A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

On Monday, Molly Smith switched to night shift.

Which meant she had the whole day free to go skiing.

Before she even got out of bed, she called the snowline at Blue Sky—ten centimeters of fresh powder had fallen in the night. She threw off the duvet and rolled out of bed, shivering in her cotton pajamas. It was still dark outside and she wanted to be on the hill the moment it opened at first light. She dressed in layers of warm clothes and clattered downstairs with her equipment. Lights shone from the back of Alphonse’s and the air was filling with the mouthwatering warmth of rising yeast and baking bread.

She tossed her boots and poles into the back of her aging Ford Focus and strapped the skis to the roof rack. A thin gray light began to spread across the sky to the east as she pulled into the quiet streets.

Everything else in town was closed, but at Big Eddie’s the line snaked out the door accompanied by bright light and lively dance music. People dressed in an assortment of ski clothes, passes hanging from zippers, backpacks bulging with spare gloves and packed lunches, happily chatted about snowfall as the line edged steadily forward. Eddie’s staff poured drinks and served food with the coordination of a ballet.

Smith wore a red wool hat pulled down over her eyebrows, and a scarf pulled up to her chin. People who met her only when she was in uniform often didn’t recognize her in civilian garb. Head down, she shuffled forward, hoping no one would accost her demanding to know what the police were doing about the shooting.

She needn’t have worried. People who voluntarily got out of bed at six on a winter morning didn’t care about much other than their day’s skiing.

She ordered a large mocha and a breakfast sandwich, took the food to her car and munched and sipped as she drove.

The Blue Sky resort wasn’t far out of town, but it lay at a considerably higher elevation. The mounds of snow pushed to the side of the road and the weight of snow on the trees got deeper and higher. The gray haze of early morning began to dissipate and a pale sun appeared in a soft, cloudless blue sky.

Molly Smith was one of the first to arrive and she snagged a prime parking space close to the lodge.

She joined the lift line as soon as it opened for the day.

When she was a young teenager, Smith had dreamt of making the Olympic team. She was nearly good enough. Nearly, but not quite. She gave up competition but still thought skiing was almost the best thing in her life. Adam skied, although not as well as she. He tried the double black diamond nicknamed Hell’s Vestibule once, and declared, half way to the bottom where he lay on his back in a tumble of poles and skis, marveling that nothing was broken, never again.

She didn’t mind. Skiing, to Molly Smith, was a solitary pursuit. Herself, alone with the mountain and the powder.

The lift arrived and she jumped on.

“Gonna be a great day.” Her seat mate was a man, early thirties maybe. Good looking under a winter tan and several days’ worth of stubble.

“Sure is,” she replied.

“Which run are you heading for?”

“Hell’s Vestibule.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Starting out adventurous.”

“I like to begin as I intend to continue.”

He grinned at her through a mouthful of straight white teeth. “I’m Tony.”

“Molly.” They touched gloved hands.

“Live around here, Molly?”

“Born and raised. You?”

“I’m from the east, been in B.C. for a couple of years. I’m thinking of moving to Trafalgar for the winters. Whistler’s getting mighty crowded. Not to mention expensive.”

“Not a lot of jobs here,” she said.

“I’m a ski instructor in Whistler in the winter. Kayak tour guide in Tofino in the summer.” He grinned. “Part-time waiter when the tourist trade dries up. There should be plenty of jobs like that around here.”

“Some.”

“What do you do?”

“I work for the city.”

“Good job?”

“I like it.”

The lift chair approached the top and they readied themselves to jump off.

“Race you to the bottom, Molly?”

“You’re on, buddy.”

Before taking the first run of the day, Smith liked to stand at the top of the mountain. To feel the silence, the wind in her face, the cold in her bones, the snow beneath her feet.

Today, she launched herself into thin air almost the moment the lift deposited her at the top of the run.

Tony was a good skier.

But she was a better one.

She was waiting for him at the bottom when he arrived in a spray of snow and a well-executed hockey stop.

“Glad I didn’t wager my life savings,” he said, pulling up his goggles.

She grinned. “Catch you later, maybe.” She headed back to the lifts, feeling Tony’s eyes on her back.

She was considering going for another run or taking a break for lunch, when she heard her name called. Her friend Christa, waving enthusiastically, heading toward her with two children trailing in her wake.

The women hugged their greetings, and Christa introduced her visiting cousins. The boy, Glenn, was around nine or ten, his sister, Amber, younger. The little girl looked positively edible in her powder blue ski suit, hat with bunny ears, and tiny skis.

“I said I’d watch the kids so their parents could get in some good runs,” Christa said. “Want to join us?” Christa’s look was so plaintive, Smith laughed and agreed. “If there’s a contest for cutest skier, you’ve won,” she said to Amber.

“And if there’s a contest for fastest skier, I’m going to win,” Glenn boasted.

They headed for the bunny hill. Smith usually stuck to the difficult runs largely to get away from the crowds. Today, the bunny hill was packed with locals on school break and vacationers. It was a cheerful crowd, though. Kids learning to ski, grandparents wanting to have fun but wary of a fall, a pack of middle-aged women who’d probably never been on skis in their lives clinging to each other, shrieking, and loving every minute of it.

They skirted a class in progress and joined the line for the rope tow.

