Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

monster of a truck.”
    “Maybe he has a very small penis,” Moonlight said with a wicked grin. It had been a long time since Lucky had seen light sparkle in her daughter’s eyes.
    “Ew. I do not want to know. And if you ever find out—don’t tell me.”
    “Don’t wait up.”
    “Moonlight. Molly. Before you go.” Lucky struggled to find the words. “I haven’t told you how proud I was of you the other night. You were so strong, so brave, so powerful out there. You saved us all from a disastrous situation.”
    Water gathered behind Moonlight’s wide blue eyes. “Thanks, Mom. But as for being strong and brave—well, I wasn’t.”
    Duncan leaned on the horn.
    Lucky swiped her hand across her eyes. “In my day, a gentleman caller was expected to come to the front door. Spend fifteen minutes or so in the den with the girl’s father while the girl and her mother peeked from behind the kitchen door. Only then would they be allowed to go to the boy’s car. In which they would later screw their brains out.”
    Moonlight laughed. “I love you, Mom, do you know that?”
    “I do, dear, I do.”
    ***
    It felt good to be out on the street, one of the crowd, a person with nothing to do but have fun. Smith threw her head back and let the music wash over her. The concert was held in a typical small-town venue, used for bingo one night, metal bands another. Tonight the place was packed for a concert by BC-DC, the hugely popular AC-DC tribute band from Nelson.
    She saw a few people who might have been on one side of the street or another at the trouble on Tuesday. But no one looked at her maliciously and no one confronted her. And so she enjoyed herself enormously.
    The crowd was slamming their bodies together, dancing or just hopping up and down with arms moving in the air. The hall smelled of beer and sweat, clothes pungent with smoke, tobacco and pot, and cheap perfume liberally applied. The audience cheered as the singer howled and the band broke into “Highway to Hell.” Smith looked at Duncan. He was smiling at her. “This is such fun,” she said. “Thanks for coming with me.”
    “Thanks for inviting me.” She couldn’t hear what he said, but she could read the words on his mouth.
    She turned back toward the stage, lifted her arms high, and moved them to the beat of the music. She could feel as much as see Duncan eying the curves under her purple shirt and smiled to herself. It felt good. Both to be admired and to smile.
    By the time the concert ended her heart was racing and her feet ached. The crowd spilled out into the night, laughing and telling each other how great the show had been. Duncan took her hand, and she didn’t pull it away. A police cruiser was parked in the alley beside the hall, lights off. Dave Evans stood beside it, watching the place empty. He didn’t see her. He’d called her at home on Wednesday and stammered out thanks for saving him and Mrs. Reynolds. As thanks went, it sounded as if someone were holding a gun to his head, but she appreciated the call nonetheless. Maybe he’d no longer be so quick to dismiss her as a product of token hiring.
Nah
.
    “You bought the tickets,” Duncan said. “How about something to eat?”
    “I’m famished.”
    He pulled her hand. “We’d better hurry, the Mess Hall’ll be packed.” She tottered after him on her high heels. Fortunately the town’s favorite wings joint was only a block from the hall. She wouldn’t be able to walk much further than that. These shoes cost her three hundred bucks, and they’d sat in the closet since Graham’s death.
    They squeezed into a table for two in a dark corner. They ordered a large pizza and a platter of hot wings and pints of beer. Duncan told funny stories and Smith laughed. He tried to get her to talk about her job, but tonight she didn’t want to go anywhere near work.
    He got up to go to the washroom and she watched him push his way across the floor, where people were packed together like penguins on a shrinking ice floe. If she’d been on duty, she might have done a count of heads, to check if the place was in excess of the numbers allowed. But she wasn’t on duty, and so she nibbled on the last wing. Duncan stopped to talk to someone sitting at the counter. She thought about her first date with Graham. They’d climbed the two hundred steps down to Wreck Beach in Vancouver. It had been late in November. The beach was empty, the fabled nudists all gone home, no one camping out