Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (30 page)

The girl didn’t move.

Chapter Fifty-three

TRAFALGAR CITY POLICE STATION. TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. TUESDAY MORNING.

The moment he got back to the office John Winters looked up the phone number for Paula. He liked Paula. She might dress like something out of a teenage horror movie but she was never anything but polite and friendly toward him. Whenever he saw them in town, her young son, the unfortunately named Beowulf, was clean and neatly dressed, with bright eyes and a wide happy smile. Paula had never been in trouble with the police, but she had been a witness a couple of years ago when one of her friends was killed, and he’d taken down her cell number. It was still filed away on his computer.

She answered on the first ring. In the background children laughed.

“Paula, John Winters here.”

“Hi, Mr. Winters.”

“I wonder if we could meet. I need to talk to you,”

“What about?”

“The Grizzly Resort.”

“I don’t know anything about that. I was at the demonstration because Nadine said I should come. We have to protect what’s left of the wilderness, you know.”

“Yes, yes. I know. How about lunch at George’s? Are you free?” He wanted to meet someplace she’d be comfortable. Someplace public so she wouldn’t feel she was snitching on her friends.

“I guess,” she said after a long pause, “that would be okay. Can I bring Beowulf? It’s my day off, so we’re at the park.”

“I’d love to see Beowulf. Noon?”

“See you then, Mr. Winters.”

He spent the rest of the morning doing some further reading on Robyn Winfield. She’d updated her blog the day before. She made an impassioned plea for people to come to Trafalgar to try to stop the Grizzly Resort. The piece was accompanied by pictures of beautiful mountain vistas and happy bears fishing in pristine swift-moving rivers.

He checked on Steve McNally. No information on his whereabouts.

Winters was the first to arrive at George’s. The waitress lifted one eyebrow when he asked her to bring a highchair. Soon Paula arrived with Beowulf in his push chair. Winters stood while she unloaded the little boy and settled him at the table.

“This is a real treat for us, thanks. Wolfie doesn’t often get to eat in a restaurant. Do you, buddy?” She ruffled his hair. Beowulf stuffed the tail of a toy dog into his mouth and eyed John Winters over a much-chewed ear.

Winters gave what he hoped was a friendly smile. The waitress brought a cup of crayons and a page torn out of a coloring book. The boy dropped the dog onto the floor and grabbed for red. Paula scooped up the toy and opened her menu.

“Something to drink to start?” the waitress said.

“I’ll have a Coke, thanks.” Paula dug in her cavernous bag and brought out a plastic sippy cup. “And a glass of milk.”

Winters asked for coffee.

“There was trouble up at the Grizzly Resort site this morning,” Winters said. “I don’t want this situation to escalate into violence. No one wants that.”

Paula stopped fussing. “What sort of trouble?”

“A leghold trap. Deliberately set where one of the workers might step into it.”

“Yuk,” she said. She turned her attention back to the menu.

“Might as easily have trapped an animal. A coyote or a wolf. There are a few houses up the road. Be a nice place to walk a dog in the morning.”

Her black-rimmed eyes opened wide. “Oh, gosh. That’s awful. Who would do something like that?”

“Dog,” Beowulf said.

“I’m hoping you can tell me about the outsiders who were at the demonstration the other day. Robyn Winfield and that man, what’s his name?”

“Steve-something. But they wouldn’t have set that trap. They believe in non-violent resistance.”

“That’s good.”

“Ready to order?” The smiling waitress placed their drinks on the table. Paula poured milk into the plastic cup and placed it in front of Beowulf. He glugged it down.

“Have you been to any meetings of the group?” Winters asked, once the business of discussing the menu and deciding what to eat was over.

“No. Nadine went, but I can’t always get a babysitter.”

“Do you know anything about Robyn and Steve?”

“I’m not a snitch, Mr. Winters. I mean, thanks for the lunch and all, but I don’t want to tell on them. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

He smiled at her. “All I’m asking for is what’s public knowledge, Paula. No snitching. Tell you what, let’s have a nice lunch. Do you have a phone number for them? If I can talk to them, I’ll ask my questions myself.”

“That should be okay.” She rooted through her bag and came up with a printed flyer, an invitation to a meeting to discuss action against the resort. A phone number had been scribbled on the bottom. “It’s Robyn’s number. Nadine gave it to me, in case I could arrange to get to the meeting after all.”

Winters pulled out his notebook and took down the information. “Thanks, Paula.”

Their food arrived. While Beowulf made messy work of his hot dog and fries, Paula chatted happily about Beowulf’s adventures at day care and his potential as a soccer star. Winters asked no more about the resort or the protesters.

For the briefest of moments, as Paula wiped the little boy’s face and encouraged him to thank Winters for the lunch, John Winters regretted that he and Eliza had never had children.

Chapter Fifty-four

BANFF NATIONAL PARK, ALBERTA. TUESDAY AFTERNOON.

It was a grizzly, brown and silver-tipped, and enormous. Easily seven feet tall on its hind legs, perhaps close to five hundred pounds. It smelled of dirty fur and muddy paws, of fish and rotting meat. Of the wild and the world beyond paved roads and lights and laughter. Smith’s hand slid into her pocket. She pulled out the can of bear spray and flipped it open. Her knife would be of absolutely no use here. Probably not her Glock, either. She spread her legs apart and lifted her arms, trying to make herself look equally large and impressive, and submissively lowered her eyes to the animal’s chest. “Tracey, I can handle this, but you have to get out of my way. Step backwards, but move slowly. Do not make eye contact, stay calm, and listen to me. If it charges, drop.” She raised her voice. She had a tendency to squeak under stress, and was pleased the words came out strong and firm. “Mr. Bear, I need you to go away.” She dared a quick look. His eyes were small and black. His teeth were long and sharp. She lowered her eyes again. “Step back, Tracey. Now.”

