She called the Lighthouse Keeper. “Sorry, Kev,” she said, when he answered. “But I slept in. I was up all night, trying to find Matt.”
He grunted. “I told you, you could have gone home early yesterday, but you didn’t want to. You can’t just not come in with no notice. I’m not running a charity here, Tracey. I had to call Ellen to come down and fill in. I’ll be paying for that for a long time.”
Ellen was Kevin’s wife. She worked at the restaurant only when she had to and made sure everyone, customers as well as staff, knew she was doing them an enormous favor.
“I can be there in half an hour.”
“Forget it,” he snapped. “It’s quiet today, holiday people gone home, and Ellen can manage.” His voice dropped and a touch of warmth crept into it. “I’m sorry about Matt, Tracey. I know you’re worried. But, take my advice, you’re better off without him.”
“He didn’t kill Barry.”
“That remains to be seen. The cops think he did, and take it from me, once they get someone in their sights they don’t let him go, innocent or not. Regardless of how this ends, Matt’s bad news, Tracey. Cut him loose. Be here tomorrow morning.” He hung up.
She went into the cramped, overcrowded bathroom. The countertops were covered with bottles and pots of makeup, hand creams, perfume, brushes, a hairdryer, used tissues. Amanda’s mess. The mirror was spotted with dried drops of water and sprayed toothpaste. Tracey eyed herself, checking out every flaw.
Matt. All she had in this world was Matt. She knew he was innocent, but was Kevin right? Would the cops convict him anyway? She’d wait for him to get out of jail, no matter how long that might be. But how would she live? She needed to get out of this town; she needed a decent job with good money and regular hours.
All that could wait. The important thing was to be here for Matt. Matt had brought something good into her life. Love. Friendship. And, for the first time she could remember, hope. Hope that they’d have a future together.
He’d be calling her soon. He’d want to clear his name, get on with life. She’d be here, waiting.
Chapter Thirty-five
BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY MORNING.
Smith crossed the hotel lobby. A long line snaked in front of the reception desk, as people waited to check out. Leaving the fairy-tale castle, heading back to their real lives.
She was probably the only one in the entire place who wanted to get back to her real life. Tension was carved into Paul Keller’s face like time into granite. No matter what happened, this was not going to end well. Best-case scenario—Matt would be found unharmed, cleared of the murder, and go back to his own life, still estranged from his father.
Worst-case scenario—no point in going there. Not yet.
Paul Keller was her boss. He was a nice enough guy, a hands-off sort of boss. He’d been a good cop in his day, was now a competent administrator. Smith had been dragged into his personal life—where she did not want to go—by her mother’s involvement with the chief.
Of all the people for the widowed Lucky to take up with.
Still, Smith reminded herself, it could have been a lot worse. There was a case in town about a year ago when a widow married a younger man and invested most of her savings in his business venture. Her son, who lived far away and never paid any attention to his mother in any event, only found out his mom was now penniless when she phoned asking if he’d heard from her husband who hadn’t come back from a business trip to South America.
The husband was now living in Brazil. The woman had turned out to have had—past tense—far more money than anyone, except for the man in question, had realized. And then there was a high school friend, whose lonely widowed father had married a woman whose bitter tongue and constant fault-finding drove all his friends, as well as his children, away.
Paul Keller was a good match for Lucky. We don’t choose our families and Paul hadn’t chosen for his son to turn out bad.
Today, Smith wanted to find Tom Dunning, the other roommate, see if he could tell her more than Alistair had. Tracey said Dunning worked at the same car rental place she did.
Other than that, she had no idea of what do to next. If Matt had disappeared into the wilderness, and if he had good equipment and knowledge of survival, he could stay there as long as his supplies lasted. Longer, if someone was helping him hide. Or until snow fell. She hadn’t thought to ask Alistair if Matt’s tent and sleeping bag were good for the winter.
If anyone was helping Matt, or keeping him hidden, it wasn’t Tracey. She was beside herself with worry about him. Smith would pop around to the Lighthouse Keeper this morning and ask if Tracey had heard from Matt overnight. If Matt told her not to tell the police, she’d do precisely as instructed.
But first, Smith needed to take Sylvester for a walk.
A man and a woman were coming out of the elevator. Karen Keller, the chief’s ex-wife. She started when she saw Smith, and then put on a smile. “Molly, how nice to see you. Are you vacationing with your mother?”
As if Lucky would bring her adult daughter along on a romantic weekend.
Mrs. Keller didn’t look as if her recent divorce had done her any harm. She wore red ankle boots, gray slacks, and a red leather jacket over a white blouse. She’d lost weight since Smith had seen her last and her hair and complexion glowed, but fresh worry lines were appearing in the delicate skin around her eyes and mouth.
“I’m here to help Chief Keller.”
“That’s nice of you.”
A man hovered at Mrs. Keller’s shoulder. He was attractive, for an older guy, and had a highly prosperous air about him. He and Karen looked like they belonged here in the lobby of the Banff Springs Hotel.
