Constable Molly Smith Mystery: Winter Of Secrets Part 2

Lorraines upper lip twisted. "As if," she said, "Id go anywhere with a d.y.k.e cop. I value my reputation, you know."

"Its not like that." And it wasnt. Molly Smith had a BA in Social Work from the University of Victoria. Shed been about to get her MSW when shed dropped out and, after a year of aimless wandering, applied to the Trafalgar City Police.

Police and social workers sometimes stood on opposite sides of the fence. And, as if she didnt have enough problems, Molly Smith occasionally found herself straddling said fence.

"I have a boyfriend, Molly. A nice guy, okay? Im going to his place now." Lorraines make-up was thickly applied, dripping in the snow melting off her hair. She wore a proper winter coat, although one elbow and a seam in the right shoulder were patched with duct tape. Her boots were good, but they looked too big for the girls small feet. Probably from the Salvation Army. Her scarf was full of holes, but at least it protected her neck. "Were gonna have a real Christmas," she said. "With presents and a tree and everything."

"That sounds good." And it did. Too bad the boyfriend couldnt, or wouldnt, pick Lorraine up and escort her to this Christmas wonderland. Although, Smith had to admit, Lorraine LeBlanc had good reasons to keep a prospective beau well away from her family.

Particularly as Mom and Dad were spending the night in the drunk tank.

"The sidewalks are icy, Lorraine. Watch your footing."

"Ive been out after dark before."

"Night, Lorraine."

"Hey, Molly."

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas, eh?"

"Same to you, Lorraine. Same to you."

Evans came out of the shop, ripping the packaging off an Oh Henry. He stood beside Smith, watching Lorraine slipping on the icy streets. "Whatd that s.l.u.t want?"

"Come on, Dave, give the kid a break. You know what her lifes like. Dawn hauled Mom and Dad off to the cells tonight. Nice family Christmas."

"Tough. But shes still a cheap s.l.u.t."

Chapter Three.

"Hes not here, and I dont know where he is. Theres nothing unusual in that. He likes to play at keeping people waiting for him." Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth looked the girl standing in the doorway up and down, not trying particularly hard to hide a sneer. No matter: the stupid girl didnt seem to know an insult when one scored a direct hit on her b.u.t.t.

The girls lanky hair and the shoulders of her second-hand coat were covered in snow. She was making a puddle on the mat at the front door.

"You might as well go home," Wendy said. "If, and I mean if, he comes in, Ill tell him to call you."

"But...I dont...I mean, he promised. He said hed call before he came to pick me up. He didnt, so I came over anyway. I figured his cell phone ran out of juice." Her voice trailed off.

"My brother promises a lot of things. To a lot of people. Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but he doesnt believe promises are worth f.u.c.k all." What she said was true, and Wendy wasnt too bothered by the tears that welled up in the girls eyes, or the way her chin quivered.

"Nonsense." Mrs. Carmine helped the visitor divest herself of her coat. "Im sure the young men will be back soon. In the meantime, Ive prepared a lovely meal. Youre welcome to join us, dear."

Whatever. Wendy went back to the common room. Where, she had to admit, lovely was the appropriate word. A fire roared in the fireplace, spreading warmth and light. It was only gas, but was a good imitation of a real wood fire. The Balsam Fir in the corner was green and tall and fat, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with delicate ornaments and colored lights. The side tables held wooden decorations, small and lovingly carved, of a manger scene, an Alpine village in winter, and Santas workshop. Nine big red stockings, names painted on them in bright glitter, crowded the mantle above the fireplace.

The interloper gasped at the sight. She stepped toward the mantle and reached out her hand, stopping just short of touching the stocking with her name. "Its beautiful." Her voice cracked.

Wendy rolled her eyes.

"I made one for you, Lorraine," Mrs. Carmine said with a big smile. She was short and fat, her hair gray and badly cut, her eyes small and dark like a rats. She wore a red velour tracksuit covered with a white ap.r.o.n decorated with gingerbread people. Except for the eyes, she looked exactly as one might imagine Mrs. Claus.

Mrs. C, as she insisted her guests call her, had gone all out to create the perfect Christmas setting.

