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

by Delany, Vicki

  “I suggest we get going,” Smith said. “I’ll drop you both at the station. Matt can fill you in on the way, and then I’ll take Tracey home.”

  “I want…”

  “I don’t care what you want. You can’t stay with Matt. He has a long night ahead of him.” Longer than that if Blechta didn’t buy his story.

  Smith wasn’t entirely sure she bought it herself. “The Mounties will want to hear all about this car-rental scam, but that can wait. I suggest you quit that job. Don’t bother giving notice.”

  “I’ll take Matt,” Keller said. He glanced at Sylvester, trying to push his way through the back window of Smith’s car. “You look a bit cramped for space. Blechta will want a full report from you, but he’ll want to talk to Matt first. Check on your mother. And Karen. Karen should go back to Calgary immediately, but she won’t leave without seeing Matt. Burgess will suspect something’s up. Try and stay out of his way.”

  “Will do.”

  Matt gathered Tracey into his arms. He held her for a long time. When he stepped away she was crying. “It’s all okay, now. It’ll all be okay. My dad says so. Right, Dad?”

  “Right, son.”

  Smith and Tracey watched them drive away before getting into their car. Smith drove through town. Tracey sniffed. “I’m sorry about…about your face.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “I’ll live.”

  Smith pulled up in front of Matt’s building. “I suggest you try to get some sleep. Blechta will be calling you soon. You have to tell him what you told me about the car-rental scam. You won’t see me again, Tracey. I’m going to tell my mom what’s happening and then go to the station. Soon as I’ve made my report, I’m leaving town.”

  “Thanks for everything, Molly.”

  “Take care, eh? Tell Matt to trust his dad from now on.”

  “I will.”

  A beige Corolla pulled up in front of them. They watched the driver struggle to parallel park.

  “That’s the same sort of car that was parked in the lot for a couple of days. You might want to tell the police about that. It made Tom really jumpy. More jumpy than usual. I thought he’d have kittens when the cops arrived to ask about Barry. Soon as they left he rushed out to check on it.”

  “You think it was carrying drugs?”

  “Probably.”

  “Did you get the plate?”

  “No, but the office will have it.”

  “Tell the Mounties about it, will you?”

  “Should I call now?”

  “It’ll wait until tomorrow. Blectha’ll be too busy tonight to care.”

  Tracey opened the car door. Light flooded in. “You’re from Trafalgar, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I learned something about Trafalgar when I was crawling around the web of Burgess’ companies.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s some land there he wants to buy. But it’s owned by someone else, who plans to put in a resort. Burgess is trying to get it. I thought, well, if he wants it real bad, he’d be willing to pay a lot. So if you have some money to invest, you might want to know that. He seemed like such a nice guy, too. Goes to show, eh? You can’t trust people. Bye.”

  And Tracey was gone.

  Smith didn’t know anything more about computers than she needed to do her job or play music on her iPad. It sounded as if Tracey had been doing a lot more than just hacking into the books of the rental car company.

  It wouldn’t hurt to tell the chief. Have him drop a few hints Tracey’s way that that sort of thing was frowned upon by the law and if she kept it up she could get into some real trouble.

  Tracey was probably talking about the Grizzly Resort. Smith didn’t have money to invest, and in any event, if she did, she’d hardly buy a piece of the Grizzly. That would see her run out of town on a rail, not to mention banned from her mother’s dinner table.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. TUESDAY NIGHT.

  Lucky was with Karen in her room, sitting in armchairs in the near-dark. The TV was on but neither woman could have told anyone what was playing. Karen was no longer crying, but the tissue she twisted between her fingers was soaked and torn to shreds.

  Lucky was about to call room service to order tea, when the door flew open. Jonathan Burgess stormed in. Karen leapt to her feet.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happened? Where’s Matt?”

  “Damned if I know. Your husband ordered me out of his car and told me to take a taxi.”

  “Why?”

  Burgess crossed the room. A bottle of Glenlivet was on the dressing table, beside two glasses and an ice bucket full of water. He poured himself a hefty slug. “Ice has melted. Get me some.”

  Karen stood. Lucky grabbed her arm. “Ice can wait. And so can a drink. Tell us what’s happening.”

  “I don’t know. Paul got a call from the police. They told him Blechta needed to see him at the station immediately. He was to come alone. He wouldn’t tell me why. Dumped me on the street like a hooker who’s worn out her welcome.” Not waiting for ice, he downed the drink. Poured another.

  In front of Lucky’s eyes, Jonathan visibly pulled himself together. His back and neck straightened, and he moved his shoulders. He turned to Karen with a strained smile. “Sorry to bark at you, darling. I couldn’t get a cab for ages. Like police, they’re never around when you want them.”

  Karen sat back down, her eyes cautious.

  “We know Matt’s made contact, so that’s one good thing. Have you heard from your daughter again, Lucky?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably ran out of power to her phone. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Karen would like to lie down for a while. She’s finding this very stressful, you know.”