“I’m getting hungry,” Christa said later, checking her watch. “How about you? Want to join us?”

“Sure.” Smith had found herself enjoying the children’s company. Their enthusiasm for the sport, for the day, was infectious.

Inside the lodge, they crossed the wooden floor with an awkward gait, waddling in their ski boots, pulling off gloves and unzipping jackets. The cafeteria was packed, but they were able to snag a table in a sunny spot by a window overlooking the lifts when a family got up to leave.

“Do you mind getting the food, Molly?” Christa asked, handing her a couple of twenties. “The kids’ dad gave me money for lunch, so it’ll be his treat. I’ll guard the table.”

“Sure. Glenn can help me carry.” Smith took orders. The open room was thick with the spicy scent of curry mixed with sizzling grease, damp wool warming in the hot air, and sweaty bodies.

“Hi there. Have a good morning?” Tony, the guy she’d raced first thing, behind her in line for his own lunch.

She gave him a smile. “I had a great morning. How about you?”

“Good. The snow here’s fabulous.”

“Champagne powder.”

“I was hoping to see you up there again.”

She edged down the line to the pick-up window, Glenn in front of her. “I’ve been on the gentler slopes.”

“Two children’s burgers, salmon burger. Chicken curry coming up,” the cook called.

“That’s us!” Glenn yelled.

Tony eyed the quantity of food being placed on Smith’s tray. He eyed Glenn, stuffing a stray fry in his mouth. Tony’s face fell.

“I’ve been on the bunny hill with the kids,” Smith explained.

“Oh. Your kids.”

“My best friend’s cousins. This is Glenn.”

Tony grinned. “Hi, Glenn.” Glenn nodded and carried his tray, taking great care, to the checkout counter.

“Hey, buddy. Is this yours?” the cook shouted.

“Sorry.” Tony grabbed the offending plate. “Mind if I join you?”

“I want to spend time with my friend. Sorry.”

“Understood.”

Smith handed across her money; the clerk gave her change.

“How about we meet up later?” Tony said. “Another run?”

“I’ll be with the kids until closing.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“That’s seven dollars,” the cashier said. “You’ve only given me five.”

Red-faced, Tony fumbled in his pockets for more money. He threw a second blue five-dollar bill down and didn’t wait for his change.

“Tomorrow?” he repeated.

Was Tony flirting with her? He certainly was. It felt nice. He was a good-looking guy; he obviously found her attractive. He was a good skier. What could it hurt? She thought about Graham, her fiancé, dead for almost five years now. She thought about Adam. She thought about putting in a twelve-hour night shift and how she’d feel following that.

“I won’t be here until around one.”

He gave her a huge smile. “What a coincidence. So will I. Probably hanging around at the top of Hell’s Vestibule.”

“Molly, are you coming? I’m starving!” An exasperated Glenn said.

“I’m coming. Don’t be so impatient.” They carried the laden trays to their table.

Molly Smith knew
Tony’s eyes were following her.

***

They were busy at Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations all afternoon. The town was full of vacationers eager to enjoy the winter sports, and a good number of them had forgotten important pieces of equipment or were looking for end-of-season sales.

Lucky worked the cash register while Flower and James served customers.

As she chatted with patrons, rang up purchases, and generally kept an eye on the premises, Lucky considered her young mothers’ group. She’d once overheard a sixteen-year-old explain why she’d deliberately gotten pregnant: “Someone to love.” Lucky thought that was perhaps the saddest thing she’d ever heard. How little love must there have been in that child’s life.

Lucky wasn’t concerned about Marilee. Her parents were comfortably middle class, supportive of her pregnancy, prepared to help with the baby in order to ensure Marilee could continue her education.

Brenda, not so much. The girl was too thin, haggard almost, her stomach protruding from her skinny body as if the bump had been pasted on. She promised Lucky she wasn’t taking drugs…anymore. But the girl had other problems: Lucky’d noticed a line of bruises on Brenda’s upper arm when she’d taken off her sweater because the unreliable furnace had suddenly decided to go on overdrive. Lucky tried to speak to her about it, asking her to stay after class. Suspecting what Lucky wanted to discuss, Brenda said she had to be going and almost ran out the door.

Marilee had gotten pregnant when her boyfriend said it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t use a condom—just this once. Brenda, Lucky suspected, had gotten pregnant accidently on purpose in defiance of her parents, an attempt to prove her independence. Maybe so she’d have someone to love.

A couple came into the store. Middle-aged, affluent. He was on the short side, with a comfortable stomach and a helmet of gray-and-black hair. She was tall and leggy, wearing designer sunglasses and red leather gloves and boots. They glanced around before approaching the counter. Lucky put on her professional smile.

The man pulled his right glove off and extended his hand. “Mrs. Smith, so pleased to meet you at last. I’m Darren Fernhaugh, and this is my wife, Rosalind.” The woman checked Lucky out. The long colorful skirt, dangling earrings, navy blue T-shirt under a heavy beige sweater, worn for warmth rather than for fashion, the uncontrolled red hair, getting progressively grayer every day. Not impressed with what she saw, Rosalind gave Lucky a cool nod and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Welcome,” Lucky said.

“Wanted to introduce ourselves,” Darren said. “I’ve heard a lot about you and your store. Why don’t you go and do some shopping, honey, while Lucky and I get acquainted.”