she’d pushed. A movement beside the car, and someone came down the sidewalk. Tracey, hands stuffed in her pockets, shoelaces trailing on the ground, walking rapidly in the direction of town.

Tracey was not Lucky’s concern right now. “You seem happy with Jonathan, Karen.”

“He’s a lovely man, yes. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Perhaps seeing that sad, unhappy girl, and realizing that she does seem to love my son has put me in the mood for facing the truth. I hope Matt’s strong enough to look past her sloppy appearance and social awkwardness and see that she has a good heart. But I doubt it. I doubt my son has much more disregard for superficial appearances than I do.

“We’d better get back. Jonathan will be wondering where I am. I can’t complain. I shouldn’t complain. I’ve been rewarded for my foolishness by finding a lovely new man. Not many women can say that.” Karen touched the ring on her right finger. “I thought being married to a police officer was lonely. That’s nothing compared to a businessman. He’s always on the phone, always wheeling and dealing. Still,” she sighed, “the side benefits are attractive. Sometimes. This isn’t me, you know.”

“What isn’t?”

“What you see here. The expensive hair, the equally expensive clothes.” She twisted her hand. The emerald flashed in the glow from the street lights. “The manicure, the weekly spa visits. Jonathan pays for it all. It’s what he expects of me. We met at, of all things, a police retirement function, some old colleague of Paul’s. I’d wanted to show everyone how well I was doing since leaving Paul. How prosperous and independent I was. I’d lost a good deal of weight—depression and worry mostly. I spent far more than I could afford on a new dress and shoes, matching jewelry, had my hair and makeup professionally done. I met Jonathan that night, and I could tell he liked a woman who appreciated the finer things. From then on, I could hardly go out to dinner in jeans and a t-shirt, could I? Or let my roots and wrinkles show.” She sighed and leaned back into the headrest.

Lucky put the car into gear and drove to the hotel. Neither woman said another word.

Chapter Forty-eight

RCMP DETACHMENT OFFICE. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY NIGHT.

As Molly Smith and Tracey McMillan left the China Wok, the waitress flipped the sign on the door to closed. The street was quiet, a few restaurants still open but not much activity. The mountains loomed over them, dark bulk against a dark sky. Only the flashing red lights warning aircraft to keep away marked their place.

“My car’s over there.” Smith pointed across the street. A RCMP patrol car was parked behind her. As they crossed the street, she flicked her key fob to unlock the Neon.

A uniformed officer got out of his vehicle. “Molly Smith?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like you to come with me, please.” He did not smile at her.

“What?”

“Matt,” Tracey shouted. “You’ve found Matt. Where is he? Take me to him.”

“If you mean Matthew Keller, I don’t know anything about that. It’s Ms. Smith here the Sergeant wants to talk to.”

“I’ve promised my friend a ride home. I’ll drop by the station after that,” Smith said.

“Afraid not, miss. I was told to bring you in soon as you appeared. Let’s go.”

“My dog’s in my car.”

“Your dog will be fine.”

Smith didn’t care for the look in his eye or the tone of his voice. This was not one cop exchanging professional courtesies with another. She felt a small frisson of fear touch her spine.

“I can walk,” Tracey said, as if she had the choice. “I’ll call you, Molly if…you know.”

The cop opened the back door of his patrol car.

“I’ll sit in the front,” Smith said.

“You’ll sit where I tell you to.”

“Are you aware that I’m a police officer?”

His eyes widened slightly.

“Constable Smith. Trafalgar City Police. Do you want to see my ID?”

“No need. Get in.”

She walked around the car and sat in the front passenger seat. She snapped her seat belt closed. “Who wants to see me?”

“Sergeant Blechta.”

“Does he have news about Matt Keller?”

“Not that I know. He sent out your tag numbers, said to bring you in. That’s all.”

“What’s your name?”

“Andy Jones.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “My dad was named Andy Smith.”

He turned his head slightly and grinned at her. Then Jones activated his radio to contact dispatch and told them to tell Blechta he was bringing Smith in.

The laugh died in her throat. She did not like the sound of that. If Blechta wanted to talk to her, all he had to do was ask Paul Keller for her phone number and she would have come down to the station without wasting Jones’ time.

At least Jones didn’t drive her around the back, to the secure bay. He pulled up to a side door, and she got out. She didn’t thank him for the ride. He muttered something like, “See you around,” and pulled away.

Blechta was waiting for her at the door. Paul Keller was not with him.

“My office, Ms. Smith,” the sergeant said.

“Constable Smith.”

He gave her a look, but said nothing more until he was seated behind his desk and she was shifting from one foot to the other, like a naughty schoolboy called up in front of the principal.

“You have no jurisdiction here.”

“I know that.”

“You’ve been asking questions, poking around where you’re not wanted.”

