by Vicki Delany
***
“Do you know a guy name of Greg Hunt?” Winters asked when he walked into the office.
Ray Lopez glanced up from his computer. “There’s a Greg Hunt who owns Alpine Meadows Realtors.”
“That’s the one.” Winters dropped into his chair. “Know anything about him?”
“Why are you asking?”
“He’s interested in the Brian Nowak case. Phoned to speak to me, and I got Molly to talk to him. Not happy with being passed onto a subordinate, he waylaid me outside the building yesterday. He says he was a friend of Nowak’s, but his wife didn’t seem to remember the name.”
“Hunt’s local. His father owned the company before him, maybe his grandfather before that. And that’s about all I know. He’s on the boards of some community organizations. All part of the job. I don’t remember him ever coming to our attention, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t before I got here.”
“Do a little checking, will you? When someone shows interest in a case he’s not directly involved in, I’m interested. What are you working on?”
“Incident at a convenience store in Vancouver yesterday afternoon. Guy pulled a knife on the clerk and asked for money, but ran off when a customer came in. None too bright, he’d parked right outside, and the customer got the plates. The perp has family in Trafalgar, and we’ve been asked to keep an eye out.”
“Finish what you have on the go first, and then check into Hunt. This case has waited fifteen years, we’re in no hurry.”
***
Molly Smith came on duty at three in the afternoon. She had planned on going back to bed and getting some more sleep after visiting her mother, but with all that was happening her head was spinning and she knew she would not be able to fall asleep. Instead she’d gone for a long run through the trails that circled the side of the mountain overlooking the town of Trafalgar. She’d seen no one but a couple of mountain bikers and a feral cat and had run until her legs were on fire and her shirt soaked through.
Had Chief Constable Paul Keller spent the night with her mother?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Should she confront Lucky or not? Smith changed her mind about twenty times over the course of the run. By the time she arrived at work, she was coming around to the say-nothing side of her internal debate.
She’d bought a ham and cheese on baguette sandwich (half-price as the bakery was about to close) from Alphonse and took it to the lunch room to put in the fridge. Someone had stuck a fundraising flyer from the Women’s Shelter on the notice board, and she stopped to read it. Several local musicians were playing at the benefit and it might be a fun night.
Barb Kowalski and the law clerk were fixing tea and chatting in the lunch room.
“He forgot about the meeting with the mayor,” Barb was saying. “Fortunately, I got back from the doctor’s, and there he was sitting at his desk staring into space, so he wasn’t too terribly late.”
“My friend Susan is friends with Karen Keller, and she says Karen’s left.”
“I thought she went to a wedding in Calgary?”
“That’s the story, but Karen quit her job and took a lot more stuff with her to her sister’s than anyone would need for a visit.”
Smith stood at the door listening. Jim Denton at the dispatch desk gave her an odd look, which she pretended not to see. Her skin began to crawl as she listened to the women’s low voices.
Barb Kowalski was the chief’s secretary. She was unfailingly loyal to her boss and tight-lipped about police business, but when it came to personal gossip Barb was the go-to girl.
“He was a mess this morning,” Barb said. “You know how well-pressed he keeps his uniform. Today, I think he was actually wearing the same shirt he had on yesterday. He missed a spot when shaving and cut himself somewhere else. Looked like he’d used a dull razor.”
“Proves my point,” the clerk said. “Some men can’t manage to even dress themselves when their wives are away.”
“She’s been gone for a while and this was the first time he looked so rumpled.”
“Ran out of clean shirts probably.”
“Whatever. I hope it doesn’t cause problems around here.” Barb dropped her voice even further. “There’s some talk that the chief and a recent widow who shall remain nameless are…”
“Hi,” Smith said in a bright cheerful voice as she walked into the kitchen. The bylaw officer had come in search of a can of pop and Smith could no longer stand eavesdropping. “Whatcha talking about?”
Barb’s eyes slid away from Smith’s face. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Gotta get back to work. Say hi to your mom from me, Molly. I mean, if you want to.” She almost ran from the room. The law clerk followed at an equal pace.
“Did that seem odd to you?” the by-law officer said.
Smith didn’t reply. She had changed her mind once again.
She definitely needed to talk to Lucky.
***
“Greg Hunt,” Detective Ray Lopez said, “has form, as they say in the police movies.”
“Do tell.” Winters leaned back in his chair to give his back a good stretch.
“Misappropriation of funds. More commonly called theft.”
“Go on.”
“Hunt was born in Trafalgar and went to school here. Then to UBC for a degree in economics and to Toronto for a job with a big investment company. He worked there for several years before being abruptly fired. He was charged with two counts of theft. Some tricky stuff involving his client’s money passing through his own account before actually being invested.”
“How much money was involved?”
“Not a lot. Between both charges, twenty thousand.”
“What’d he get?”
“Fine and probation as it was his first offence. Needless to say his career in high finance was over.”
Winters snorted. “I would have thought it was only beginning.”
