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“I don’t have to like it,” she said. She placed her hand in the middle of the table. He took it, and they looked at each other. His dark brown eyes were warm with love, and the bruise on his jaw was fading. All around them the clatter of the busy restaurant carried on. The woman at the next table complained that she’d said no onions, someone shouted for more coffee, the glass in the front window rattled as a group of laughing boys on the street tapped to get their friends’ attention.

“Excuse me?”

Smith looked up. A man with a belly like a nine-months pregnant woman was trying to get by. She sucked her own stomach in and pulled her chair closer to the table. The man squeezed past.

“I am sorry, Adam,” she said, picking up her fork. “I’m worried about my dad, and my mom, who’s taking this so hard. Things at work aren’t exactly a laugh-a-minute what with…” Conscious of the crowded restaurant, she lowered her voice. “You know.”

He leaned back to allow the waiter to fill his cup, and when he looked at her again, she was chewing on scrambled egg hash. He sighed and cut a slice of bacon. She almost told him about Charlie Bassing, watching her yesterday at that fight between the women, but something held her back.

He talked about a course next week. Some further training for Norman at the RCMP dog service center in Alberta. “I was going to suggest you come,” he said, “get away for a couple of days, maybe stop in Banff for a night on the way back, but not with your dad’s op still up in the air.”

After that they chatted about nothing much at all, and by the time breakfast was finished, her mood had lightened considerably. “I’m sorry I was so snappy,” she said once they were on the street. “I shouldn’t be taking things out on you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.

She smiled. “No, it’s not.” She stood on tip toes and kissed him on the mouth. He laughed and put an arm around her and pulled her close.

“I have to go into work this evening,” she said, breaking away. He took her hand and they began to walk toward his truck. “Winters wants me asking more questions about the B&Es. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it.”

“Keeps his mind busy, I’d guess,” Adam said. “Do you think his wife did it?”

“I don’t know her, but really, I can’t imagine Sergeant Winters being married to a homicidal manic, can you?”

“No.”

It was early, but the sun was already warm. There was nothing quite as wonderful as spring sunshine after a long, hard winter. It bathed the town in a joyful yellow glow, had people merrily tossing off heavy winter clothes, dried up the mud, made everyone happy. Outside the craft co-op, someone had planted a tub of cheerful purple and yellow pansies. Their faces were turned to the sun, in exactly the same way as those of the people walking past. Smith had chosen to wear beige capris and sports sandals today. Jumping the season, but it felt great to be out of coats and boots.

She thought for a few moments, and chose her words with care. “That Madison, I’m worried about him. He’s looking for something to point to Mrs. Winters’ guilt. Or, perhaps even better…” she needed to tell Adam that Madison had hinted that she, Molly Smith, was inappropriately involved with the Sergeant. The idea was ridiculous, but she’d better warn Adam in case whispers started.

“Officer Smith, I’m glad I ran into you.” It was Diane Barton.

Smith let go of Adam’s hand. She wasn’t about to be friendly with Barton. First thing this morning, she ran down the street to buy a paper. Nothing about the fight outside the Sunshine Grill, she’d been pleased to see.

“If you have something to say, Ms. Barton, please go to the station and make a report.”

“No need,” Barton said. “I’d like to apologize. That was so unlike me yesterday. I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”

Adam moved away, giving the women some space.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

“No.” Smith kept walking. She could feel the comforting bulk of Adam behind her, keeping pace.

“Okay, but I want to explain.” Barton walked slowly, limping slightly, probably from the kick to the side Steiner had given her. Instinctively, out of politeness, Smith slowed to match the woman’s pace. Two deep scratches ran in parallel lines down Barton’s right cheek, beginning close to the eye.

Smith could see Adam’s truck in the next block. The light turned red and she stopped. “One minute.”

“Thanks,” Barton gave her a smile, probably trying to look friendly, but it didn’t reach her eyes where traces of yesterday’s dark anger still lingered. “It’s nice of you to give me some of your time. Is that your boyfriend?” She smiled at Adam and gave him a wiggle of her fingers in a wave. Sunlight bounced off the silver rings on every digit. Adam didn’t return the wave, nor the smile. “Nice catch. He’s a cutie. I’m really sorry about what happened. I didn’t want you to be involved, you know, it was her, that insufferable bitch.” Barton’s voice began to rise as the smile died.

