Constable Molly Smith Mystery: Winter Of Secrets Part 7

She concentrated on her driving. A SUV had skidded off the road at the corner of Front and Monroe Streets and was blocking the intersection. She could see the police station ahead, up the hill where Monroe met George Street, but was trapped in the snarl of traffic. Heat radiated off her face. She wanted to take her gloves off but was afraid of making a move.

Winters activated the computer. Hed sent the ITO moments before they pulled up in front of the B&B. Now hed have to withdraw it.

Why the h.e.l.l hadnt she noticed that the fireplace in the common room of the Glacier Chalet B&B was gas? Because no one had told her there would be a test later. Shed been there to tell a young woman her brother was dead. Not to examine the scene as if she were Sherlock Holmes crawling across the floor, peering into his magnifying gla.s.s.

No excuse. It was her job to see, to observe, and she hadnt.

A tow truck arrived, a man climbed out and he and the SUV driver stood back to examine the scene. "Looks like you might be here a while," Winters said. "Ill walk the rest of the way."

"Okay."

He put his hand on the door handle. "I need to go back to the B&B and ask very politely if I can check Williams room. That will now be somewhat awkward. Ron Gavin came out on his day off because hes a good officer. Also because he owes me one. Well both consider that debt to have been paid. The Horseman who followed Ray will no doubt make sure everyone back at the station gets a good laugh hearing about how I screwed up." Horseman, Smith knew, meant a Mountie. Winters opened the car door. Unfortunately he wasnt finished. "And this will be my screw up, Constable Smith. Eventually to become a story spread far and wide for the amus.e.m.e.nt of police officers everywhere. Ill wear it, because I will not embarra.s.s myself, or the Trafalgar City Police, by trying to set the story straight." She ground her teeth and fought back tears. Shut the f.u.c.kin door. Just shut up and shut the door.

"I will, however, be required to give a full, and honest, report to the Chief Constable."

The door slammed shut.

She gripped the steering wheel. Slightly ahead and to her right a bright red Toyota Echo, dotted with magnetic black circles that made the car look like a giant ladybug, backed out of a parking s.p.a.ce. The ladybug hit a patch of ice and slid downhill, very slowly, coming to rest against the b.u.mper of the police car.

A tall, slim middle-aged woman climbed out, spiked purple hair, red coat, blue scarf, yellow mittens, and clanging jewelry. She waved her mittens in the air, and mouthed apologies.

Smith could see Sergeant Winters climbing the hill. His head was down and his back bent as his boots stomped through packed snow.

Molly had two choices: she could tell the ladybug woman to leave her the h.e.l.l alone and go home to bury her head in her duvet, or get out of the patrol car and direct traffic.

She took a deep breath, and got out of the car.

Wendy plunked herself down on a bench by the door. She was sick and tired of skiing. She didnt like it much anyway, but all the fas.h.i.+onable people skied, so she made the attempt. After tossing her salad at the odious reporter, whod read her intentions in time to duck and avoid most of the barrage, Wendy wanted to head back to town. Shed arranged to meet the others when the lift closed at four. Jeremy had the keys to the SUV. Theyd had to rent another car, seeing as to how Jason had driven the first one into the river.

Jason. Wendys chest closed. Jason. Shed resented him for almost all their childhood. Jason the Perfect, she called him. Their parents favorite. At the same time shed loved him. He was the older brother, the one who looked after her, worried about her, protected her. He couldnt be gone. Hed be at the B&B when they got back. Laughing his over-the-top laugh at how hed made fools of them all.

And Ewan. What had the reporter said about Ewan? That there was something suspicious about his death? What the h.e.l.l did that mean? She chewed at a fingernail.

A young woman fell onto the bench beside Wendy, dropping helmet and goggles into her lap. "It hurts, okay. Get it? Hurt. Pain. Agony."

A man knelt in front of her. His long hair was black with yellow streaks. Real yellow, not blond. Yellow like out of a childs box of crayons. "Let me see," he said, reaching out. Like the woman he was dressed in mis-matching ski jacket and pants.

