Under Cold Stone: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Novels)

by Delany, Vicki

  Smith kept her opinion to herself. Whether Matt had called Tracey because he loved her, or because he knew she would no more betray him than Sylvester would turn on Lucky, only time would tell. “Where to?”

  “Turn left at the end of the street.”

  Smith was pretty sure she was heading for a lot of trouble. She’d been told of the presence of a person of interest to the police yet hadn’t called it in. She’d been ordered, more than once, by the local police to butt out. If she were working, if this was Trafalgar, she’d have to report it, come what may.

  But here? Tracey had contacted her precisely because she didn’t know Smith was a police officer. Matt trusted Tracey, and Tracey had simply brought along a friend.

  It was the way it had to be.

  Tracey giving directions, they drove out of town onto the Trans-Canada. After only a few kilometers, Tracey said to turn off. They passed an impressive lodge, and soon came to a parking area. The lot was mostly empty, and Smith pulled up beside two women unloading three small children, backpacks, and hiking poles from a mud-spattered SUV.

  “How far?”

  “About two hours walking. That’s with Matt leading the way.”

  “Let’s go then.” Smith glanced into the back seat. “Sorry, old guy. You can’t come.”

  She’d briefly considered bringing Sylvester. But this wasn’t a casual jaunt into the backwoods, and Sylvester was an old dog. If they did run into trouble, Smith didn’t want someone else to worry about.

  On her way out of the hotel, she’d dropped into the shop where she picked up bottles of water, granola bars, and bags of nuts and chocolate.

  She popped the trunk, pulled out her emergency kit, and began to stuff things into her backpack. Along with the food and water, she took a portable GPS, a high-powered flashlight, a length of rope, her travelling first aid kit, and a box of waterproof matches. She slipped a can of bear spray into her pocket and snapped a small, but good, knife onto the waistband of her jeans. She had not brought her hiking boots, so running shoes would have to do. She had an extra pair of socks, light wool gloves, and a raincoat.

  She shifted the pack, checking its weight.

  “Wow,” Tracey said. “You’ve got a lot of stuff.”

  “Ten yards off that path and we’re in the wilderness. I do not go into the wilderness unequipped.” Smith eyed Tracey. The girl wore her regular running shoes and a jacket. Her bright red plastic purse was slung over her shoulder. “Ditch the bag. You can put anything you need in here.”

  Tracey took out a packet of tissues and a tube of lip cream. She half-turned, and took a few bills out of her wallet. She stuffed those into her pocket and threw her bag into the car. Smith dug a pen and piece of paper out of her own purse, and slammed the lid of the trunk. She wrote a quick note saying where they’d gone, and why, put it on the dashboard, told Sylvester to guard the car, and locked the doors. She’d left a note for her mom on the desk in her hotel room.

  She adjusted the straps of her pack. She felt the comfortable weight of the knife on her hip. She would have preferred to have her Glock, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Did Matt tell you where he was calling from?” Smith said. “He doesn’t have his phone with him.”

  “I didn’t think to ask. I was so excited to hear from him. Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it, Molly?”

  “Lead on,” Smith said to Tracey.

  The sky was clear and the temperature comfortably cool. The trail began as a paved path. A short walk took them to a spot where the swift-moving river tumbled over a rocky waterfall into a pothole. People milled about, taking photographs, watching the white water churning at the bottom of the falls. Smith breathed in the fresh spray of crisp cold water. She dug her raincoat out of her pack and slipped it on. The trail wound uphill, dense forest on one side, a wooden guardrail on the other. Everything drenched in spray. A handful of people were on the trail, heading, Tracey told her, for the falls further down the path. They passed the second, larger waterfall, the pavement ended and the path became bark and wood mulch, narrowing as it turned away from the water.

  “That way goes to the ink pots.” Tracey pointed toward a group of people coming up from the valley floor. “We go this way.”

  The trail got narrower and rougher and began to climb steadily. Talk and laughter fell behind them, and soon they were alone. Signs marked the hiking trails. “We stay on this path for about an hour,” Tracey said. “When we come to the end of the trail, we turn left. I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Like I said, Matt always led the way. I just followed. I’m sure I can remember though. It goes to a nice little pond. We’d stop there for our picnic.”

  If they ever found this nice little pond, Smith suspected Matt would be concealed, wanting to see who Tracey had brought with her. She hoped she’d be unthreatening enough that he’d come out of hiding.

  They began to climb. The neatly groomed trail faded away and they jumped over fallen logs and pushed aside struggling saplings. After about half an hour, Tracey began to fall back. Her breathing was labored and her cheeks flushed. “Can’t we slow down a bit?” she asked. “Matt doesn’t walk so fast.”

  Smith slowed. “When was the last time you were here, Tracey?”

  “About two weeks ago. It looks sorta different.”

  Smith was glad she hadn’t called Sergeant Blechta. If she’d led him and a bunch of his officers on a wild-goose chase, he’d not be happy. As it was she didn’t have anything to do anyway. If not for Tracey stumbling along behind, she’d enjoy the hike.

