Valley of the Lost

by Vicki Delany

  “Corporal Brian Atkins. Brian’s transferred into the local RCMP from New Brunswick. I thought we could make use of him before he got known around town, to try to shake down some drug dealers.”

  “I am sorry, Constable.” Atkins held out his hand. “I didn’t mean to hit you, and I felt pretty bad about it. You sort of fell into my fist.”

  She looked at his hand, but made no move to take it. “I worked part-time at a battered women’s shelter when I was a student. That’s what the men all say.” She burst out laughing and accepted the handshake. “I hope it worked. Because, if I may say, you look the part. My name’s Molly.”

  “My wife won’t sleep in the same bed with me until I do something about these tattoos.” He lifted his arm and grimaced. “She has a phobia about snakes. I forgot that when they were applying the image.”

  “It worked,” Winters said. “Brian was helping Ray, and even as we speak Ray’s writing up a nice, detailed arrest warrant for a gentleman who’s acting as a distribution point for heroin across the southeast of the province.”

  “Sweet,” Smith said.

  Atkins tugged at his ponytail, his expression rueful. “My wife also hates the hair, so I have an appointment at the barber. I think it makes me look like a hot dude, what do you think Molly?”

  “I think you’d better not miss that appointment.”

  “Be seeing you.” He walked out.

  “How’s Miller?” Winters asked.

  “Starved, dehydrated, soaked in pee and poo, thrown on the floor, and this morning he’s his normal hungry, screaming self. He spent the night in the hospital, just for observation, but my mom’s gone to pick him up. We should all be so supple.” She rotated her left shoulder with a wince.

  “Allenhart’s lawyers have already arrived.” Winters told her. “They’ve started procedures to get Miller returned to the States.”

  “It’s going to be hard on my mom, giving him up. Tell you the truth, I kinda like the little guy. He’s a fighter. But I don’t want him moving in permanently.”

  “He owes you something, Molly. Something big.”

  “He owes me,” she said, shifting her feet, adjusting her gun belt, and looking out the window, “a good night’s sleep.” Sunlight reflected off moisture in her blue eyes. “It’s going to be another scorcher today, they say. I can’t wait for winter.”

  She walked out of the lunch room, putting her hat on her head and pulling her sunglasses out of her pocket.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  “Ninety-two years old and he wants to be a daddy. Are you crazy?” Andy Smith threw up his hands. “What’s he gonna do? Toss a football from his wheelchair? Once, and then he’ll fall asleep. How about swim practice. Learning to canoe or ski. That’ll be fun. The facts of life. He won’t even remember them.”

  “Calm down, Dad,” Molly Smith said. “Allenhart might be old, but he named Miller in his will and the lawyer doesn’t intend to allow a paternity test. So that’s that. You should be happy that Miller’s got a home. And he’s going to be really, really rich. Like I would be if you guys had done better in life.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “I just want to know about Ashley. Poor Ashley,” Lucky said.

  “Poor Ashley indeed.”

  It was late autumn. The nights were getting longer, the trees turning yellow, a few red or orange. Snow touched the mountain tops in the mornings, and Koola Glacier grew, day by day. The last of the produce had been gathered and the rich, black earth of the garden turned over. Andy hired a high school student to chop wood for the stove, enough to get a start on the winter. And Molly Smith felt that she could breathe, once again, in her Kevlar vest and dark blue uniform.

  Burke was dead; Blacklock in the loony bin awaiting a hearing to determine if he could stand trial. Frank Clemmins had put the Grizzly resort property up for sale the day following the incident at the site, swearing that he was leaving the Kootenays forever. Nancy Blacklock told the police that she thought the relationship between her husband and his sister was a bit intense, but she had ignored it in the interests of family harmony. And, John Winters had surmised, as long as she was given free access to the liquor cabinet and the advertising budget.

  Miller, the baby, had left the Smith home. Back to Seattle, to what bit of family he had. The parents of Jennifer and Katie Watson had been located, in the affluent town of Oakville, Ontario. They hadn’t shown much concern over the fates of their daughters and no interest in taking in a ‘bastard child’. Their words, not those of the Oakville Police. Although no one would be surprised if they suddenly remembered the importance of blood relations when they found out just how much Richard George Andrew Allenhart Junior was worth.

  Lucky had waved good-bye from the front porch, as a big black rental car took Miller away, wiped her hands on a dishcloth, and announced that she was going back to work. The big, old-fashioned, awkward, incredibly ugly pram still sat in front of the oven. Neither Andy nor Molly dared to move it.