"Dont touch," she shouted.

"Lets take your boot off, at least."

"Dont touch me. It hurts. I want to go home."

"It might not be so bad. Maybe your boot isnt fitting right."

"I know when my boot fits and when it doesnt. I want to go back to town. Now. If you wont take me, Ill call for an ambulance. And you can be sure Ill remember you left me here, all alone."

"Okay, okay. Ill get the car. Can you at least hobble down the steps and meet me out front?"

"Absolutely not," she said, "it hurts too much. Youll have to carry me."

"For G.o.ds sake, Jackie."

"Why dont I help?"

Jackie, clearly enjoying her pain and suffering, gave Wendy a look that would curdle milk.

Wendy didnt care. "Ill help you down the steps while your friend goes for the car." She smiled at the black and yellow haired boy. "If you dont mind, that is?"

He jumped to his feet, throwing her a smile full of grat.i.tude. "That would be so great. Thanks. Itll take about ten minutes for me to get to the car and bring it around front."

"Well be waiting," Wendy said.

"I dont want to take you away from your skiing," the injured girl said. Her lower lip stuck out. Most unattractive.

"Dont worry about me. Hey, heres an idea. Ive just about had enough today anyway. Ill come back to town with you, in case you need more help."

"Great." The boy ran for the door.

"Nice guy," Wendy said.

"Keep your paws off, hear me."

"Ive problems enough of my own, thanks. But heres a tip for nothing: bad, bad idea to do the Prima Donna thing. Men tire of it so easily. Lean on my arm if you must and Ill deposit you at the bottom of the steps. I have to get my skis."

John Winters stormed into the police station. He didnt say a word to Jim Denton at the front desk, or to the legal clerk who had to jump out of the way to avoid being knocked over. He marched into Barbs office. She was opening a package of cookies. A cup of herbal tea, smelling like someones wet socks left to dry on a fireplace fender, emitted steam from beside her elbow. "Paul free?" he snapped.

Wisely, Barb refrained from making a crack about his mood. She glanced at the phone on her desk. A red b.u.t.ton was s.h.i.+ning. "Still talking to the mayor. If its important, h.e.l.l be glad of the interruption."

Young, fresh, keen, rash. Sometimes so G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid. All words that would have fit John Winters when he was a s.h.i.+ny new recruit.

"Not important enough to drag him away from the mayor. Ill be in my office for a while. h.e.l.l want an update on the bodies pulled from the river. And its a doozy."

"Ill tell him." Barb gave him a sideways glance as she returned to her cookies.

Winters went to the GIS office. He should have spent some time talking to Ellie Carmine about her guests, and he needed to have a look at Williams room, to see if anything was out of order, but he was so frigging angry at dragging everyone and their dog around to the B&B for an urgent search-of a gas fireplace-that he knew he had to get out of there before he exploded.

He called the Glacier Chalet B&B. The guests, according to Mrs. Carmine, had all gone out first thing and werent usually back until four-thirty or five, after the ski hill closed. He confirmed that theyd arrived under one booking, and wrote down their full names as Mrs. Carmine recited them.

The phone rang as soon as he put it back into the cradle.

"Chiefs free," Barb said.

Back down the corridor he went. The legal clerk clutched a ream of papers to her chest as she saw him coming. He gave her what he hoped was a rea.s.suring smile.

Paul Keller leaned back in his chair as his lead detective came in. Even from the other side of the room, Winters could smell the cigarette smoke that surrounded the man like an aura. The Chief Constable popped the top on a can of c.o.ke. "Want one?"

"No thanks. You know I hate the stuff."

"Your loss." Keller took a long drink. "Whats up?"

"Wyatt-Yarmouth and Williams. Car went into the river Christmas morning. All attempts at resuscitation failed."