“Your minute is almost up.”

She almost visibly took control of herself. “Sorry. I’m, I mean I was, Rudy’s assistant. I’m a good photographer myself, a lot better than him, truth be told. As well as helping Rudy by scouting locations and carrying his equipment and all that, I’ve been taking shots myself. Some of them are good, really good, and I think I can sell them, maybe start getting noticed. I printed them out and showed them to Rudy Monday night. He wasn’t at all interested in helping me with my career, he never gave a second’s thought to anyone but himself, but he had a good eye and he knew what was marketable.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Barton, but if you know something about the death of Mr. Steiner you should be talking to the detectives, not to me.”

“I don’t know anything about that. I want my photos back. I left them in his room on Monday night. He said he had some ideas. They were scooped up with all his stuff by the police. And given to her. She’s going to say he took them, and sell them. His pictures will be worth a lot more money now he’s dead. And they’ll be worth even more if they’re good—and they are good because I took them. His stuff was pure crap.”

Knowing she shouldn’t be involved, Smith couldn’t help asking, “Surely you use a digital camera? Print another copy.”

The light changed and she crossed the street. Barton limped along behind.

“It’ll be my word against hers. She has money and serious connections. She gets those pictures published and even if I take her to court and win it’ll be too late to do anything with them.”

Smith couldn’t imagine Josie Steiner having connections to anything but the latest gossip blog. “Take my advice. Stay out of her way. You’re not helping your case being up on charges.”

“Easier said than done,” Barton said. “They owe me money, my pay, my expenses.”

“Get a lawyer.”

“How am I going to pay for a lawyer?” Her voice began to rise. “Tell me that. I don’t…”

“Good-bye, Ms. Barton.”

Barton’s glasses were streaked and the cut on her face was red and angry. She looked as if she were going to continue arguing; instead she said, “Thanks for nothing,” and walked away, her steps hard and determined, but still leaning to one side.

Smith grimaced to Adam and shrugged her shoulders. They got into the truck and went to the hospital.

Sam hadn’t met Adam yet. Molly introduced them and they shook hands beside Andy’s bed. The window sill was full of flowers. Lucky had snatched the tables next to the empty beds and used them to hold potted plants and get well cards. Smith flicked through the cards while Adam and Sam made getting-to-know-you chat. All the cards were from Lucky’s friends. Like many men his age, Andy didn’t really have any friends of his own.

He looked better, she thought; the pain medication must be working. He had more color in his face and his cheeks had lost some of that god-awful gauntness. His thin gray hair was freshly washed and combed. Sun streamed through the window, and the spring light made everyone look good.

“Any word about the operation?”

Lucky was smiling at Adam.
Hearing wedding bells?
Smith wondered. She was pleased he hadn’t tried to intervene in that strange conversation with Diane Barton. He had stood aside and let her get on with it.

“Monday, they’re saying,” Lucky answered. “Let’s hope. Those poor children from the accident put everything behind and some more serious cases got moved ahead of your dad. It looks as if all the kids are going to be okay, so we can be grateful for that.”

“If I don’t get out of here soon,” Andy said, “they’ll be transferring me to the mental hospital.”

***

Ray Lopez concentrated hard on keeping his professional face in line. Not to please the good citizenry, but to stop from slugging the RCMP Sergeant.

Madison had told him he was running a weapons check on John Winters.

“Waste of time,” Lopez said.

“We’ll see,” Madison replied.

Lopez blew out a lungful of air. They’d almost finished on the second floor. Steiner, his wife, and his assistant’s rooms had been gone over with, literally, a fine-tooth comb. Other than Steiner’s bathroom, they’d found plenty of nothing.

It was reasonably conclusive that Steiner had been killed in his bathroom, shot in the back of the head as he crouched over the toilet. There had been no indications of a fight, no defensive wounds, no signs of restraint on the body.

Lopez had read the autopsy report. Steiner didn’t have long to live: all the killer had to do was wait a couple of months and save himself a heck of a lot of mess and bother.

