“You’re involved in this business too, are you? What is it? Drugs probably.”
“Not me. I’m no genius, but I like to think I’m smart enough to stay out of that sort of trouble.”
“Why then are you so reluctant to go to the police? If this guy is after you, trying to shut you up, you’re better with the police than hiding behind trees.”
“Maybe. Moonlight…”
“Call me Molly. I hate that stupid name.”
“Molly.” Matt lifted his head. He watched Tracey, trudging up the trail. They were keeping their voices low and every once in a while she looked over her shoulder, checking that Matt was really there. “She’s a good girl. A great girl. A lot better than I deserve.”
“Do the right thing for her. The right thing is not leading the life of a fugitive.”
“Hard to know, sometimes, what’s the right thing. How many lives can I ruin?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“Au contraire, I am finally coming to my senses. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Molly. I guess I’ll find out when I find out.”
“You know who killed Barry. Tell me. You’ll be telling the Mounties soon enough.”
They started at a squeal from up ahead. Tracey stumbled over a tree root. She pitched forward, arms windmilling. She hit the ground with a yelp of pain.
Matt reached her in two quick strides. “You okay?”
She flipped onto her rump, and gave her head a good shake. “I think so.” She held out her hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She turned to him with a smile that would light up the night woods. He did not release her hand, and they walked on together.
Smith glanced at her watch. Three-thirty. They’d be back at the car before dark. She’d hand Matt over to his father, and then head out of town. She’d have to drive through the night, but she wanted… she needed… to be home.
Chapter Fifty-seven
BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. TUESDAY AFTERNOON.
Lucky spent the day doing nothing. Nothing but worrying.
She’d hoped that after their talk yesterday, Karen would want to be, if not exactly friends, at least no longer enemies, but when Lucky suggested lunch, she’d been brushed off with an abruptness verging on rude. Karen was regretting her confessions.
Lucky ate lunch alone, once again not tasting the food and barely registering a word of the novel she’d brought to keep her company.
She’d expected Moonlight to call, to say she was leaving and were there any last-minute updates. But she hadn’t.
It hadn’t been fair of Lucky to ask Moonlight to come. The girl had her own life to live.
Adam seemed like—he was—a good man. He adored Moonlight, as well he should, without being overly protective or possessive. In the early days of their relationship Moonlight told her mother she worried that when they were on the job, Adam would feel he had to look out for her, rather than treat her like any other officer. But they didn’t work for the same force, so didn’t usually find themselves working together. And when they did, he was learning to keep a professional distance.
Lucky hadn’t liked Moonlight’s late fiancé, Graham Buckingham. She thought they were too young to get married; she thought Moonlight needed to see more of the world first, to get some experience before settling down. On one occasion, she’d seen a flash of the bully in Graham’s attitude toward Moonlight. And, worse, the girl had submissively rushed to do his bidding.
When Graham died, Moonlight had been inconsolable for a long time. Deep in her heart, where she would never confess even to herself, Lucky had been glad her daughter was free of him.
Five years later Moonlight hadn’t seen much more of the world in terms of geography, but she had certainly seen human nature in all its permutations.
Lucky, the old-time hippie, had initially been horrified when Moonlight pulled herself out of her grief and announced that she intended to become a police officer. Lucky was happy to admit she’d been wrong. The job was a good fit for Moonlight. It might put her in some moral dilemmas at times, but wasn’t that part of life?
Lucky and Paul had deliberately not brought their laptops on their vacation. They didn’t want to find themselves constantly checking e-mail, and Paul said if he needed to be contacted his staff could phone him. With nothing more interesting to do, Lucky popped into the hotel business center. She settled down at a computer and logged on. She was astonished at the amount of activity on Facebook in the short time she’d been away. Some of her friends had been to a demonstration in front of the Grizzly Resort offices on Sunday. All the chatter was about meetings and organizing protests.
Oh, dear. Precisely the sort of dilemma she’d been thinking about Moonlight facing. Moonlight was opposed to the resort, as befitted a wilderness adventurer. But she was charged with keeping the peace, and if the demonstrations got out of control Moonlight might well find herself dragging friends, even her own mother, off to jail.
No, not her mother. This time, Lucky decided, she’d have to stay out of it. For Moonlight, but also for Paul. Poor Paul, if one of his officers had to arrest his lover. Perhaps Lucky would volunteer for a behind-the-scenes job. Designing pamphlets or making phone calls.
Better not. She’d only chafe at her inactivity and find herself on the streets after all.
She moved to shut down the computer as a new message popped up on Facebook. A demonstration was being called for tomorrow morning at the resort. Passive non-violent resistance. Her friends began liking the post or saying they’d be there. Someone commented that her husband had a construction job at the site and he needed the work.
The flame wars began.
