Negative Image

by Vicki Delany

  She knew it was Charlie, and she knew he wanted her to know it.

  She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and trying to decide if she should tell Staff Sergeant Peterson, her boss. Peterson was a good guy, although bit straight-laced, but he could be pretty old school, and Smith wondered, sometimes, if he didn’t entirely approve of women on the job. She knew a large part of the reason Dawn Solway hadn’t come out of the closet was because she suspected Peterson was a homophobe. Smith had thought Dawn was finding prejudice where it didn’t exist, but now she thought about some of the off-hand comments Peterson had made, and wondered. Would he tell her to stop acting like a nervous girl and get some balls before crumpling up the bleeding smiley-face and toss it in the garbage?

  As she slept she made up her mind to keep quiet for now about Charlie. She could not chance Peterson, or anyone else, thinking she was over-reacting.

  She peeked through the window of Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations. Her brother Sam was inside, behind the counter, reading a magazine. He looked up when the bell over the door tinkled.

  “Not busy?” she asked.

  “Flower had to take the afternoon off, so I’m minding the place. Good thing it’s the off season, with Dad laid up and Mom spending all her time at the hospital. I’m glad you’re here, got a minute?”

  “What’s up?” Her radio crackled and she held up a hand while she listened. MVA in Upper Town. Not her call.

  “We need to talk to Mom, find out what kind of insurance they have on this place.”

  “Insurance? Why?”

  “In case…well, I mean, you know, in case one of them…dies. Neither of them can run the business on their own, at least not at first, in case it’s…sudden.”

  “Geeze, Sam. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Of course you don’t, neither do I. You’re a cop, Molly, of all people you should know people die.” He looked her up and down. “It doesn’t suit you, that uniform. It makes you look hard. Tough.”

  “It’s supposed to.”

  “That’s not who you are, not what you’re like.”

  “I doubt you know much about what I’m like.”

  “How serious are you and this Adam guy? You’re not just looking for a replacement for Graham, I hope.”

  “I thought we were talking about our parents’ insurance?” Sam was several years older than she, and when they’d been growing up, he’d always acted the possessive big brother. It hadn’t taken him long to slip back into that role. Far from making a replacement for Graham, Molly’s late fiancé, she’d resisted Adam’s attentions for a long time, afraid it would be a betrayal of Graham, and today she bristled at Sam’s assumptions.

  “I want you to be okay, Moon. Judy thinks becoming a cop is your way of getting revenge on the people who let Graham die. She…”

  “She doesn’t know a goddamned thing about anything.”

  “I don’t want to see you making a mistake with your life, that’s all.”

  “Are you and Mom some kind of a tag team? She finally stops ragging me about my career choice and now you’re stepping in. Screw you, Sam. Sorry I dropped in. Go back to your magazine.”

  She began to turn around. He held up his hands in supplication. “Calm down. I’m sorry. I was out of line. Forgive me?”

  “If I must,” she said, having forgiven him already.

  “Even though you look like a storm trooper in that outfit, you’re still my baby sister. Remember the time you went as a cop on Halloween? I wonder if that was some sort of premonition.”

  “That was your idea, not mine. I wanted to be a princess. Dad was away and Mom made you take me around.” She laughed, the memory warm in her belly. “You didn’t want to, but made the best of it by dressing as a convict in striped pajamas and chains, and making me be the cop.”

  He smiled at her, a quick flash of white teeth before the smile faded and he was back in lawyer mode. “About the insurance. We need to find out what kind of pension arrangements they’ve made. If the store fails because they can’t keep it going, do they have enough to live on? I suggest a family meeting tomorrow. Before the surgery. Are you working?”

  “I’m off, but I doubt Mom’s going to agree to us sitting around Dad’s hospital bed talking about how much money she’s going to have if he dies.”

  “Most people are afraid to face their mortality. It’s our responsibility to make sure Mom and Dad know what their options are.”

  “Five-one, five-one?”