He gave Smith a wide smile and said to Karen Keller, “Are you going to introduce us, darling?”
“Where are my manners? This is Molly Smith, dear, one of…one of Paul’s fine officers. My friend, Jonathan Burgess.”
He held out his hand and they shook. Smith waited for him to say something patronizing like, “they didn’t make cops so pretty in my day. Ha Ha.” But he didn’t, just said, “Pleased to meet you, Molly. Smith did you say?”
“Lucky’s my mom.”
“I see the resemblance. You’re much taller, and the coloring is very different, but it’s there.”
“So I’ve been told. My dad was tall and fair.”
His eyes focused on her face. No wandering to her chest, which would have been creepy, no looking behind her searching for someone more interesting, which would have been rude. Instead his smile was wide, his eyes focused, his look as professional as that of Andre the bartender. “It was nice of you to come. I don’t know what you and Paul can do that the Mounties can’t, but I figure all the help Matt can get, he needs, right?”
“Right. Did you hear anything new last night, Mrs. Keller?”
“You think I’d keep it to myself if I did?”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Nothing.” Burgess put a calming hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Not a word. We have an interview with the detective in charge this morning.”
Karen’s face tightened, and her eyes narrowed. Her gaze shifted and she was looking across the room. Smith moved slightly, trying to see what had attracted the woman’s attention.
Lucky Smith and Paul Keller were crossing the lobby.
They formed an awkward group. The men exchanged good mornings, Karen glared at Lucky, Lucky pretended to admire a vase of flowers.
“I’ve gotta go and give Sylvester a run,” Smith said. “Call me when you have an appointment time, will you, Mom?” She dashed off.
Sylvester, as could be expected, was delighted to see her. She’d been out earlier to let him have a quick pee and to refill his water bowl, which he’d spilled all over the floor. Now, she took him into the woods for some exercise. He was used to being off-leash, but this close to the hotel she kept him on the lead. After he had a good long sniff of the underbrush, she set off at a ligh
t jog, the happy dog bounding along beside her. She’d spent all day yesterday in the car, and last night drinking far too much. She needed a good long run. But Sylvester was getting too old for that, and they’d both have to settle for five minutes or so.
The path was well-marked and well-maintained, the air crisp and full of the scent of the forest closing down for the winter. The undergrowth rustled. Sylvester’s ears twitched and his head swung in search, but they encountered no one else. Smith felt her head clearing as she sucked in cool crisp air and took strength, as she always did, from the woods around her. She’d spent her teenage years and her early twenties working as a wilderness guide for her parents’ adventure vacation business. She’d led multiday camping and kayaking trips in the summer, backcountry skiers in the winter. She missed it sometimes, now that she spent her days in a city--where the predators were far more dangerous and unpredictable than anything she’d ever encountered in the woods, where the exhaust from cars filled her lungs and there was no getting away from the smell and noise and light of humans. She’d enjoyed the two years she spent living in a small apartment above Alphonse’s bakery, overlooking Front Street, although light would always be stealing through the windows no matter the time of night, cars driving up and down the street, or people talking too loudly on the sidewalk below. It had been nice, for a while. But now she was living in the woods again, this time with Adam, and that was where she belonged.
She’d considered, many times, looking for a job in a major city. As far away as Toronto even, to get big-city policing experience. The sort of experience she’d need if she was to get anywhere in her career.
At first, she couldn’t bear to leave her mom, particularly not after her dad’s sudden, unexpected death. Then she decided to commit herself fully to Adam Tocek. But most of all, Smith now understood, she couldn’t bury herself in the city. Even a city like Vancouver, which was close, but not close enough, to the wilderness.
She held the car door open and Sylvester jumped happily into the backseat. She gave him a rub on his back and a scratch behind the ears, and he rewarded her with a shake of his head and a spray of spittle. Telling him to, once again, guard the car, she set off at a trot back to the hotel.
Chapter Thirty-six
GLOBAL CAR RENTAL. BANFF, ALBERTA. MONDAY AFTERNOON.
Dumb, stupid, arrogant Barry. In one final screw up, he’d chosen this week to get himself killed.
Tom Dunning heaved himself off the bench in the office as a Lexus pulled into the lot, and he went outside to meet them. He’d checked out their papers earlier, a German couple who’d had the car for three days. No doubt they’d taken it off the highway. Some of these rough mountain roads could cause a lot of damage to a car, particularly to the front window.
It was the German couple’s lucky day. Without Barry to make, or rather not make, the repairs to the windshield, no point in telling them they’d have to pay up.
Tom fingered the knife in his pocket. A little nick and scratch, could be expensive to repair on a valuable new car. Maybe a quick jab to the tire.
