Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

counter separated it from the living and dining areas. Everything was as neat, as Winters’ mother always said, as a pin.
    Mrs. Montgomery was dressed in a pink summer suit, skirt to the knees, matching short-sleeved jacket nipped in at the waist, stockings, expensive-looking pumps. She was very thin, with the look of an expensively maintained body.
    “You should have had a better look at my ID before letting me in your home, Mrs. Montgomery,” Winters said.
    “Perhaps.” She gave a nervous laugh. “But this lovely town isn’t anything like Vancouver or Los Angeles, is it? Can I offer you a drink? I can make coffee, or tea. We have beer, if you’d like, or something stronger. Juice?”
    “Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.” Not anything like Vancouver, indeed. Her husband hadn’t been murdered in Vancouver. “Perhaps you should sit down, ma’am.”
    She sat. The dog snarled at Winters. He was tempted to snarl back. Instead he said, “Constable, will you get me a glass of water, please.”
    Smith blinked. “Water?”
    It’s not for me, you fool, he wanted to shout. “Yes, please. Water.” Smith bustled off, her braid flapping behind her. She’d taken off her hat as they came through the door, and tucked it under her arm. He turned to their hostess and settled his face into lines of sympathy. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Montgomery, but your husband, Mr. Reginald Montgomery, died earlier this evening.” Cupboards opened and shut as Smith searched for a glass. He rubbed the face of his watch with his thumb.
    Mrs. Montgomery scratched behind her dog’s right ear. “That’s too bad.” Henry wiggled in ecstasy.
    Smith returned, carrying a glass full of water. There was no ice. She handed it to him.
    “Perhaps Mrs. Montgomery…”
    Comprehension crossed the constable’s pretty face. “Oh. Right. Mrs. Montgomery would you like a drink of water?”
    “Thank you, dear.” She accepted the glass and held it out to Henry. The dog drank.
    “Do you understand what I told you, ma’am?” Winters said. “Mr. Montgomery was found dead a short while ago.”
    “I understand, Mr. Winters. Poor Reggie. His heart, I suppose. No matter how I nagged, he simply wouldn’t give up fried foods.”
    “Is there someone we could call to be with you?”
    Smith’s cell phone rang. She fumbled at the buttons to send it directly to voice mail. Winters glared at her.
    “We haven’t lived here long,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “I don’t have close friends or family in town. Except for Henry, of course.”
    “Of course.” Winters had broken the tragic news to many people in his long career. He’d never seen anyone react so stoically. She hadn’t even asked him if he was sure, or told him he must be mistaken.
    “I’ll call my son, Gerald. He lives in California, so it might be a while before he gets here.”
    “I can arrange for someone from victim services to wait with you until your son arrives.”
    “No, thank you. I don’t care for strangers in my home.” She put the glass on the coffee table, scooped up the dog, and stood. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Winters, Miss Smith. It was most kind of you to deliver the news in person. Do you need me to identify the body, or something?”
    “That can wait until tomorrow.”
    “Good. It is late. You can call me any time after ten to arrange a viewing.”
    Viewing? “Mrs. Montgomery, we should call someone to be with you. Constable Smith can wait until a neighbor arrives.”
    “I assure you, Mr. Winters, that I will be quite fine until my son gets here in a day or two.”
    A day or two? “Before we go, can I ask what your husband was doing this evening?”
    “Other than getting himself killed?” She laughed.
    He heard a strangled sound from Smith, and didn’t dare look at her.
    “Reginald and Frank were having dinner with potential investors. Japanese fellows, looking for someplace to spend their money. These Asians are buying up the entire province. Someone should put a stop to it before they expect us to eat with chopsticks, don’t you agree, Mr. Winters?”
    “Who’s Frank, and what’s his last name?”
    “Frank Clemmins, my husband’s business partner.”
    Winters glanced at Smith. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, indicating that she knew who they were talking about.
    “Did your husband say where they were dining? Or when he expected the dinner to be over?”
    Mrs. Montgomery shook her head. “No. But Reginald never