  They reached the end of the marked trail. An arrow pointed left, directing them back to the parking lot.

  A small path, more a deer track than a hiking trail, rounded an old spruce. Tracey didn’t hesitate, but walked on. As the elevation increased, the trees got smaller, the vegetation thinner. Smith thought it was also getting colder.

  “Can we rest for a few minutes?” Tracey said after a short while.

  Smith shrugged off her pack. “Sure.” The women took seats together on a large boulder. The cold of the rock leaked into Smith’s rear. She found water bottles and granola bars and handed them to Tracey. She checked her GPS and her watch. “It’s almost noon. We’ve been on the trail for an hour and a half. At three o’clock, regardless of whether we’ve found Matt or not, we’re turning around.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. We can’t chance getting caught out here after dark.”

  “We’ll be all right. You’ve got that thing.”

  “The GPS helps. It’s no substitute for being able to see where you’re going.” Smith checked her phone. No signal.

  Tracey pouted as she ripped open the packaging on her granola bar. What had Matt been thinking? Or, most likely, not thinking. Tracey had been all set to rush off into the wilderness, with no equipment, no food, no common sense. One wrong turn and she would have been totally lost.

  Smith looked up, through the trees. The sky was still clear. She ate her own bar and took a glug of water. “Let’s go.”

  “So soon?”

  “Three o’clock. No longer.”

  Tracey muttered. She tossed her wrapping behind the rock, into the bush.

  “Hey! Pick that up.”

  “Sorry.” Tracey scrambled for it and put the offending object into her pocket.

  “That’s better.” Smith plunged into the woods.

  Less than a kilometer further, the deer trail split neatly into two. One arm pointed to the left, the other to the right. Both appeared to have been recently used.

  A flash of red caught her eye. On the path leading to the right, the branch of a fir had been snapped off at eye level. The broken wood pierced a scrap of cloth.

  “I told you he’d leave signs.” Tracey slipped around Smith and touched the fabric. A smile crossed her face.

  “So you did.” That marker could have been left by anyone, but Smith had no reason to think it hadn’t been M
att. The color was bright red, so it hadn’t been out in the open for long.

  They took the trail to the right.

  The scraps of cloth came regularly as the deer trail slipped in and out of groves of trees or disappeared into the bush. Smith wanted to walk quietly, but Tracey’s stumbling and crashing behind her put an end to that. They were in the sub-alpine now, thickly covered with small trees of pine, spruce, and larch. At one-thirty, Smith called a halt.

  “I thought you said this was two hours in, Tracey? We’ve been walking for three so far.”

  “When I’m with Matt time had no meaning.”

  Smith rolled her eyes. She took out the bag of nuts and passed them over. She wondered if Matt was watching them. It was possible. He had to suspect Tracey would either tell the police she’d heard from him or they were keeping an eye on her.

  He’d have to be good in the woods, though, for Smith not to detect his presence.

  It was quiet. A few birds flittered among the trees and the brush rustled occasionally as squirrels and other small animals hurried to get out of their way. They hadn’t seen a human being since leaving the waterfall. She took a deep breath, pulling fresh air into her lungs. She wished Adam were here.

  Even more, she wished Norman were here.

  The women both started as a branch snapped. A soft grunt followed. Tracey leapt to her feet. “Matt. Here I am! Matt.” She darted down the path, heedless of her footing.

  “Wait. Tracey, come back. Stop.” Without bothering to pick up her backpack, Smith ran after the girl. She did not like the sound of that grunt. She heard a sharp intake of breath and then a muffled scream. She rounded a bend in the path.

  Tracey was frozen to the spot. A bear stood on its hind legs not more than ten feet in front of her. Its mouth opened and its formidable teeth flashed.

  “Tracey,” Smith said, her voice slow and calm. “Back up. Do not turn around and do not run.”

  The girl didn’t move.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  TRAFALGAR CITY POLICE STATION. TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. TUESDAY MORNING.

  The moment he got back to the office John Winters looked up the phone number for Paula. He liked Paula. She might dress like something out of a teenage horror movie but she was never anything but polite and friendly toward him. Whenever he saw them in town, her young son, the unfortunately named Beowulf, was clean and neatly dressed, with bright eyes and a wide happy smile. Paula had never been in trouble with the police, but she had been a witness a couple of years ago when one of her friends was killed, and he’d taken down her cell number. It was still filed away on his computer.

  She answered on the first ring. In the background children laughed.

  “Paula, John Winters here.”

  “Hi, Mr. Winters.”

  “I wonder if we could meet. I need to talk to you,”

  “What about?”

  “The Grizzly Resort.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I was at the demonstration because Nadine said I should come. We have to protect what’s left of the wilderness, you know.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. How about lunch at George’s? Are you free?” He wanted to meet someplace she’d be comfortable. Someplace public so she wouldn’t feel she was snitching on her friends.