Lucky closed the Internet browser. As she went back to her room to put on a better pair of walking shoes she reminded herself that every cloud had a silver lining. This might be enough to make Paul decide to head back to Trafalgar.
Her cell phone rang. Paul.
“I’ve had a call from John. Trouble’s brewing over that damned Grizzly Resort. It’s going to need a lot of PR, so I have to get back.”
Lucky refrained from mentioning that she knew all about it.
“It’s too late to leave now. I don’t want to drive over the passes at night. First light tomorrow, will that be okay with you?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“At the station. I’m with Jonathan. We’ve finished up a meeting with Blechta.”
“Has something happened? Did he have something to tell you?”
“Forensic results are coming in. Didn’t tell us much we didn’t know. There’ve been no further credible reports of any sightings of Matt. Only the mysterious stranger stuff we get with every missing person. Jonathan’s here to report back to Karen.” Paul didn’t sound all that pleased at the idea, but he would make the effort to be accommodating to his ex-wife. To Matt’s mother. “Jonathan suggests we meet for a drink at the hotel. Go over what we’ve learned and decide if there’s anything he can do after I’ve gone. Gotta run, Blechta’s waving at me.”
“Okay.”
Home. At last they were going home. When they arrived in Banff, was it only four days ago, Lucky thought that she could live here, in this wonderful hotel, forever.
Now, all she wanted was to go home.
Chapter Fifty-eight
BANFF NATIONAL PARK, ALBERTA. TUESDAY EVENING.
The sun was touching the mountains to the west when they finally arrived back at Smith’s car.
Sylvester was delighted to see her. Smith held the back door open for the dog while Matt threw his stuff into the trunk. She followed Sylvester around the parking lot for a few minutes, letting Matt and Tracey have a precious moment of privacy.
Their last for a long time. Perhaps, if things did not go well for Matt, the last they’d ever have.
When she got back to the car, Matt had his arm around Tracey’s shoulders and her face was buried into his chest. They pulled apart. Smith typed in the password, and then held out her phone. “Y
ou wanna make the call. Or shall I?”
Matt held out his free hand and she gave it to him. “Your dad’s in the contact list under CC.”
He kept one arm around Tracey’s shoulder and punched buttons with the other. He hesitated, his finger hovering. He buried his face in Tracey’s hair. Smith waited. Sylvester waited.
A long time passed. Finally, Matt pulled away. He looked at Smith, and then he took a deep breath and made the call.
“Hi, Dad.”
She was standing a few feet away, but Smith could hear the shout from the other end.
“I’m with Molly. We’re coming back to town. I’d rather talk to you first. Please. How about the parking lot behind the Lighthouse Keeper? Ten minutes. Hear what I have to say first and then I’ll go with you to the police station. Ten minutes. See you then.”
Paul said something more, and all the color drained from Matt’s face. “Fuck, no!” He ended the call, threw the phone at Smith.
She grabbed it out of the air. “What’s the matter?”
“You bitch, you set me up.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You must have known your dad would do nothing other than take you to the police station.”
Matt whirled around. He faced Tracey. He grabbed her face in his hands. “I’m going, kid. I won’t be back.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
The trunk was still open. Matt gave Tracey a quick kiss and moved to get his backpack. Smith’s phone rang. She ignored it, stuffed it into her hip pocket. She stepped in front of Matt, blocking his path. “I don’t know what’s changed, but I can’t let you go.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can try.” He wasn’t a large man, but he was fit, and he was a man. Smith bent her knees and flexed her fingers. She touched the knife attached to her belt.
“Get out of my way.”
“No.”
“I’m truly sorry, Moonlight.” He moved. He swung at her face, but she had read the intention in his eyes. She ducked, slipped aside, pulled the knife out of its sheath. Matt’s fist connected with only air. Tracey screamed. Sylvester barked.
Matt faced her, his eyes narrow, a vein pulsing in his neck. Smith held up the knife. It wasn’t much of a knife, not intended for fighting. It was small, but it was sharp. It would do the job, if it had to. She had no idea what the chief could possibly have said to Matt in that short phone call that would have him on the run again. Right now, that didn’t matter.
“You won’t use that on me, will you, Moonlight?”
“I will if it becomes necessary.” She took a deep breath. “Matthew Allen Keller, I am arresting you for the murder of Barry Caseman.”
“No!” Tracey screamed.
Sylvester jumped against Smith’s leg. She staggered, and instinctively, glanced down.
Matt leapt at her. He grabbed her knife hand by the wrist. He twisted. Pain shot up her arm. She gripped the weapon, refusing to give it up. His breath, sour from days in the wilderness, was on her face. His brown eyes narrow with anger. She brought up her left knee. Jammed it into his groin. Too close to have much strength behind it, but enough that he grunted and relaxed his hold. She twisted her arm free and stepped back. “Don’t do this Matt. You’re resisting arrest. Stop now and I won’t charge you with assault.”