It would be hard not to enjoy it.

Wendy was not enjoying it. Theyd accepted Mrs. Cs suggestion-okay, her quiet bullying-to have a traditional Christmas Eve in the common room. But Jason had left hours ago, and hadnt come back, and no one had seen Ewan since yesterday.

"Were going to get old waiting for them," Sophie said. "Its long after midnight. Hi, Laurie."

"Lorraine."

Theyd flown in from Ontario and Quebec. A group of friends getting together for a ski vacation in British Columbia. A cozy B&B in Trafalgar. Days on the slopes, nights in the bars. Christmas cheer and New Years revelry.

It had all gone wrong, almost immediately. Although that shouldnt have been any sort of a surprise, Wendy thought. She shouldnt have come. These were her brother Jasons friends, and she didnt like any of them. Now Jason had taken off, leaving her to celebrate Christmas with his university buddies. And the awkward local girl hed collected like a dog collects fleas-a wide-eyed child who was anything but innocent.

G.o.d f.u.c.king bless us, every one.

Wendy threw herself onto the couch. "Jasonll be here soon. I dont want to open our presents without him. It was his idea to have our party tonight, so we could hit the slopes first thing tomorrow."

"Get real, Wendy," Jeremy said. "Jason found something more interesting than us, and hes snuggled up in someones bed getting his private Christmas present."

"He wouldnt," Lorraine said. Light from the fire reflected off her washed-out blue eyes. "He invited me to come. For his away-from-family-Christmas, he said. He wouldnt forget that."

Wendy pulled out her phone, one more time, and dialed Jasons cell. Again, it went to voice mail. Maybe he had run out of juice, like Lorraine said. But that didnt explain why he wasnt here. He had to know she was waiting for him.

"You can sulk all you want." Alan said. He switched his smile to "on" like the actor he was and turned it full force onto Mrs. C. "Im in the mood for Christmas. And speaking of something better, Ill bet theres something here for me."

The landlady laughed. "You have to wait, just one minute. Kathy, help me in the kitchen. You stay right there, Sophie," she said to the girl whod only leaned over to nuzzle the back of Alans neck. "I dont need any help."

Mrs. Carmine and Kathy, her daughter, returned moments later, carrying trays precariously balanced with gla.s.ses of pale yellow eggnog, platters of sliced shortbread, mince tarts, cheese and crackers.

"I have something to add to that." Alan ran up the stairs and was back a moment later, clutching a bottle of Champagne. Being Alan it was the real stuff-Mot et Chandon.

"Nice," Jeremy took the bottle from him. Sophie, Alans girlfriend, ran toward the tree. "You have to open mine first. You must."

Alan swept Sophie up as she pa.s.sed. "Let me get you some Champagne first."

Everyone jumped as the cork popped out of the bottle. With a big grin, Jeremy held it high. Wendy was still looking at Alan and she saw the cloud flash across his handsome face. Hed wanted to do the ceremonial opening, to continue being the center of attention, but Jeremy had upstaged him. Alan never liked to be upstaged.

Rob and Kathy held the gla.s.ses while Jeremy poured the drinks into an a.s.sortment of champagne flutes, beer mugs, and wine gla.s.ses. Kathy beamed at Rob who seemed impervious to her charms, modest as they might be. Alan threw himself into an armchair, smile fixed in place. Lorraine accepted her drink with wide eyes and brought the gla.s.s slowly to her lips.

Pearls before swine.

When everyone was served, Mrs. C clapped her hands in delight. "Presents, presents. We must have presents."

Alan opened his gift from Sophie. Good, reliable ski gloves, just shy of being top notch.

Like Sophie herself, solid, respectable, but most definitely not the best.

Wendy sipped at her champagne and watched the rest of them opening their gifts, enjoying the refreshments, laughing and flirting.

Lorraine sat alone on the edge of the sofa, clinging to her gla.s.s. If she were a nice person, Wendy would feel sorry for the girl. Thinking she was in love with a good looking guy from a good family and a great university with a highly-promising future, whod do nothing but screw her and wave bye-bye out the car window as he left town.