  “Five-one here.”

  “911 call from Rosemary’s on Front Street. Woman left without paying. Are you nearby?”

  “Next door. I’ll be right there.” She turned to her brother. “Gotta go. Storm trooper assistance required. If I’m lucky, I’ll find someone to dress in striped pajamas.”

  Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen was a catering business, specializing in hearty outdoor fare vacationers could prepare quickly over a campfire. The small store with attached kitchen was located next to Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations, and both businesses benefited from the proximity. In the off-season, Rosemary concentrated on preparing take-home meals and office lunches. She also stocked a variety of snacks and wilderness food such as nuts and trail mix and granola bars.

  As Smith walked into the store, she radioed “10-15.” On the scene and all is okay.

  “That was quick,” Rosemary said.

  “I was next door.”

  “Sorry about your dad, Molly. I’ve been meaning to take a casserole over for Lucky. Why don’t you take it when you leave?”

  Smith groaned to herself. Walk out bearing a fragrant meal and some do-gooder would accuse her of taking a bribe. “Thank you, but no, I’m here on business. You called 911?”

  Rosemary tugged at her long gray ponytail. She was in her fifties, but Smith knew she biked a good ten kilometers or more to work every day, most of it up the mountainside on the way home. She wore shorts and her legs showed the result of all that exercise. “It’s that girl again. I probably shouldn’t have called you, but I’ve really had enough.”

  “Enough of what? What girl?”

  Rosemary began arranging bags of nuts and chocolate. The bags didn’t need straightening, but it kept her hands busy. “She has a somewhat loosy-goosy approach to the concept of paying for one’s purchases. She doesn’t mean to actually steal. I shouldn’t have called, I’m sorry, Molly. Forget about it.” She thrust a bag of trail mix at the constable. “Here, take this for your trouble.”

  “Rosemary, I don’t need to be paid off, and it wasn’t any trouble. Look, why don’t you just tell me what happened, and we can decide if you want to take it further?”

  Not the first time she’d been called by someone who immediately wanted to retract the complaint. Often there was another call, far more serious, not long after.

  Rosemary blew out her cheeks. “Okay. It’s hard enough running a small business, I’m sure you know that, without people making it harder. It’s been a really bad day. I guess that’s why I got so mad. But you don’t want to hear about my bad day.

  “Do you know a girl named Amy? I’m afraid I don’t know her last name. She works at the Doggie Daycare place sometimes. She’s, well, mildly mentally handicapped.”

  “I know her. She has a son and lives with her brother, Mike.” Smith knew Amy quite well. Amy, being what they called moderately-functioning, had gone to the same high school as Smith. Molly had occasionally provided extra assistance for her. Amy still visited the Woman’s Support Center, where Lucky volunteered, for help with her year-old son, Robbie. Smith had heard Amy now had a part-time job walking dogs for a new business that catered to busy, or lazy, pet owners. It was probably a good job for her. Amy was a kind, gentle young woman.

  “She comes in here sometimes. Now she’s making some money, she likes to buy things for Mike. She says he likes the nuts.” Rosemary nodded toward the display. “It’s kind of her to think of her brother.”

  “But…” Smith encoura
ged.

  “She doesn’t always pay. Emily chased her down the street last week and Amy was surprised when Emily asked her for money. She said she planned to come back when she got paid. I’ve known her to come in, even a couple of days later, and give me what she owes. She knows she makes money, and she knows she needs money to buy things. It’s just that she doesn’t seem to realize I need the money at the same time she takes the goods.

  “I know what she’s like, so I keep an eye on her when she’s here. Today, I answered the phone when Amy came in. It was my daughter, with some…some really bad news. We didn’t talk for long but it shook me up.” Rosemary’s chest moved and her eyes filled with tears. She pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her shorts and wiped her eyes. “Sorry. When I could pay attention to my store again, I realized Amy was gone, a big bag of trail mix and a twelve-serving container of chili were also gone, and there was no money beside the register. I’d had enough, and so I called 911.”