  “Steve Blacklock’s starting to make some sense. Between him and our investigations, we think we finally have the whole story. “Looks like Jennifer knew from the get go that Jody—Jamie—wasn’t her friend. But she thought Steve was okay. Ricardo, the chauffeur, heard Steve telling Jennifer that he wanted to buy into a development project in the Kootenays. Steve had been here on vacation a year or so ago, and thought the area had lots of potential.”

  Lucky snorted. “Potential to be defiled. Raped. Invaded. Occupied.”

  “Mom, please. I’m telling this story.”

  “Carry on, dear,” Andy said.

  Lucky looked out the window. It had rained for days on end and the forest was sodden and inhospitable. Thick strands of pale green lichen hung from cedar and pine branches like party decorations left too long outside. The house smelled of wood smoke, wet dog, and the vegetable and tofu curry they were having for supper.

  “As an aside, Steve was so deep in debt the whole house of cards was about to come crashing down around him anyway. He, and Jamie as well, received a nice tidy income from Uncle Richard’s various companies, but he was just too greedy.”

  “An old story,” Andy said.

  “It is. Steve borrowed most of the money for his investment in the Grizzly based on his plans to inherit. After all, the old guy was in his 90s, he’d be dead any day now, and Steve would be rolling in the dough. He had expectations, as they say. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens called it, I believe. Anyway, when Jennifer found herself running from the body of her murdered sister, carrying her nephew, she knew she had to disappear. We don’t know how she got him across the border, probably never will. Not only had she heard Steve talk about Trafalgar, but Julian Armstrong thinks he might have mentioned that he’s from this area. She probably thought she was being guided,” Smith made quotation marks in the air with her fingers, “to come to Trafalgar. Didn’t hurt that this is a town full of transients, where no one looks twice at a homeless girl and her baby.”

  “Speaking of Julian,” Lucky said, “I’ve been told he left town quite abruptly. Complaining of police harassment, some say.”

  “Some say the moon is made of blue cheese. But, speaking of Julian, if we must, we would have gotten to the bottom of all this mess much quicker if he’d come out and told us what he knew.”

  Not to mention, Marigold—Joan Jones—who thought her roommate deserved her privacy ‘even in death’ and who, they’d finally found out, worked hard because she had credit card debts piled on top of student loans.

  “Do you want me to continue or not?”

  Lucky leaned over and scratched behind Sylvester’s floppy ears. His tail wagged in contentment. “Sorry dear. Carry on.”

  “Jennifer figured she could hide the baby here, in Trafalgar, while looking for Steve and getting him to help her. Jennifer, our Ashley, either saw her sister murdered, or came across the body immediately after. Jamie, our Jody, killed the girl, and then she took a walk, probably to dispose of the murder we
apon. The property’s on Puget Sound. The Seattle police sent down divers, but didn’t find anything. When Jody got back, no doubt intending to smother the baby, make it look like whoever killed the mother had killed the baby as well, Miller was gone.”

  “That must have given her a bad moment,” Andy said.

  “You think? It’s all pretty horrible.”

  “Poor Jennifer. She came to Trafalgar trying to save the baby, thinking that Steve Blacklock would help her.” Lucky looked up from her tea cup. Her eyes were rimmed red, as if she’d used a child’s crayon as eyeliner.

  “Blacklock. He’s a piece of work. Whether he directly killed Jennifer or not, I don’t much care. She came to him for help. And he turned his back on her and the baby. He deserves whatever he’s going to get. But, back to the scene. Jamie left a hefty bundle of cash on the kitchen counter when she went for her walk. She’d probably made a withdrawal to be used to bribe the cops, if that became necessary. Although, judging by the detectives we met down there, I don’t think any amount of bribe would have been enough.”

  Lucky stirred. “In Seattle,” she said, beginning a story.

  “Forget it, Mom. That was a long time ago. Anyway, Jennifer grabbed the money, and the baby, when she ran, probably not even aware of how much it was. Thus she was able to live for months with no income. We found a safety deposit box, under her real name, at a bank in Trail, stuffed with U.S. bills, and her Ontario health card.”

  “What about her own family? Why didn’t she go to them?”

  “The Oakville Police suspect the Watson parents are part of the problem. There were allegations of abuse when the girls were in school. Nothing proven. No action taken. They’re a very respectable, old money family.”

  Lucky snorted.