“I have at no time represented myself as a police officer, or implied that I’m involved in the investigation. I’m doing what I can to help out a friend of a friend. Like anyone would.”

“Anyone,” he said, “would let the police handle it.”

She debated asking how well the police were handling it, considering that Matt Keller had now been missing for two days. She held her tongue. She hadn’t done any better. “Where’s Chief Keller?”

“Back at his hotel, I assume. Where you should be. Look, Ms. Smith.”

“Constable Smith.”

He studied her for a long time. She kept her face impassive, but her heart was pounding. The heat in the office was turned up too high, and she was sweltering in her coat and scarf. She forced herself not to wipe her palms against the leg of her jeans. What had Adam told her, whispers said Blechta had trouble with women? She could believe it. But she couldn’t believe he was going to try anything now. Here. She wasn’t under his command; she wasn’t dependent on him for a good job assessment or plum assignments. She’d done nothing that so much as skirted the law since she’d been in Banff. He’d had her pulled off the street like a common criminal in a blatant act of intimidation. He’d overplayed his hand. She would not be intimidated.

She tried to believe herself.

He broke the stare first. “There’s nothing you or your chief can accomplish here. Go home and take Keller and your mother with you.”

She didn’t bother to mention that she’d decided to do that very thing while she watched Tracey gulp down chicken and rice. She could meet Tracey every day, feed her and ply her with drinks, and never learn a darn thing. Because Tracey didn’t know a darn thing. Matt had run out on her, as much as he’d run from his father and from the police. It would be a long time before Tracey came to accept that, and Smith had better things to do.

Besides, Sylvester was getting restless in the car. He’d found a loose piece of fabric on the back of the front passenger seat and pretty much tore it to shreds. Smith decided she could afford to concede, just an inch, to Blechta. “I’ll talk to Chief Keller.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Constable Jones will take you back to your car. Good-bye, Ms. Smith.”

Chapter Forty-nine

TRAFALGAR CITY POLICE STATION & GRIZZLY RESORT. TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. TUESDAY MORNING.

John Winters was settling himself behind his desk on Tuesday morning, a cup of steaming coffee in hand, when his phone rang.

“Morning, Ron.”

“We’ve had a call from the security guard at the Grizzly Resort. He’s found something he says we’ll want to see. I thought you might like to be in on it.”

“What sort of something?” He glanced out the window. Clouds were thick with the promise of more rain.

“Didn’t say.”

“I’ll meet you there.” Winters carried his mug out to the GIS van.

By the time he arrived at the construction site, the road was lined with RCMP vehicles, including Ron Gavin’s forensic van. The private security guard was gone; a uniformed officer stood at the gate. It had rained since Winters’ visit yesterday, leaving the dirt track thick with mud. Winters pulled off to the side of the road and climbed out of his own van as Adam Tocek’s truck pulled up. Adam jumped out, followed by Norman. The dog’s tail wagged and his ears were up. He almost looked as though he were smiling at the prospect of going to work.

“Where are they?” Winters asked the uniform.

“About a hundred yards down the path. Can’t miss ’em.”

“Thanks.”

As Winters, Adam, and Norman rounded the bend, they could see a group of police up ahead. Darren Fernhaugh was with them, waving his arms, yelling at the private security guard. Two men stood beside them, hard hats tucked under their arms, faces set into dark lines. The men clustered around a bulldozer. Another machine was parked close by.

“Take a look at this, John,” Ron Gavin called. “Adam, keep that dog well back.”

Winters and Adam exchanged glances. Winters approached while Adam ordered Norman to sit. At the base of the bulldozer, right about where the driver would step to climb up, lay one of the most vicious pieces of equipment John Winters had ever seen. Metal plates and chains formed a loop, with a row of sharp teeth in the center. The whole thing was about the size of his forearm.

“Nasty.” He crouched down to have a closer look, taking great care to keep his hands away.

Leghold traps were legal in B.C. But not this type. Not the ones with teeth.

The ground around the trap was compacted earth; the path had been cleared a long time ago. This hadn’t been here yesterday.

Winters got to his feet. He looked at Fernhaugh. A vein pulsed in the man’s forehead.

“Any idea who would do this?”

One of the workers spat. “Goddamned tree huggers, that’s who. Coulda taken off my fuckin’ foot.” The men wore steel-toed work boots and thick overalls. If they had stepped into the trap, they would have felt it. But it would have been unlikely to do any serious damage.

Whoever set the trap would have known that.

One of the Mounties was holding a large, thick branch. At a nod from Ron Gavin, he plunged it into the center of the trap. The teeth clamped shut with a sickening crunch. The branch snapped in two and the watchers shuddered. Norman barked.

Winters let out a long breath.

“Adam,” Gavin said, “see if Norman can get a scent. And for God’s sake, people, watch your footing.”