Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

you?”
    “Yes.”
    She burst out laughing.
    “It’s not funny.”
    “No, I guess not. You paid a lot for that bike. But it does have its funny side—I’m amazed at the gall of someone who’d steal a police officer’s bike from the grounds of the police station itself.”
    “This isn’t some Robin Hood, Mom. Stealing from the fascist police to give to the elderly widow who needs a bike to buy food for her starving children.”
    “I’m sorry if I made light of it, Moonlight. I’ll get home in time to give you a lift to work tomorrow afternoon.”
    Smith unlaced her boots and pulled them off with a satisfied sigh. The heat had been intense today, and some of it still lingered in the night air. Those boots wrapped her feet in their own private sauna. The heavy dark pants weren’t much better, particularly not with all the equipment she wore around her waist. She accepted a cup of tea from her mother. A wrinkled face with prominent nose and bulging blue eyes protruded from the side of the mug—it had been homemade by a family friend and bought at a sale to raise money for the women’s shelter. Sylvester nuzzled at her leg, looking for a scratch.
    She obliged. “That brings me to the good news. I’ve been given a special assignment. Detective Lopez is going on vacation, and they need someone to help Sergeant Winters with a murder investigation because he’s only been in town a couple of months. This is my big chance, Mom. I’ll show them what I can do.”
    “That sounds nice, dear,” Lucky said, placing a plate of raisin and oatmeal cookies on the table before sitting down with her own tea. “But it doesn’t seem right that you’re so pleased at the murder of some poor soul.”
    “Let me tell you who our victim is. You have to promise that you absolutely will not say a word to anyone, even Dad, until you hear about it on the news.”
    “I’m unlikely to tell your father much of anything. But I promise.”
    “And you can’t let anyone know that I told you. Ever.”
    “I don’t gossip, dear.”
    “You will when you hear this. Promise?”
    “I promise.”
    “Reginald Montgomery.”
    Lucky Smith’s eyes widened, and the slightest of smiles touched the corners her mouth. Then she got herself under control and settled her features into a somber frown. “Is that so? Most unfortunate.”
    “For him, but not for the peace garden committee, I’ll bet.”
    “Will this be in tomorrow’s news?”
    “The press listens into the police radio and so Meredith Morgenstern showed up, PDQ. Photographer in tow.”
    “Perhaps I’ll buy a paper on my way into the store. I was supposed to be going to a meeting of the arts council tomorrow evening, but after reading the paper I might call an emergency planning session for the garden committee.”
    “You didn’t hear this from me.”
    Lucky looked at her daughter. “It’s no secret that I don’t approve of your career choice.”
    “No kidding.”
    “But I would never do anything to harm it.”
    Smith got to her feet and kissed the top of her mother’s head. “I’m going to bed. I have a busy day tomorrow.” She grabbed three cookies and her gunbelt.
    “Good night, Moonlight.”
    “Night, Mom.”
    Moonlight was the name on Constable Molly Smith’s birth certificate. Her parents had been hippies, full of ideas about changing the world and not buying into the establishment. Come to think of it, her mother was still out to change the world, although her father, not so much anymore.
    “Have you called Christa?” Lucky called.
    Smith stuck her head back into the kitchen. “No, why?”
    “She called earlier, said she’d left a message on your cell phone but you hadn’t returned it. She sounded distressed, but wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.”
    Smith pulled the cell phone out of her pocket as she ran up the stairs. She’d switched it off at the Montgomerys’ and forgotten to check it. She held the phone to her ear with one hand and listened to Christa’s message as she pulled her uniform shirt out of her pants with the other.

Chapter Six
    “This had better be good,” Rich Ashcroft snarled into his bedside phone.
    “Oh, I think you’ll like it,” Irene said. “Are you listening?”
    “Of course I’m listening.” Rich struggled to a sitting position. The woman beside him groaned and rolled over. Jenny, Joanie…something like that. A generic name for a generic dyed-blonde. “Go ahead.”
    “You were interested in that stuff