“If he’d tried to steal twenty million it probably would have. Anyway, he came back to Trafalgar later that year and began selling real estate for his father. His dad retired in 2001, and Greg took over. The father died last year.”
“When did this happen?”
“Court case was summer 1985.”
“Anything since?”
“He seems to be squeaky clean. I remember the dad, Gregory Hunt, Sr. He was mayor before I moved here but still had his fingers in a lot of pies including the police board. He ran for MLA once but lost by a large margin. He was seen as way too right-wing. He tried again but didn’t even get the nomination.”
“The son?”
“Keeps a low profile. Low for a real estate agent, that is. He’s not into the community or political stuff in the way his father was. His mother’s still alive and active but I don’t think she ever did much with the business.”
“Personal life?”
“Not married. Lives in a nice house on the other side of the river. Apparently alone. Never a whiff of trouble that I’ve heard. He and the company have a good reputation.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Mean anything to you?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible Hunt learned the error of his ways and has kept to the straight and narrow ever since. But Brian Nowak’s family was out ten thousand bucks when he disappeared and I’d give a lot to know what happened to that money.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You can ask a lawyer to look over the contract, you know,” Eliza said.
Kyle Nowak shrugged. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I trust you more than I trust lawyers. They were eager enough to help Mom sort out Dad’s affairs until they found out we didn’t have any money. Left her high and dry quick enough.”
&nb
sp; “Perhaps you just had a bad experience.”
He shrugged, not much caring, and signed the document. Eliza scrawled her own signature at the bottom of the page. She put down her pen and held out her hand. Kyle looked at it and for a moment she thought he might refuse to shake. Then he took it. His handshake was damp and floppy.
“Congratulations,” she said. “You have an art gallery showing next year in Vancouver. I will do everything in my power to make the exhibit a success.”
He mumbled his thanks.
“You have a lot of work ahead of you.”
“Not a problem.”
Eliza would have appreciated a bit more enthusiasm. Kyle didn’t seem to care much about the chance he’d been given.
She got to her feet and gathered up her own copy of the contract. “I know it seems like a long way ahead but a year has a way of passing quickly. I’d like to keep in touch, make sure your work is going as well as we both expect.”
“Keep an eye on me, you mean.”
“Keep in touch, like I said.”
“If you want.”
She sat back down. “You do realize this is a business venture, Kyle? For both of us. I’m investing money in you because I believe in you and your art. If you don’t want to take it seriously, please let me know, and we can tear up the contract and I’ll find someone else.”
He focused his eyes on hers. He was a cold, emotionless man, but this time she saw a flash of determination. “I want to do it. I want people to see my art.”
“Glad to hear it.”
The bell over the door to the street tinkled to announce a visitor.
“Larry,” Eliza said, getting to her feet once again. “How nice to see you. Don’t tell me you’ve finally made up your mind?”
“I’m afraid to say, my darling, that the answer is no. I popped in for another peek.”
Eliza presented her cheek for a kiss and he obliged. Larry Reinhardt owned the men’s clothing store on the next block and had his heart set on a Reynolds painting. Problem was he couldn’t decide which one.
“Pooh,” he said with a sniff. “You’ve sold the rainy day picture. I was tending toward that one.”
“I keep telling you, Larry, there will be nothing left by the time you make up your mind.”
“It’s a difficult decision, dear heart. You can’t rush a boy.” He wiggled his fingers and fluttered his eyelashes at her and she laughed. Larry was in his late fifties, still handsome. He had been a model in his teens, and then worked for years as a wardrobe consultant in Hollywood. He dressed conservatively in white shirt, subdued tie, and charcoal slacks, and lived a quiet life with his partner and their cats. Only with Eliza, because they both came from the modeling world, did he enjoy playing up the flagrant gay persona.
“Larry, I’d like you to meet my newest protégé. Larry Reinhardt. Kyle Nowak. Kyle’s going to have a show in Vancouver next year.”
“That’s great,” Larry said, extending his hand. “Congratulations.”
The hand stretched out between the two men. Kyle looked at it, and then he turned to Eliza. “As you said, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Better be getting to it. If you need anything you know where I am.”
He walked out of the gallery. Larry’s hand dropped to his side.
“I am so sorry,” Eliza said. “That was unpardonably rude.”
“Not the first time a man’s refused to shake my hand. I try not to take it personally. I’ll cut him some slack because I recognize the name. I assume he’s related to the guy whose body was found the other day?”
“The son. I didn’t know him when he was a boy, maybe he was bizarre back then, but from what I’ve heard about him and his family, the shock of the father’s disappearance and the aftermath of never knowing did a number on their heads. If he’s going to have a show, with potential buyers to be charming to, he’s going to have to shape up.”
“What’s his art like?”
“Kyle’s? It’s exactly like him. Angry at everyone and everything.”
“Unlikely I’ll buy, then. There’s too much ugliness in the world, Eliza. I don’t want to bring any of it into my life. Do you think the one with the yellow roof would clash with the walls in the living room?”