  No, Lucky thought, I didn’t know. I’m selfish that way. “I’ll be in my room, if you need to talk, Karen. Good night.” Before she could move, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom, it’s me. I’m in the lobby. Are you in your room?”

  “No, I’m with Karen and Jonathan.”

  “Isn’t that handy? I’ll be right there. What’s the number?”

  Lucky gave it and hung up. “Moonlight’s coming up.”

  Karen ran to the door. She was standing in the hallway when they heard the ping of the arriving elevator.

  The woman who came into the room had a torn lip with a streak of blood running down her chin, the skin around her right eye was swelling, the front of her t-shirt was spattered with blood, her sleeve was torn and bloody. She walked as if she were in pain.

  Karen gasped. Lucky almost screamed. “What on earth happened to you?”

  Moonlight put her hand to her face. “I almost forgot what with the adrenaline high. This is going to hurt like heck when I come down. Now I know why I got such funny looks in the lobby.”

  “Matthew?” Karen asked. “Surely, Matthew didn’t do that to you?”

  Lucky rushed to the bathroom. She pulled a towel off the rack and ran warm water over it.

  “No, Mrs. Keller, in all honesty I can say Matt didn’t lay a finger on me. Thanks, Mom.” She took the towel and began wiping at her face and hands. She looked at Jonathan Burgess. “Matt and Chief Keller are at the RCMP station. Matt can identify the man who killed Barry Caseman. Turns out he ran because he thought it was a case of mistaken identity and the killer was after him.”

  Karen burst into another round of tears. Lucky’s legs gave way and she dropped onto the bed.

  “I wonder why he’d think that?” Moonlight continued. “You’ll be interested to know Matt’s pretty sure he knows who sent the killer. Seems he saw the guy with his employer in Calgary recently. Fascinating, eh, Mr. Burgess?”

  Jonathan headed for the closet. He pulled out his suitcase and began throwing clothes into it. “In that case, I’ll be heading home. I’ve missed important meetings dealing with this situation.”

 
Lucky’s head spun. She glanced at Karen, watching Jonathan in confusion. “This isn’t over,” Lucky said. “I think you should stay…”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Moonlight said. “You might want to call your lawyer on the way.”

  “When you’re ready to come home, Karen, rent a car.” Jonathan snapped his suitcase shut, scooped his keys off the table. He threw Moonlight a look of pure rage. Then he opened the door and left.

  Moonlight sat down. She let out a long painful breath, and put one hand against her chest.

  “What was that all about?” Lucky said.

  “I’m sure we’ll find out. Eventually. I have to go to the station. Why don’t you come with me, Mrs. Keller? They’ll let you see Matt for a few minutes.”

  Chapter Sixty-five

  GRIZZLY RESORT. OUTSIDE TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. WEDNESDAY MORNING.

  John Winters’ alarm shrilled and he slapped it before it could disturb Eliza. He laid in the dark, listening to the steady drumbeat of rain pounding on the roof. Whipped by unusually high winds, branches moaned and scratched against the window.

  Perfect.

  He touched his lips lightly to Eliza’s sleeping face. She murmured softly and rolled over. He got out of bed. He pulled back the curtains and peered out into the night. Rain ran in torrents down the windows.

  He would have preferred a good old-fashioned snowstorm, but this would do as well as if he’d ordered it himself. The rain should help reduce the number of people heading to the Grizzly Resort for today’s demonstration.

  He made coffee and toast to eat in the car and was making his way slowly down the mountain before seven. Not a glimmer of moon or stars broke the cloud cover, and the forest was shrouded in deep darkness. His headlights caught the rump of an elk disappearing into the trees. As he joined the highway, traffic thickened, heading into town for the day, but moving slowly against the rain and wind. In places, the road clung to the side of the mountain, steep cliffs on one side, an intimidating drop into the river on the other. Makeshift waterfalls had formed in the night, spilling rainwater onto the highway.

  He hadn’t heard again from Paul Keller or Molly Smith. No news was, hopefully, good news. They’d contact him when they could.

  He dropped into the station to see if there had been any fresh developments overnight about the demonstration. He’d alerted the Mounties to Robyn’s impromptu protest, and they said they’d have officers on-site.

  Not that he needed to inform anyone. As if by magic, by the time he left the office the previous evening, posters had popped up around town, nailed to telephone poles, in the windows of the environmental shops or activist-owned businesses. Posters with the now-familiar logo proclaiming “This is what a Grizzly looks like” with details about today’s protest hastily scrawled across. Ray Lopez told him Facebook had notified his daughters about the demonstration and they’d asked if they could take the morning off school.

  Needless to say, Ray turned that request down flat.