  “You did the right thing, Rosemary.”

  “I don’t want her arrested, Molly. That would be awful. She can’t go to jail, that poor thing!”

  “Calm down,” Smith said with a smile. “Someone needs to have a talk with her, and probably Mike as well.”

  “You’re not social workers.”

  “No, but we understand about mentally handicapped people. I know where Mike works, and I’ll go around now and tell him what’s happening. Then we’ll have a talk with Amy and tell her what she did was wrong, and she has to come back and pay you what she owes.”

  “It’s not the money…”

  Smith lifted one hand. “I hear you, but Amy needs to pay up, Rosemary. This can’t go on. One day she’ll take something valuable, like a piece of jewelry, and the store owner won’t be quite as sympathetic as you. I’ve an idea, I’ll get my mom to talk to Amy and Mike and maybe she can help. It would be nice to get Mom’s mind on someone else’s troubles for a while.”

  “Thanks, Molly.”

  “What time do you close?”

  “Ten minutes ago.”

  “Can Amy come by tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I don’t open on Sundays in the off season. Monday would be fine.”

  Molly left, hearing the lock in the door turn behind her. She’d love a bag of that trail mix, but when she went to pay, Rosemary would insist on not taking the money, and then it would be graft and corruption.

  She went to the Bishop and the Nun, where Mike, Amy’s brother, worked as a bouncer. Mike was a good guy and he did his best to look after Amy and Robbie, but he was a young man and it was a hard responsibility.

  ***

  Eliza hadn’t seen John since they’d gone to the police station. He hadn’t come home, not even to get his shaving kit and a change of clothes. Did he really think she’d killed Rudy? If he believed her capable of that, could she remain married to him?

  She took a container of yogurt out of the fridge and looked at it. Her stomach turned and she put it back. She’d had to call Barney, her agent, this morning and cancel the meeting she was supposed to be attending in Vancouver on Monday. It was the first meeting with an ad agency that had a campaign for a new company selling workout wear specifically aimed at boomer women. Cancelling the meeting, Barney said, would in effect be telling the agency to look elsewhere for their model.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be able to get to the coast,” Eliza said. “Go ahead and tell them I’m not interested.”

  Barney sputtered, and argued, and then asked, “Is something the matter, sweetie? I can come down and see you, if you’d like.” They had been good friends for a long time.

  “Everything’s fine,” Eliza said. “I’m making some decisions about my future, that’s all. I’ll let you know soon.” Barney read nothing in the newspapers other than business and fashion and art gallery openings. If the piece about Eliza from the Gazette had been picked up by the Vancouver papers, Barney would have missed it. Eliza didn’t want to tell her that the workout wear people might not want her anywhere near their campaign.

  She headed upstairs, might as well have a bath and try to relax. She could worry in the bath as well as she could pacing the house. The staircase was wide and it made a ninety degree turn at the landing, where a large stained-glass window was set into the wall. Movement caught her eye and she glanced outside. It was early enough that the sun hadn’t quite set, and long shadows reached across the lawn from the forest edging the property. A car was pulling into their driveway. It was an RCMP patrol car, and Dick Madison sat in the passenger seat.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Yeah,” John Winters barked into the phone.

  “Sergeant Winters? It’s Corporal Farzaneh here. Are you good to talk?”

  He was sitting on the bed in his room eating another take out meal without tasting it while watching a hockey game on the old TV. The game was no more distracting than the food. He’d be more than happy to talk shop with Farzaneh. Anything would be better than watching a stupid hockey game and avoiding thinking about his wife’s tear-stained face. He’d thought about phoning her, talking to her, telling her he loved her and was on her side. But somehow he ended up switching on the TV and turning the sound up too loud.

  “What’s up?”

  “I saw something of interest just now, and figured you should know about it. It’s your town after all, and probably not related to the Steiner case.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Before getting this post in B.C., I was in New Brunswick, doing general policing mostly, with a bit of an anti-organized crime focus.”