Did the killer not know that, or did he have reason to want the death to be hurried up?

Lopez reminded himself the proper phrase was
he or she
.

Winters had told him, very unofficially as he wasn’t supposed to know anything, Mrs. Steiner was a mob-daughter. Lopez phoned Rose Benoit, got the official version, and told Madison. Who hadn’t appeared to be particularly interested. Benoit also told Lopez that one of Marais’ lieutenants had been spotted in the Vancouver airport, waiting for a flight to Castlegar, the airport nearest Trafalgar. She doubted he was en route to a hiking vacation in the mountains.

Lopez thought about the mob angle. Was it possible Guy Marais had decided to hasten his son-in-law’s death? It was definitely possible, but did he have reason to do so? The initial peek into Steiner’s financial situation didn’t look promising. Unless he had hidden money, and it was early days yet, the guy didn’t have much. Which didn’t stop him living as though he did. Luxury condo in False Creek, a matching pair of BMW convertibles for running around the city. Mrs. Steiner was well known in the antique and high-end decorating shops for having a lavish budget although not much taste.

The mortgage on the condo was almost the worth of the property itself and both cars were financed to the max. The man’s line of credit was more than Detective Lopez’s annual salary. Not much of an inheritance.

“Waste of time,” he repeated.

Madison glared at him, but did not respond. They walked into the police station. It was the end of the working day on Friday. Most of the nine-to-five staff had gone and the night shift had yet to rev up. The office was quiet.

Madison had his regular end-of-the-day meeting with the Chief. Lopez, notably, had not been invited.

He went to the GIS office he shared with John Winters and tossed his jacket on the hook by the door. He was relieved that Winters wasn’t in. Then he felt guilty for being relieved. This had to be darn tough on the man. Lopez studied the row of African violets on the window sill. He took his watering can down the hall to the lunch room, filled it, and came back to give the plants a drink. He checked each one out, nipped a few dying flowers off, removed a leaf browning around the edges. Satisfied with the condition of his small garden, at last he sat down to the computer to write up a report on the day’s findings.

Madison had been asking some strange questions about Molly Smith and John Winters. Questions like how often Winters asked the young constable, the
pretty
young constable to assist him, and whether they’d ever been seen together
outside
of working hours.

Lopez growled. They were cops, they didn’t have working hours.

If Adam Tocek got wind of Madison’s insinuations, there really would be a punch up.

He wondered if he should have a word with the Chief. Mention that Madison seemed fixated on Eliza and John Winters to a point that he, Lopez, thought was distracting from the investigation.

No. Not yet. Wait and see a while longer.

He worked at his desk, continuing to run background checks on the list of people in the hotel at the time in question, the hotel staff, the other second floor guests.

He sat up straighter as he finally hit on something of interest.

Dennis Jones, the hotel maintenance man, had a series of drunk and disorderlies, four months in jail for his second charge of driving under the influence, six months for a bar fight that resulted in injuries. An all around nasty, but small time, guy, who, after his last stint in jail, decided to leave Nova Scotia and grace the town of Trafalgar with his presence.

Maybe the man had changed—he hadn’t been in any trouble in Trafalgar. More likely he just hadn’t been here long enough.

Lopez’s index finger moved toward to the mouse button, about to consign Dennis Jones to the files, when he saw something that made him hesitate. Jones had been born in Sydney, Nova Scotia. Where had he seen that name recently?

He opened another file, and sat back with a low whistle. Rudolph Steiner, nee Albert Jones, born in Sydney, Nova Scotia. He checked the two men’s birth dates. Three years apart. Jones was a common name, but Sydney…he quickly googled it…was a small place. About twice the size of Trafalgar. Still, entirely possible there were several Jones families living there at the same time.

He picked up the phone.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Molly Smith was also wearing her professional face. At seven o’clock she was back in uniform and doing the rounds on Station Street where last week’s break-in had occurred. More houses, more questions, more people who hadn’t seen a thing. Winters had been in the office when she checked in. His shirt was badly rumpled and his mustache not as neatly trimmed as usual. He barked at her and told her he wanted every person on that street questioned.