And then, with a huff that had the hair on her arms moving, the animal dropped to the ground. It turned and lumbered into the trees. Soon, not even the shiver of a leaf marked its passing.

Tracey spun around. “Wow. Wasn’t that something? I’ve never seen a bear up close before.”

Smith stuffed the can of spray into her pocket. Her legs shook, but she didn’t dare collapse, not yet. “Let’s hope you never do again. If there is a next time, you do exactly what I tell you. Got it?”

“Sure. Come on. We’re almost there. I think I recognize this path.”

That Smith doubted very much. But Tracey seemed to be invigorated by the encounter with the bear and her pace quickened. An innocent in the wild. Smith wondered if Tracey would have tried to pat the bear or feed it by hand. That had been known to happen. If they were lucky, they lived to tell the tale.

Feeling much like Gretel following breadcrumbs, Smith followed the scraps of red cloth. It was coming up to two o’clock, only one more hour until she’d insist on turning around, when the forest ahead began to thin out, and more sky came into view. A clearing, most likely.

“We’re here!” Tracey shouted. Energized, she broke into a run. Smith followed, moving with more caution. They emerged into an alpine meadow. Full of boulders, scrubby bushes, and tiny plants that would make a carpet of riotous color come spring. A scattering of snow clung to the dark underside of rocks and filled crevasses in the ground.

A lake, a perfect small jewel of sapphire and white, sparkled in the sun.

“Matt,” Tracey yelled. “I’m here! Matt, you can come out. It’s me, Tracey.”

Smith’s right hand rested on the knife at her hip. Other than the cries of the girl, all was quiet.

“I told you to come alone.” A man stepped out from a line of spruce at the edge of the clearing. He was unshaven, his hair lank, his face dirty, his eyes haunted.

“She never would have made it,” Smith said. “How you doing, Matt? Not well, by the look of it.”

A small grin touched the edges of his mouth. “Moonlight Smith. I was thinking of you the other day.”

Tracey ran toward him. Matt wrapped her in a hug that lifted her feet off the ground. They embraced for a long time. Smith shrugged off her pack and searched for a bottle of water. She took a long drink.

Matt let Tracey go, and she dragged him by the hand. “Molly wanted to help. I hope you don’t mind too much.”

He studied Smith’s face. “I don’t mind,” he said at last. “Nice to see you, Moonlight.” He held out his hand. She took it. “You got anything to eat in there?”

She tossed him a granola bar. He caught it easily and tore the wrapping off. The food disappeared in two quick bites. She found chocolate bars and nuts and passed them over. While he ate, she walked to the edge of the lake to give him some privacy. The water was perfectly clear. Gray and white stones lining the bottom swayed as light passed through the water. Small fish nibbled at unseen plants. Tracey told Matt how worried she’d been and that everyone was looking for him. Matt said nothing.

Finally, Smith turned around. “You have to come back to town with me.”

He shook his head. “No. I appreciate you helping Tracey, but you can leave now. We’ll manage.”

“What do you think you’re going to do?”

He had his arm around Tracey’s shoulder. He looked down at her, his smile soft and intimate. “We’ll manage.”

Tracey beamed.

“Hardly,” Smith said. “The police like you for the murder of Barry Caseman. You must know that.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Tell them then. What are they supposed to think, you running off?”

“I guess your mom called you, eh?”

“Of course she did. She’s worried about you.”

“Tell her I’m sorry for what happened. Sorrier that I can say.”

“Tell her yourself. She’s still here. So’s the ch…your dad. He’s worried sick. So’s your mom.”

“My mom’s here?”

“Matt. Do you not understand how serious this is? You. Are. Wanted. For murder.”

“But he didn’t do it.”

Smith threw up her hands. “The both of you can keep saying that till the cows come home, but it won’t make any difference. You have to turn yourself in and tell your side of the story. You don’t actually think you’re going to run, do you? Run where? To the States? You think the border guards haven’t been alerted? Are you going to walk to Ontario? You can’t rent a car. Your driver’s license has a flag on it. There’s a bus, but it costs money and you can’t use your credit cards. Even if you manage to get there, they have police in Ontario, you know.”

Matt released Tracey. He walked in circles, eyes on the ground, rubbing at the stubble on his face. “This is such a mess, such a fucking mess.”

“Start cleaning it up. Come back to town.”

“I can’t. There’s a cabin, back in the woods. An old abandoned trapper’s place. We can stay there for a while.”

Tracey nodded.

“Listen to yourself, will you?” Smith said. “Do you think we’re at the end of the world? This is a national park. The rangers have been told to look out for you. How long before one of them thinks, oh, yeah, that old trapper’s cabin would be a nice place to hide out.

“You know I’m right. Otherwise, why have you hung around? You must know you could have hitched a ride out of here before your face got on the news.”

He looked at Tracey. “I started to. But then I realized I couldn’t leave you behind.”

Tracey burst into tears.

Smith groaned. She zipped up her pack. “I’m not going to stand around here arguing. You can come with me. I’ll drive you to town. We’ll call your dad and he’ll take you to the police station and wait with you while you make a statement. Or you can play mountain man and try to hide out and possibly get shot—or get Tracey shot—in a shootout as a dangerous fugitive. Your choice.”

“I don’t want to see my dad.”

“Geez. I’ll go with you then. While we walk, I’ll brief you on what to do and what not to do at the police station. You want to ask for a lawyer straight up.”

“How do you know what I should do? Have you been arrested?”

She swallowed. No more prevaricating. He’d asked. She had to answer. “No, I have not been arrested. I have, however, been the arresting officer. I’m with the Trafalgar City Police. Constable Third Class.”