  “I guess,” she said after a long pause, “that would be okay. Can I bring Beowulf? It’s my day off, so we’re at the park.”

  “I’d love to see Beowulf. Noon?”

  “See you then, Mr. Winters.”

  He spent the rest of the morning doing some further reading on Robyn Winfield. She’d updated her blog the day before. She made an impassioned plea for people to come to Trafalgar to try to stop the Grizzly Resort. The piece was accompanied by pictures of beautiful mountain vistas and happy bears fishing in pristine swift-moving rivers.

  He checked on Steve McNally. No information on his whereabouts.

  Winters was the first to arrive at George’s. The waitress lifted one eyebrow when he asked her to bring a highchair. Soon Paula arrived with Beowulf in his push chair. Winters stood while she unloaded the little boy and settled him at the table.

  “This is a real treat for us, thanks. Wolfie doesn’t often get to eat in a restaurant. Do you, buddy?” She ruffled his hair. Beowulf stuffed the tail of a toy dog into his mouth and eyed John Winters over a much-chewed ear.

  Winters gave what he hoped was a friendly smile. The waitress brought a cup of crayons and a page torn out of a coloring book. The boy dropped the dog onto the floor and grabbed for red. Paula scooped up the toy and opened her menu.

  “Something to drink to start?” the waitress said.

  “I’ll have a Coke, thanks.” Paula dug in her cavernous bag and brought out a plastic sippy cup. “And a glass of milk.”

  Winters asked for coffee.

  “There was trouble up at the Grizzly Resort site this morning,” Winters said. “I don’t want this situation to escalate into violence. No one wants that.”

  Paula stopped fussing. “What sort of trouble?”

  “A leghold trap. Deliberately set where one of the workers might step into it.”

  “Yuk,” she said. She turned her attention back to the menu.

  “Might as easily have trapped an animal. A coyote or a wolf. There are a few houses up the road. Be a nice place to walk a dog in the morning.”

  Her black-rimmed eyes opened wide. “Oh, gosh. That’s awful. Who would do something like that?”

  “Dog,” Beowulf said.

  “I’m hoping you can tell me about the outsiders who were at the demonstration the other day. Robyn Winfield and that man, what’s his name?”

  “Steve-something. But they wouldn’t have set that trap. They believe in non-violent resistance.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Ready to order?” The smiling waitress placed their drinks on the table. Paula poured milk into the plastic cup and placed it in front of Beowulf. He glugged it down.

  “Have you been to any meetings of the group?” Winters asked, once the business of discussing the menu and deciding what to eat was over.

  “No. Nadine went, but I can’t always get a babysitter.”

  “Do you know anything about Robyn and Steve?”

  “I’m not a snitch, Mr. Winters. I mean, thanks for the lunch and all, but I don’t want to tell on them. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

  He smiled at her. “All I’m asking for is what’s public knowledge, Paula. No snitching. Tell you what, let’s have a nice lunch. Do you have a phone number for them? If I can talk to them, I’ll ask my questions myself.”

  “That should be okay.” She rooted through her bag and came up with a printed flyer, an invitation to a meeting to discuss action against the resort. A phone number had been scribbled on the bottom. “It’s Robyn’s number. Nadine gave it to me, in case I could arrange to get to the meeting after all.”

  Winters pulled out his notebook and took down the information. “Thanks, Paula.”

  Their food arrived. While Beowulf made messy work of his hot dog and fries, Paula chatted happily about Beowulf’s adventures at day care and his potential as a soccer star. Winters asked no more about the resort or the protesters.

  For the briefest of moments, as Paula wiped the little boy’s face and encouraged him to thank Winters for the lunch, John Winters regretted that he and Eliza had never had children.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  BANFF NATIONAL PARK, ALBERTA. TUESDAY AFTERNOON.

  It was a grizzly, brown and silver-tipped, and enormous. Easily seven feet tall on its hind legs, perhaps close to five hundred pounds. It smelled of dirty fur and muddy paws, of fish and rotting meat. Of the wild and the world beyond paved roads and lights and laughter. Smith’s hand slid into her pocket. She pulled out the can of bear spray and flipped it open. Her knife would be of absolutely no use here. Probably not her Glock, either. She spread her legs apart and lifted her arms, trying to make herself look equally large an
d impressive, and submissively lowered her eyes to the animal’s chest. “Tracey, I can handle this, but you have to get out of my way. Step backwards, but move slowly. Do not make eye contact, stay calm, and listen to me. If it charges, drop.” She raised her voice. She had a tendency to squeak under stress, and was pleased the words came out strong and firm. “Mr. Bear, I need you to go away.” She dared a quick look. His eyes were small and black. His teeth were long and sharp. She lowered her eyes again. “Step back, Tracey. Now.”

  And then, with a huff that had the hair on her arms moving, the animal dropped to the ground. It turned and lumbered into the trees. Soon, not even the shiver of a leaf marked its passing.