"Oh, yes, Im familiar with the situation. In fact, Doctor Wyatt-Yarmouth has been on to me, demanding that I accelerate the process of releasing his sons body. Doctors Wyatt-Yarmouth, I should say. The wife is, as her husband was quick to inform me, a member of the Order of Canada for her contributions to..." Keller waved his can of pop in the air..."the discovery of some thing that didnt make a word of sense to me."

"Just what we need. Someone who thinks they have political clout."

"Someone who might indeed have political clout, John. Is there a problem?"

"A big one." As Winters explained s.h.i.+rley Lees findings Kellers face grew more serious by degrees. "That," he said when Winters had finished, "is not good."

"Agreed, but is it a murder case? I cant say, yet. Its entirely possible Williams fell and hit his head and lay in the snow for almost a day before his friend found him and tried to rush him to the hospital. In my experience a 24-hour corpse looks nothing like a living person, but Wyatt-Yarmouth might have thought he was getting help for his friend. I checked the weather, and it was minus 5 degrees that night, so the body would have been cold even if he were still alive. s.h.i.+rley has lots of tests to make still. Right now shes leaning toward a blow to the back of his head, hard enough to render him unconscious long enough for the cold and the concussion to kill him." A blow that was definitely not caused by the contents of a gas fireplace.

Keller drank more c.o.ke. The staff joked, well out of the Chief Constables hearing, that the copious cans of pop he drank were his security blanket now that he couldnt smoke in the building. To his credit, Keller restricted himself to two smoke breaks a day-ten a.m. and three p.m. Although every time he had to leave for a meeting, he could be seen sucking as much nicotine as possible into his lungs before getting into a vehicle.

"What about his friends? Didnt they notice him missing?"

"I havent spoken to them yet."

"Ill take a wild guess and say they a.s.sumed he was snuggled up with some dolly bird, all warm and comfortable."

Dolly Bird? Keller sometimes tried to remind everyone, himself most of all, that he too had been hip once upon a time. Although his hipness pretty much remained locked in a time warp from the mid '70s when hed been lucky enough to snag a couple of months in England on a course on counter-terrorism. Fortunately the CCs time warp was restricted to his speech patterns, and not to his understanding of fighting terrorism.

They made fun of the CC quick enough-his incredible tobacco addiction, the ten or more cans of c.o.ke he guzzled every work day, his unfas.h.i.+onable phrases, but they all knew he was a good cop and a fair boss. As far as Winters knew he was the only one who suspected the CCs big secret: the man was in love, had been for many years, with Lucky Smith, Constable Smiths mother.

"What hotel are they staying at?" Keller asked.

Winters hesitated. He could mention the Keystone Kops invasion of the B&B. He could mention what had prompted it. But he decided to keep quiet. Word might never cross the CCs desk, and if it did, Winters would admit hed made a mistake.

He could withstand a mistake easier than Constable Third Cla.s.s Molly Smith.

"Glacier Chalet B&B."

"Ellie Carmines place. My wife adores that house. She told me once shed dreamt that we bought it. I cant imagine a deeper level of h.e.l.l than owning a B&B. I live in fear thats what Karen has in mind for when we retire. Until you have reason to believe otherwise, this is a highly suspicious death, John."

"Agreed."

"So young Mr. Wyatt-Yarmouth-I hate those double-barreled names-and Mr. Williams will remain in the tender care of Doctor Lee until shes learned all she can from them. Are you going to inform the Doctors Wyatt-Yarmouth, or shall I?"

Winters got to his feet. "I need to speak to them anyway. Find out what they know about their son and his friend." He had plenty of people to talk to. He needed Lopez. But his partner was on the coast, on vacation. In the past hed taken Molly along, if he thought shed be a helpful listener. Today he was in no mood to make her think she was anywhere near his good books.

Hed manage for now.

Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth tried to come in the front door as quietly as possible. Shed sat in the front seat of the rusty old Toyota Tercel while the girl with the sore foot smoldered away in the back, where, under Wendys careful direction, shed been placed in order to keep her leg straight and her foot up. Wendy gave directions to the Glacier Chalet. When they arrived, the boy leapt out to help Wendy unload her skis, thanking her profusely for her help. The girl glared out the back window with pure white rage.