But rage was in his eyes and it was unlikely he even heard her. He came at her again, ducking low. She held the knife out in front of her, knees bent, heart pounding, blood rushing. She slashed empty air. She tried to think. She needed time to think. Would she use the knife on Matthew Keller?
No.
She didn’t have any equipment on her. Without handcuffs she couldn’t control him even if she won the fight; she couldn’t secure him in the back of the car while she drove. All she could do would be to let him go. Or to injure him severely enough that he couldn’t escape.
And that, she wasn’t prepared to do.
Chapter Fifty-nine
BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. TUESDAY EVENING.
They had just ordered a round of drinks and appetizers when Paul’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. When he saw the display, he glanced at Lucky, his eyebrows lifted in a question. “Molly. Hello.”
Lucky only had time to hope her daughter hadn’t run into a problem on the highway, when Paul leapt to his feet. His chair crashed to the floor. “Matt! Where are you?”
Karen Keller clutched her hands to her chest. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Oh, thank heavens,” she breathed.
“Where is he?” Jonathan Burgess shouted.
“You can trust Molly,” Paul said into the phone. His eyes were fixed on Lucky, and a small smile touched the edges of his mouth. Lucky fell back into her chair, overwhelmed with relief. It was over. It was all over. Karen wept softly. A waiter hurried over to pick up the chair.
“I’ll meet you at the police station in Banff,” Paul said. “You know you have to turn yourself in, son. Okay, I guess that’ll be all right. Where? Ten minutes? We’ll be there. Your mother’s here. Yes, I understand. Jonathan’ll come instead. Matt? Matt? What the hell?” Paul took the phone away from his ear. He looked at it, not understanding. He gave it a shake. Held it to his ear. Punched buttons.
He was still on his feet. The lounge was full of before-dinner drinkers, every one of them watching the drama unfolding at their table. The waiter continued to hold the chair, not quite sure where to put it.
“Did he hang up?” Jonathan said.
“As if something had interrupted him.” Paul punched more buttons. “Keller here. I need a trace on this phone. He rattled off Smith’s numbers. “It’s urgent. One of my officers, and I believe she might be in trouble. No don’t do anything. Just find it for me.
“He said the parking lot behind the Lighthouse Keeper in ten minutes. I suspect something’s happened to prevent that meeting, but it’s the only thing I have right now. Lucky, will you take Karen upstairs?”
Karen was still weeping. Her arms were wrapped around herself and her eyes were closed. She didn’t appear to have realized things had suddenly gone very wrong.
“I want to come with you,” Lucky said.
“No.”
“But Moonlight…”
“Is more than capable of taking care of herself without her mother’s help. Look after Karen.”
Lucky nodded.
“Keep trying to get her. Tell her we’re going to the Lighthouse Keeper as arranged.”
The two men ran out of the restaurant. The wait staff stood back and watched them go. The patrons returned to their drinks and nibbles. Lucky got to her feet and bent over Karen. “Why don’t we go upstairs, dear, and wait?”
Wait. What else was there to do but wait?
Chapter Sixty
BANFF NATIONAL PARK, ALBERTA. TUESDAY EVENING.
Let him go. She knew where he was; she could have search parties in the woods before Matt was so much as out of sight. Her phone kept ringing, vibrating against her hip. Almost certainly the chief trying to get Matt back.
Matt circled, fists up, lips tight, eyes focused. He feigned coming in from the right. She swung to her left, realized her mistake, back to center. He danced away, out of her reach. His breath came in short sharp bursts.
“Okay, Matt,” she said, lowering the knife. “You…”
Her right leg collapsed in a wave of pain. She fell to the ground, landing hard on her rear. The knife flew out of her hand.
Tracey was on her. Screaming. Pounding her fists into Smith’s chest and face. Screaming, screaming.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. First rule of a fight: know where all your opponents are. Smith had turned her back on Tracey. Thinking the girl was harmless. Forgetting that any animal, no matter how small and defenseless, will fight to protect its mate.
Sylvester lunged at Tracey, growling, teeth bared. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t a guard dog, just a family pet. Tracey scarcely seemed to notice the dog’s grip on her arm, as she pummeled Sm
ith. More in anger than with skill or strength. Smith lifted her hands to protect her face and at the same time tried to scoot back on her butt, get herself out of range. Sylvester jumped on her arm, sharp claws ripping into her jacket. She had no idea where the knife had gone.
Suddenly, the blows stopped and Tracey was out of Smith’s space. Bodily lifted to her feet. Matt’s arms were tight around her, and she wept into his chest.
Matt stroked the girl’s hair. “I’ve done enough damage, Molly. I won’t have Tracey sent to jail because of me. If you forget what Tracey did, I’ll come with you. I give up.”
Under Cold Stone: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Novels) Page 25