***
Molly Smith walked into Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations. Flower was helping a customer try on hiking boots and Lucky was arranging books on the shelf. She looked up at the sound of the door opening and started to give her daughter a smile. But the smile died as she saw the look on Moonlight’s face.
“What is it? Has something happened?”
“Mom, we have to talk.”
“What about?”
Moonlight glanced at the customer and Flower, both of whom had stopped whatever they were doing to stare.
“In private.” Moonlight marched to the back to the room.
Lucky threw a quick glance toward the photo of Andy behind the counter before following Moonlight.
The girl slammed the office door behind her mother.
“Are you aware that everyone in town is talking about you?”
“About me?” Lucky said, hoping she wasn’t understanding what had Moonlight in such a fuss.
“About you. And the chief constable.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, that.”
“It’s nothing, dear. We’ve been talking about the Brian Nowak situation over the occasional cup of coffee.”
“For god’s sake, Mom, what are you thinking? We can hope I’m the only one who saw his car parked outside your house this morning.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I. did.”
Lucky sank into her office chair. “Perhaps that was a mistake.”
“You think?”
“Whether it was a mistake or not, it isn’t any of your business.”
“Of course it’s my business. You’re my mother. He’s my boss.”
Lucky studied her daughter. Moonlight had pale skin, matching the blue eyes and blond hair she’d inherited from her father. Red patches were breaking out across her face as if she were about to give in to one of the tantrums that had been a feature of her early childhood. Lucky found herself smiling.
“This isn’t funny, Mom.”
“In some ways, it is. I appreciate your concern, but if I choose to see Paul I will do so. I am, to my regret, not married.”
“But the chief is.”
“You’ll have to speak to him about that.”
“Mom.”
“Good-bye, dear. I’m sure the citizens of Trafalgar would rather you spend your day keeping our streets safe than gossiping with your mother.”
“Gossiping? I hardly…”
“Good-bye, dear.” Lucky said.
Moonlight looked as if she were about to argue. She took a deep breath, and then turned on her heel and left the room. She slammed the door on her way out.
Lucky groaned and put her head into her hands.
She had slept with Paul Keller.
Not that it hadn’t been nice. It had. He was a good lover, soft and gentle and fully aware that Lucky would be thinking of her late, much-loved husband. Paul smelled, heavily, of tobacco, but that didn’t bother her. Probably because Andy had given up smoking many years ago, and thus Paul’s smoking habit did not bring memories of Andy to mind.
She hadn’t taken Paul to the big bedroom at the front of the house, to the bed she’d shared with Andy all those years, but to Samwise’s old room, now the guest room.
He told her his wife had left him. The marriage had been over in all but living arrangements for some time, and last week Karen moved out. Gone to Calgary where she had family and friends. She told him she would not be back, other than to get her things.
He had been persuasive; Lucky had been lonely and needy.
Lucky Smith didn’t care one whit for gossip. She would do what she always had and go her own way regardless of the opinions of others. Even Moonlight.
But she would not see Paul Keller again.
***
For dinner they had roast beef. It might have been from the same cow she’d eaten the last time she’d been in this house. Tough, stringy, cooked as though it would later serve as a door stop. Served with lumpy mashed potatoes and canned green peas.
This time of year farmers’ markets and backyard gardens were overflowing with tomatoes fat and red with sunshine, vibrant greens, orange carrots, purple beets. Everything fresh and delicious and cheap. Yet her mother still served potatoes from Prince Edward Island and peas trucked thousands of miles to canning factories in the Midwest.
Fifteen years ago no one had heard the word locavore, and Nicky’s mother hadn’t moved forward one single day since her husband disappeared. Nicky remembered her mother as being a good cook, but she realized now that their meals were large and regular, but not necessarily good and certainly not imaginative.
She put her knife and fork on the plate.
“You’ve hardly eaten a thing.” Nicky wondered if the next words out of her mother’s mouth would be “you have to sit right there until you’ve eaten every bite.”
Kyle shoveled a mass of potatoes and peas onto his fork.
“Sorry, Mom, I’m not hungry,” Nicky said. “I guess it’s the stress and everything.”
“But I’ve gone to so much trouble.”
“I appreciate you doing that.” She had gone to some trouble Nicky knew, but didn’t much care. Kyle never ate with their mother and judging by the contents of the cupboards she dined regularly on Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup and Hamburger Helper.
Nicky pushed her chair back.
“There’s dessert,” Mom said with a plaintive whine that set Nicky’s back teeth on edge.
She’d seen dessert sitting on the kitchen table. A formless blob of red Jell-O. Leftovers from last night.
“Save some for me to have later. I’m going out.”
She went to her room and quickly changed. She was, in fact, starving, but most of all she needed a hit. Being out of coke, as Joey had yet to deliver, she’d have to make do with a drink. No wine was served with dinner in their mother’s house. Even when Dad was alive, he would have a beer in his den or while watching TV, but wouldn’t bring it to the family table.