  “Jennifer, Ashley, ran away when she was 14. To Vancouver, where she found herself hooked on drugs and walking the streets to pay for them. But somehow, she must have been one strong woman, she got herself clean. Katie was a few years younger. She also left the parental nest at 14, and came west looking for her sister. One of Katie’s friends back in Oakville told the police she received a letter at her house, addressed to her. Inside there’d been an envelope addressed to Katie. She gave it to her friend; the next day Katie disappeared. But something went wrong and Katie ended up on the streets of Seattle, not Vancouver, and then in the Allenhart house. Jennifer must have followed her to Seattle and the sisters were reunited shortly after Katie’s baby was born. The story could have had a happy ending. It should have had a happy ending. That’s what makes me so mad. When I think about those two girls, struggling so hard, Jennifer getting herself clean so she could send for her sister, finally finding each other. And then they meet Jamie, disinherited, vengeful.”

  “Sad,” Lucky said.

  “What a waste,” Andy said.

  “I can’t get over the gall of that woman. She must have had nerves of steel. Pretending to be with Children and Family Development. Even asking the police to help her out.”

  “Who would ever think someone would pretend to be a social worker?” Andy said. “This isn’t the big city. No one asks for ID.”

  “And no one thought to tell you that the public health nurse had filed a report recommending that Miller be left with you until his relatives could be located. Funnily enough, I suspect Jody’s nerves were her undoing. Even after taking a stroll to dispose of Katie’s murder weapon, and coming back to find the baby gone, she left Miller lying beside Ashley’s body. He would have been dead by morning, if you hadn’t found him, Mom. And all we’d find would be a junkie who went back to the stuff, leaving the baby she’d kidnapped to die at her side. Allenhart’s will left everything to Jamie and Steve in the event that Richard Junior pre-deceased them.”

  The family sat in silence. Sylvester licked at his private parts with much enthusiasm.

  “They said you can come and visit, Mom,” Smith leaned across the table and touched her mother’s hand. “Will you go?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s going to be raised by hired help. No mother, a father who’s not all there and will probably be dead before his next birthday. A big, empty house. Lots of money. Not much love. No, I don’t think I’ll visit.” She stood up. “Tomorrow’s the Peace Guild’s Christmas Bake and White Elephant. I said I’d make something. My world famous lemon squares are always nice.”

  “Christmas,” Smith said. “It’s only October.”

  “Never hurts to start early, Moonlight. Andy, I don’t have enough lemons. You’ll have to go to town.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Meredith’s story had not made the paper. Instead they printed something generic, mild, unprovocative, submitted by the pimply faced junior who thought he was Jimmy Olsen, Boy Reporter. All bases covered, all legal angles considered.

  She needed to get out of this hick town.

  It had been the best story she’d ever written. Consigned to the trash bin.

  She pushed her chair back from the computer with a sigh and walked to the window. She grabbed her right foot in her hand, and folded her leg back to give it a good stretch. Nothing new on the Internet today in the way of openings for a reporter on a big city paper.

  An RCMP car drove past, heading toward the city police station. Probably for a dull, routine meeting. She wondered who was behind the wheel.

  Tocek?

  For some reason thinking about Constable Adam Tocek always made her think about sex.

  But she didn’t have a chance with him, and so, for the first—and hopefully the last—time, she’d sent a man after another woman.

  He’d walked her to her car, that night at the Grizzly Resort, after the ambulances had left, sirens screaming, and Sergeant Winters had surrendered his weapon, and Molly Smith, pale and on the verge of shock, had been bundled into the back of a police car.

  Meredith had put her hand on the door frame of her own car. She began to step in, but stopped. “Okay,” she’d said to Tocek, looming over her. “I’ll tell you one thing. Moonlight Smith and I have never been friends. To be honest, we pretty much hate each other. You might not know this, but her fiancé was murdered by a druggie. I guess that’s why she became a cop.”

  “If you’re stopped at the highway, have them contact me,” he said. “I’ll tell them we want you out of here as fast as possible.”

  “Get as smart as you like. But first, I’m going to tell you something you can take to the bank.” It would appear that, here tonight, all had ended well, and although Meredith might tell herself tomorrow morning, and in the years to come, that she’d helped to make it so, she knew, at this moment, deep in her heart, that she’d screwed up. She’d come across a great story, and she’d be heading back to the Gazette offices to file it. If she was lucky, one of the wire services or the major papers would pick it up.

  But before she left, she’d try to make restitution, somehow. “I saw Molly watching you, after you turned away. I saw her look at you at the grow-op bust the other day, when you walked back to your car. Molly Smith carries around so much emotional baggage, it’s burying her. You dig underneath all of that, Adam, and you’ll find a woman who cares for you.”

  Meredith pulled the door shut and threw the car into reverse.

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