Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (14 page)

She felt like asking him how much money he’d made from the destruction of sleepy little towns but decided she had more important things to worry about today. She checked her watch—four o’clock. Moonlight should be arriving soon.

The Champagne was brought to the table, and great ceremony went into opening and serving. Jonathan tasted it, pronounced it excellent, and the women’s glasses were filled.

Karen had scarcely taken her eyes off Lucky, but she said not a word while the waitress fussed. Finally pots of tea and a three-tiered platter of elaborate sandwiches, blueberry scones, and pastries were served and they were left in peace. “I want,” Karen said, her voice brittle with barely controlled anger, “to know what is going on.” She gripped her Champagne flute so tightly Lucky feared it might shatter. Karen was not wearing a wedding or engagement ring, but she did sport a healthy-sized emerald on her right hand.

Lucky saw no reason not to tell Matt’s mother everything she knew. She’d preferred to speak to Paul first, but she’d been ambushed by Karen and hadn’t had the chance to slip away and call him. She left out the part about the encounter at the coffee shop and only mentioned that she and Paul had run into Matt at the Lighthouse Keeper and told him where they were staying.

Karen groaned.

“Matt isn’t suspected of having killed this fellow, is he?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t know what the police are thinking.”

“Of course he’s not suspected,” Karen snapped. “He did the right thing and called for help. I can’t believe Paul let him down, again.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Lucky said. “We went around to Matt’s place immediately.”

“Paul should have phoned the police first.”

“Paul told Matt to do it.”

“Which he was obviously unable to do, probably because the killer was still there. Paul should have realized that.” Karen threw back her glass of Champagne and poured herself another. Bubbles danced in the crystal flute: the only cheerful thing at their table.

“No point in throwing around accusations.” Jonathan slathered jam and clotted cream onto a scone. He, at least, was enjoying the fancy food.

Lucky stuffed an open-faced smoked fish sandwich into her mouth, without tasting a thing. “You were not there, Karen,” she said, when she could speak again. “So don’t try and second-guess those of us who were.”

“If I wasn’t there, it’s because….”

Lucky pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Enough. Clearly, you have unresolved issues with Paul, but don’t attempt to discuss them with me or to interfere in what is, after all, a very serious situation.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me. I am well aware my son could be in considerable danger.”

“In that case I’d advise you to act accordingly. Thank you for the tea, Jonathan. Nice to meet you.”

Lucky stormed out of the lounge as the waitress watched, open-mouthed. Lucky’s stomach crawled up into her throat and she felt a wave of heat wash over her. Her knees wobbled and she leaned against a table to keep herself upright.

The table was decorated with pumpkins and squash, artfully arranged colored leaves, and assorted pinecones. Thanksgiving. She should cancel their dinner reservations.

“Are you all right, madam?” A bellhop approached, his handsome young face creased in professional concern.

“Perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Can I help you to a seat?”

“I’ll be okay in a minute. Thank you.”

“If you’re sure,” he said before answering a summoning bell from the concierge.

She had to call Paul. Let him know Karen was here, and she was not about to be helpful. Her phone rang. Moonlight.

“I’m about fifteen minutes away, Mom. Where are you?”

“At the hotel. Oh, dear, I forgot to book your room. I’ll do that now and wait for you in the lobby.”

“Change of plan. I’m going to meet the chief at the police station first. I’ll come to the hotel later.”

“When you do, we’re in room 615.”

“Okay. I have Sylvester.”

“You have what?”

“Sylvester’s with me.”

“Really, dear. Why on earth did you bring the dog?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do with him.”

“You can leave him in the car for now. He’s usually quite happy in the car.”

“I’ll be there when I can.”

Karen and Jonathan came out of the lounge. Karen crossed the lobby with quick, angry steps, her heels rapping the gleaming marble floors. Jonathan spotted Lucky. He gave her a look, and then hurried after Karen.

Chapter Twenty-seven

RCMP DETACHEMENT. BANFF, ALBERTA. SUNDAY LATE AFTERNOON.

Drops of rain began to fall as Smith joined the Trans-Canada Highway, and by the time she reached Banff it was coming down in sheets. With the time change, it was almost six o’clock and lights had been switched on in homes and stores to break the gloom. She’d been through Banff many times and knew the view was spectacular: jagged mountain peaks snowcapped all year, deep green forest, wide, racing rivers. Today she could barely see the cars in front of her, never mind admire the scenery.

She used her GPS to direct her to the police station on Lynx Street. Most of the streets in Banff were named after animals. She wondered if someone living on, say, Squirrel Street, felt less important than anyone with an address on majestic Elk or mighty Wolf.

She parked in the street, told Sylvester to guard the car, and walked up the steps to the front door, hands over her head to protect her from the worst of the rain. She announced to the buzzer that she was Constable Molly Smith, here to see Chief Constable Paul Keller, and she was admitted. A uniformed officer told her to take a seat in the waiting area.

Keller came out almost immediately, looking as though he’d aged a decade in the couple of days since Smith had seen him last. “Molly,” the chief said with a tight smile, “your mother told me you were on your way. Good of you to come.”

“Not a problem, sir. I phoned Mom to let her know I was stopping here first. I thought maybe you could tell me better than her what’s going on.”

A man followed Keller. She didn’t have to be told he was the detective in charge; he might as well have COP tattooed on his forehead. Some longtime officers, John Winters for example, could pass for a civilian, if you didn’t take into account the cautious, always-watching eyes. Many, like this guy, wore their job like they wore their skin.