  At seven-thirty, John Winters arrived at the Grizzly Resort site. So far, there were more police vehicles than others—RCMP and a TCP car with Dawn Solway behind the wheel. Adam Tocek was there, sipping a coffee. Norman waited in the truck, where he would stay. He would not be used for crowd-control, that wasn’t his job.

  “Heard from Molly?” Winters asked Adam.

  “A quick call last night, to say Matt had been found and was going with his dad to the police station. She had a report to make, needed some sleep, should be home later today.”

  “I’m glad that’s over then.”

  “Tell me about it. I have twenty pounds of defrosted turkey in the fridge and don’t want to have to eat it all myself. She started to make a pecan pie before she left. I finished it off. Keep this to yourself, Sarge, but I’m glad I didn’t have to eat it with her watching.”

  Winters laughed. Dawn Solway wandered over to say hi.

  The security barrier was down across the construction road, and four uniformed Mounties stood in front of it, intending to keep protesters off the property. The rain had turned the unpaved road into a morass. Behind the barrier, Darren Fernhaugh paced a rut in the muddy track. His workers drank coffee and leaned against trees, watching.

  Everyone waited.

  Promptly at eight o’clock, a beige Corolla slowed, pulled off the highway, and turned onto the construction road. Robyn Winfield was behind the wheel. She drove as far as she could, moving slowly through the mud, bringing the car to a halt with its bumper inches from the security barrier. The car was packed with young women. They spilled out, opened the trunk, began collecting signs. To Winters’ considerable dismay, Paula was with them. At least she’d had the sense not to bring Beowulf.

  “Show time,” Adam said.

  As they watched, a handful more cars arrived and parked along the edge of the highway. A few women Winters recognized from around town, a vanload of modern-day hippies. A couple of Vietnam-era hippies, probably wanting to relive their lost youth. Uniformed Mounties shifted in front of the security barrier; hard-faced men in overalls tossed aside coffee cups. Darren Fernhaugh continued to pace. A rain-proof poncho was thrown over his shoulders, and the hood dripped water onto his nose.

  He saw John Winters watching him and approached. “Can’t you get rid of these people?”

  “We will if they block the highway or attempt to come onto your property.”

  “That one,” Fernhaugh pointed to Robyn, moving from group to group, slapping backs, talking loud, “is the ringleader. She’s been talking about physically stopping work here. Can you take away that backpack she’s carrying?”

  “I’ll check it out,” Adam said.

  Fernhaugh groaned. “I can’t afford this, I just can’t afford it. More delays, more protests. What’s going to happen when prospective buyers see these signs all over town saying they aren’t welcome? If this gets national exposure, John, it’ll finish me.”

  So far the only media Winters could see was one sodden young man from the Trafalgar Daily Gazette interviewing Robyn Winfield. Adam Tocek stood beside her, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. Clearly he didn’t want to ask to search her bag in front of a reporter. Dawn Solway adjusted the weight of her equipment belt.

  The crowd lifted their signs and began to march in a circle. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen people in all. Much less than Robyn would have been hoping for.

  Steve McNally was noticeably absent. Smart enough to know when to stay out of the rain.

  His phone rang. “John Winters.”

  “It’s Molly. I’ve broken my cell so I’ve borrowed the boss’. Figured you’d want an update on what’s happening here, but first there’s something that’s been bothering me all night.”

  “Can we talk about this later? I’m at a demonstration in front of the Grizzly Resort.”

  “Mom told me one was forming. I think you might want to hear this. It’s about the resort.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We believe Barry Caseman was killed on the orders of a Calgary businessman by the name of Jonathan Burgess. The killer, the alleged killer, has been identified, but cannot be located at this time. Burgess is in Calgary, surrounded by lawyers, so whether or not anything can be proved, remains to be seen. I found out that this Burgess has an interest in the Grizzly Resort. I don’t mean interest in the business sense as owning part of it, but interested as in wanting it. I didn’t think much of it, at first, doesn’t matter to me one way or the other who develops the property. Then I remembered Mom telling me the Grizzly people are worried about keeping their heads above water until they can get the units sold and cash coming in.”

  Winters glanced around. Darren Fernhaugh’s secretary was arguing with a stern-faced woman in her late sixties. Much waving of arms and shouting. The construction workers were still behind the police line, but hurling abuse about tree huggers and job-killers. Robyn Winfield was being interviewed, while Adam Tocek eyed her backpack. Fernhaug
h marched over to her car and began pounding on the hood, ordering her to get it out of the way, he was expecting deliveries this morning.

  Rain continued to fall.

  “I don’t have anything but a bad feeling that kept me awake when I finally got to bed,” Smith said. “Burgess owns a car rental company, Global, that’s definitely into criminal activity, including moving drugs. I was told last night about a vehicle of his that might be involved in a major deal, thought it might be going to Trafalgar. No one would be bringing marijuana into the Kootenays so it could be full of the white stuff. Trying to finance a takeover of the Grizzly site, maybe? It’s a stretch, probably nothing. Sorry to bother you.”