  “Were you now?” Winters’ cop brain switched into high gear and he could guess why Farzaneh was calling. Eliza, and all their troubles, were forgotten.

  “Yup. And during my time there I had occasion to run into a group out of Montreal. I saw a gentleman of my acquaintance not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “That’s enough for over the phone,” Winters said. “Where are you?”

  “Bar at the Koola Hotel where we’re staying.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He snapped his phone shut, switched off the TV, tossed the unfinished lemon chicken and fried rice into the trash, and headed for his car.

  The bar of the Koola hotel was crowded on a Saturday night. It was still early; the patrons were mostly friends and family groups out for dinner. A cluster of eight or nine middle-aged women had pulled three tables together in the center of the room. One woman waved her hands over her head like a mad thing, and the others filled the room with shouts of laughter. This group came here every Saturday night, their numbers expanding or contracting depending on circumstance, the time of year, the weather, but they were always here. Jim Denton’s wife, Gale, was one of them. She gave him a wave.

  Kevin Farzaneh sat at the bar. He swallowed the last of his beer, put a bill on the counter, and joined Winters. “Let’s walk.”

  “Don’t know where the boss is,” Farzaneh said, rubbing the top of his hairless head. “Alison’s reworking some stuff in the lab now we know about Steiner’s brother, the maintenance…sorry, wasn’t supposed to mention that.” Winters doubted Kevin Farzaneh slipped up much. There might be dissent in the IHIT team, and this was probably Farzaneh’s way of letting him know they had a suspect. Other than Eliza.

  “I went for an early dinner by myself,” the Mountie continued. I was sitting in the window at that place, the something Grill, around the corner from the Hudson Hotel, just finishing up, and who do I see walk by, other than your delectable beat constable, but François Langois.”

  “And Monsieur Langois is…”

  “His pride would be offended if he finds out you don’t quake in terror at the mention of his name. Langois works for a mob boss name of Guy Marias. His job, unless he’s been promoted recently, is enforcement. Marais operates in New Brunswick and Quebec mostly, because he’s more comfortable in French, although he speaks English well enough. Maybe he’s branching out into B.C. lik
e most everyone these days. I ran a quick warrant check. Langois has nothing outstanding, more’s the pity, but he does have a nice long record, assault, extortion, uttering threats.”

  Strange, Winters thought. Madison hasn’t bothered to tell Farzaneh that Josie Steiner is Guy Marais’ daughter?

  “Did Langois spot you?”

  “No. Might not matter if he did, I don’t know he’d recognize me. I spent some time on surveillance, watching him, but we never came face to face.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” They came to a corner and waited for the light to change. “Don’t suppose you know where Langois is staying?”

  “He spends plenty of time in the gym, but’s not the type to get exercise by going for a long walk in the spring air. I’d guess he’s at the Hudson.”

  “He has a record you say? Then it would be well within my responsibilities to pay him a visit, and make sure he understands we’re a quiet, peaceful little town and don’t need outsiders causing trouble.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Hey, there’s Molly.” Farzaneh grabbed Winters’ arm. “Call her over, will you, Sarge? Let her know how helpful I’ve been.”

  Molly Smith was heading toward them on the other side of the street. She was taking her time, walking slowly, her eyes moving.

  He lifted a hand and waved. She looked at him and he beckoned her over.

  “Great, thanks, Sarge,” Farzaneh said, straightening up and brushing off the front of his shirt.

  “Afraid you’re too late, my boy,” Winters said. “The lady’s spoken for.”

  “That can always change,” the Mountie said. “I note there is no wedding ring.”

  ***

  Smith caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over to see Sergeant Winters calling her. He was standing outside Wolfe River Books with the good-looking Mountie from IHIT. She was pleased to see it. If Winters was back working with IHIT then his wife must be cleared. She waited for a break in the traffic.