Wendy wiggled her fingers in farewell as the Tercel slipped and sided up the hill. The boy had wanted to get her number so, he explained loud enough for the girl in the back to hear, they could buy her a drink to thank her for her help. Wendy considered it briefly-not that she wanted to see either of these people again, but just giving the guy her number would probably send the girl into a fit. She wasnt in the mood for that sort of fun, so Wendy said no, and didnt bother to make an excuse.

She tried to nip into the B&B without being noticed, but Mrs. Carmine, who probably heard every mouse in the place scratch its little mouse a.s.s, stuck her head out of the kitchen. She wiped floury hands onto an ap.r.o.n featuring pictures of Mrs. Claus doing her Christmas baking.

Shoot me now.

"Youre back early, dear."

Feeling that she had to say something, Wendy said, "Im not in the mood for skiing, Mrs. Carmine. To be honest, Jason was the one keen on skiing." She swallowed, determined not to break down in front of this well-meaning, but nosy, stranger. "I left early. The othersll be back at the regular time. Im going to have a nap."

"Im sorry, dear, but thatll have to wait," Mrs. Carmine pulled a cell phone, a trendy little purple and silver piece, out of her ap.r.o.n pocket. She punched it only once, meaning a stored number. She turned and muttered something Wendy couldnt catch.

Snapping the phone shut, Mrs. Carmine turned with a smile. "Theyd like you to remain here, dear."

"I told you, I need a nap. If I cared, Id ask who would like what, but I dont." She headed toward the stairs.

"The police, dear, will be here shortly. They have questions about Jason and Ewan. Sad, so sad."

"Speaking of questions, you shouldnt have sent that woman from the newspaper after me. Id call that an invasion of my privacy."

Mrs. C braced her shoulders. "I didnt...That might have been Kathy. Ill have a word with her. You can wait for the police in the common room, unless you want them in your bedroom. Ill put the kettle on. Would you like coffee or tea? Its afternoon, but police officers seem to like their coffee. You go ahead and get settled. Shall I send them up to your bedroom?"

"Ill be downstairs," Wendy said.

Which was where she was when the doorbell rang. After brief greetings, Mrs. Carmine led a man into the common room.

He was an older guy, about her dads age, but a lot, definitely a lot, better looking. Most of his salt and pepper hair was cut short, not grown into hideously long strands to try, and fail, to cover a bald patch. He had a mustache, black streaked with gray, which suited him as it did few men these days. He was tall and lean, with nothing but a hint of middle-aged belly.

Sergeant John Winters, he introduced himself. He expressed his sympathy at her loss and launched into the questions.

Wendy answered them, as best she was prepared to. Here for two weeks of skiing, theyd arrived in Trafalgar on December 18th. They were friends, but they didnt spend all their time together. She pulled at a tissue in her pocket.

"Tell me about Ewan Williams," he asked. "When did you see him last?"

She could blow the cop off. Burst into tears and run upstairs to her room. But hed be back. Guaranteed. She wondered whether to let him know that the reporter had told her there was something suspicious about Ewans death. She decided not to.

"Sunday. The day before Christmas Eve. We went skiing and came back to town together when the hill closed. Then," she dug for that tissue, and began shredding it in her fingers, "we went to our own rooms."

"Mr. Williams as well?"

"Cookies?" Mrs. Carmine came into the common room, all smiles. She carried a tray, groaning under the weight of coffee carafe, cups, cream pitcher, sugar bowl, plate piled high with Christmas baking.

The cops face tightened at the interruption, but Wendy was glad of it. "You are such a dear, Mrs. Carmine. Isnt she wonderful, Sergeant...uh...whatever? Ill have to spend the next month in the gym, non stop, to get over all these treats."

Mrs. Carmine made to settle into a comfortable arm chair. Sergeant Winters wasnt shy about telling her, politely, that she wasnt wanted.

She left in a barely concealed huff.