But she wasnt a nice person, and so Wendy didnt bother herself to care about pathetic little Lorraine.

"There must be a present for our Lorraine," Mrs. C said, having trouble getting her lips around the words. Wendy suspected shed been into the Champagne already. Alan had a secret store in his room, and he always knew how to b.u.t.ter up the hired help.

"Ill have my Christmas at home in the morning," Lorraine said, "with Mom and Dad, of course. Therell be plenty of presents." Her eyes slid to one side, and Wendy knew she was lying.

"Nevertheless there must be something for you under our tree."

Kathy, Mrs. Cs daughter, another precocious teenager you might as well crush under your shoe as you would a c.o.c.kroach, rolled her eyes. "As if," she muttered.

Jeremy laughed.

"Keep digging, Kathy," Mrs. C said. No sugar was left in her voice.

And sure enough Kathy came up with a small box. She handed it to Lorraine.

The girl hesitated before taking it, looking as if shed bolt. Then she accepted the box and rubbed her fingers, nails bitten to the quick, across it. "Its so beautiful." She pulled at the ribbon, all the colors of the rainbow, and then at the paper.

"Whos it from?" Sophie asked.

"Jason, of course." Lorraines eyes shone. "See, it says right here on the label. To Lorraine, Merry Christmas, from Jason."

"Whats in it?" Sophie again, sounding as if she were actually excited.

Lorraine opened the blue box. She gasped, and they all, Wendy included, leaned forward.

Gold earrings. Small, perfectly round hoops.

"How lovely." Wendy reached out her hand. Lorraine hesitated, but Wendy kept her hand in place, and Lorraine reluctantly put the box into it.

Gold. Pure gold.

The hour hand of the clock in the lunch room approached three.

Evans leaned back in his chair and stretched. Like Smith, hed taken off his coat and Kevlar vest. "Im going to Emilys soon as Im off. She made something she calls a late supper and told me shes looking forward to celebrating our first Christmas together."

How nice of you to let me know you have food and s.e.x in your immediate future.

Smith herself would stagger home and go to bed where shed eventually wake to welcome Christmas day alone. All alone. As every Christmas since...

Enough. Adam Tocek had asked her on a hiking date in the summer, and shed made a feeble excuse not to go. Undeterred, he was still sending her loud and clear signals. Shed chosen to ignore them, and that was her choice.

It was still too soon.

The hands of the clock touched three. Evans grabbed his coat.

"Say Merry Christmas to Emily for me." Smith got to her feet.

He was in such a rush to get out the door and off to his girlfriends place he didnt hear her.

"Have a nice screw," Smith muttered.

"Whats that, Molly?" Ingrid, the night dispatcher, asked.

"I was wis.h.i.+ng Constable Evans the complements of the season."

"My aunt f.a.n.n.y."

"Night, Ingrid."

"Night, Molly."

"See you tomorrow."

"As there is no lottery draw on Christmas Day, that will probably be the case."

The radio spat to life. Smith listened as Ingrid answered. 911. House fire. Christmas tree in flames.

"Forty-two, forty-two," Ingrid said. Solway answered and Ingrid gave her the details.

"This has been one miserable Christmas Eve," Smith said. "But at least its over."

"Maybe not."

"Hold on, Im going home."

"Halton called back." The dead men in the car pulled out of the river were both carrying wallets containing Ontario licenses. The driver, Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth, was from Oakville, and Ingrid had called the regional police to request they contact the address on his license. The yellow SUV had been a local rental.

"They went to Wyatt-Yarmouths address," Ingrid said. "Merry Christmas. Your brother/son/husband/father/friend/life-long enemys bought the farm. Dont let us spoil your turkey dinner. Night. Couldnt possibly be our Jason, the parents said, as hes in Trafalgar, B.C., skiing. Hes staying at the Glacier Chalet B&B with his sister and a group of friends."

"Tough."

"You got that right, Molly. Tough enough for the sister to hear the news straight off. Not to sit up all Christmas Eve wondering where her brother is."

"Come on, Ingrid. Tough stuff happens all the time. Why are you laying this on me?"