She held out her hand. “Constable Molly Smith, Trafalgar City Police.”

He took it, his handshake surprisingly limp. “Detective Sergeant Ed Blechta. Are you a detective, Constable?”

“Uniform.”

“Then I don’t imagine we have any use for you.”

Screw you right back, buddy.
He could have at least pretended to be polite. She hadn’t come here expecting to be asked to help with the investigation, nor did she intend to. She wanted only to support her mom. Some of these old-time RCMP guys had a real problem working with women—as numerous lawsuits from female officers testified. She kept her smile in place. “I’m here to see if my chief needs any help, thanks anyway, Sarge.”

“Smith?” Blechta said.

“Not an uncommon name,” she replied.

“No.” He turned to Keller. “Is this…officer…any relation to your companion, Lucky Smith?”

“She’s my mom. We like to keep it in the family.” That had been a mistake. The chief’s face tightened and the look of dismissal on Blechta’s face deepened.

They were still standing in the foyer. Smith had not been invited to the offices, to lean back, put up her feet, toss around ideas. Highly unlikely she would be.

The uniform, a stocky woman about Smith’s age, watched the exchange with great interest.

“Any sign of Matt?” Smith asked Keller.

“No.”

“Paul, why don’t you let this young lady take you back to your hotel? You need a rest, have something to eat.”

Oh yeah, Molly Smith definitely did not like Sergeant Ed Blechta.

Keller rubbed his hand over his chin. He hadn’t shaved, probably not since yesterday morning, and the stubble was coming in thick and gray. Blechta and Smith watched him, struggling to make up his mind. He wanted to stay, to be on the spot if news came in, but he was exhausted, probably ravenous, and in need of a shave and a shower. His phone rang, making up his mind for him.

A quick glance at Smith let her know the caller was her mom. He let out a long sigh and said, “I’ll be right there.”

“Problem?” Smith asked.

“My ex-wife, Karen, is here, wanting to talk to me. She’s at the hotel.”

“I’ll call you soon as I have anything new,” Blechta said.

“Thanks. Anytime, day or night.”

“You got it.” The Mountie went into the offices. Paul Keller grimaced at Smith. “I have to talk to Karen. Where are you staying, Molly?”

“At the Banff Springs, I think. Mom said she’d find me a room. Me and Sylvester.”

“You brought the dog?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I brought the dog because I didn’t have anything else to do with him.”

“There are no kennels in Banff,” the uniformed officer said. “You’ll have to go to Canmore.”

“Not necessary yet. He’s good in the car for several hours, even overnight. He enjoyed the drive, chasing other cars away if they got too close, so he’ll sleep well. Thanks anyway.”

They stood under the overhang above the front door while rain splashed their feet. The police station was located on a pleasant residential street. Two people rode past on bikes, hunched over the handlebars, buried under rain ponchos, and a patrol car turned into the station lot, kicking up a spray of water. “You should take your mom home, Molly,” Keller said. “Our vacation is obviously ruined, but I want…I need to be here. For a while yet, anyway.”

“I’ll suggest it, but I don’t see that happening. She’ll want to stay, to be supportive.”

Keller gave her a long look. “Molly, your mother…”

The door opened behind them and the uniformed woman came out. “Excuse me,” she said, sliding past them and heading down the sidewalk. They followed, and Smith was very glad indeed she didn’t have to hear the rest of the chief’s sentence.

Chapter Twenty-eight

BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. SUNDAY EVENING.

When Smith tried to check in at the hotel she found they didn’t have a reservation for her. Fortunately they weren’t full and she was able to get a room. She choked when the smiling clerk told her the price, but handed over her credit card, hoping Lucky would remember that she said she’d get the bill. Lucky appeared to be a scatterbrain sometimes, but she was normally pretty well organized. Not like her to forget to do something she’d promised to do, like book the room.

Smith had parked the car at the far end of the lot next to a patch of grass under a generous canopy of spruce. She left Sylvester with a bowl of food and another of water. The temperatures weren’t hot and they weren’t cold; if she popped out now and again to give him a stretch he should be okay for one night. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be more than that. Either this case wrapped up soon and Matt Keller, whether he’d killed someone or not, was found, or it would drag on for weeks, maybe months. Maybe forever. Come what may, she had to be back at work on Thursday, four days from now.

She vaguely remembered Matt from their school days. He was older and hadn’t been in any of her classes, but he’d been on the ski team. She seemed to remember he’d been a good kayaker as well. Other than that, nothing but a teenage boy she’d paid no attention to.

She’d been to the Banff Springs before, checking the place out, admiring the stately grandeur, wishing she could afford to stay here. But she’d never been on the upstairs floors or inside the rooms. The hall was dark and quiet when she got off the elevator, made her way to her room, and slipped open the door. It was just a hotel room, like so many others: neatly made wide bed, wooden desk, industrial carpet, mass-produced prints, TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed, clean bathroom. But when she bounced on the mattress, dried her hands on the towels, and stood at the window admiring the view, she knew why she was paying so much.

She flipped through the hotel directory, checking out the restaurants and amenities, regretting that Adam wasn’t with her.

She forced herself to come back to earth and remember why she’d come. This was no vacation.

She called her mom’s room, and the phone was answered immediately. “I’m here, all checked in. Room 576. Do you want me to come to you? The chief should be back, is he?”

“He’s cleaning up. We’re meeting Karen downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

“Want me in on that?”