Nah. All he could do now was wait and see what the bosses decided. They were not happy. Tom had heard Simpson on the phone earlier: easy to guess he was talking to the manager of Kramp’s Auto Repair, where Barry had worked. They had a nice scam going in fake repairs. It wasn’t big business, a few hundred here and there, maybe a thousand or so, but it provided a welcome extra income for Tom and Barry—once the bosses had taken their cut, of course, and tossed scraps to the guys who’d done the real work.
Not good if they were going to shut the operation down while the cops poked around. Who knew how long that might be? Tom made fuck all checking rental cars in and out; he needed that extra cash.
Tom knew better than to rely on any one job or any one person. A man had to look after himself, always be ready for the main chance.
Good thing he had another line of income.
Even hearing only one end of the phone conversation, Tom could guess that McIntosh at the garage was nervous. The cops had been nosing around, asking questions about Barry. Questions like did he have any enemies they knew of? Was he ever in any trouble? Who might have had it in for him?
Simpson reminded McIntosh that Barry never met with the customers. If anyone was out for revenge at being ripped off, they’d be after the folks at the car rental company. Tom blinked. The boss meant him. Simpson would never dirty his manicured hands telling some tourist whose English wasn’t good enough to order a burger and large fries at McDonald’s that they’d be out hundreds of bucks for car repairs.
Not likely to be a problem. If anyone did get home after their vacation and bother trying to find out if those repairs really were done, or if the car was damaged by the check-in assistant himself, they’d be on the phone to their lawyer. Not creeping around apartment stairwells after dark armed with a knife.
No, Barry’s death had nothing to do with the business. He’d gone too far for once and paid the price. An angry boyfriend probably, maybe an aggrieved father. Hell, these days he might well have been done by some girl he’d gotten drunk and stupid. And then found out she wasn’t quite as drunk or as stupid as he’d hoped.
What the hell any of that had to do with Matt Keller, Tom didn’t know. Or care. Unlikely Matt had stabbed Barry himself. Matt didn’t do anything without Barry’s approval. Tom snorted to himself. Matt was as weak a man as he’d ever met. The guy had a real beef with his father, a cop. Get over it, Tom thought but never said.
From the day he’d walked out of his house, turned his back on Mad Mike, Tom had made his way through life on his own terms. He needed nothing from no one. Unlike Matt, who hung around Barry like a lapdog, doing what he was told, seeking the other man’s approval as if Barry was some sort of father-substitute.
Pathetic. No, Matt hadn’t killed Barry. Tom doubted he had the guts to kill anyone who threatened Barry either. Or if he did, he’d have dropped to the floor, curled up into a ball, and waited to be arrested.
The rent on the apartment was paid up until the end of the month. He shouldn’t have any trouble finding new roommates: cheap accommodations around here were as rare as a well-paid job.
Tom had no idea why Matt had run, and didn’t much care except that it threw yet another complication into the business. Matt’s girlfriend Tracey worked here. And the cops had their eye on her, hoping he’d contact her.
Still, they had no reason to connect Matt with the car rental company itself. Tom could only hope they’d give up on Tracey. And soon.
This was definitely not a good time to have the cops watching them.
He found himself glancing to the back corner of the lot, where the beige Corolla was tucked in behind a couple of vans.
That car was supposed to be picked up tomorrow.
Just get it the hell out of here.
Tom checked the Germans in, told them to have a nice day, and thanked them for renting from Global Car Rental. It paid to be friendly when the boss was on the lot.
He glanced at his watch. Long time till lunch break. Inside the office, Simpson was leaning over Jody’s shoulder, reading her computer screen. The look on her face would curdle milk. She wiggled off her stool and stood against the wall, arms folded over her chest.
Simpson had been known to accidently brush up against her almost non-existent breasts now and again.
She’d threatened to quit once, after his hands had wandered, but Tom told her to stay on. It would be hard, he said sensibly, to get another job. He’d keep an eye on the boss, make sure he didn’t get out of line.
Jody hadn’t liked it, mentioned that Tom wasn’t always there. Frankly, Tom couldn’t care less where Jody worked, except that he liked having her here, knowing she wouldn’t question why he showed particular interest in one vehicle over another. She wasn’t in on the scam, didn’t concern herself with what happened with cars that needed repairing. Tom and Simpson handled that part of the business.
Time to cut Jody loose a
nyway. She was getting clingy, wanting to go out to restaurants for dinner, or to bars at night. Wanting to do stuff that cost money.
If she wanted money she should tell the boss she’d agree to an extension of her job description, if he paid enough.
Still, it had been mighty handy having Jody as an alibi for the time of Barry’s murder. Tom knew the cops weren’t sure whether or not to believe her. They’d questioned her again, when he wasn’t around. They’d tried to get tough with him, too.
Screw them. About that, he really did know nothing.
A car pulled up as the office door shut behind him. He turned and glanced out the window. A Neon, one that had driven a lot of miles on bad roads. A woman was driving and a large shaggy dog smiled out the back window.
Under Cold Stone: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Novels) Page 16