Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

sorry, sir, but the office is closed today.” She caught sight of Smith behind Winters. “Hi, Moonlight. Didn’t see you there. How’s your mom and dad?”
    Smith cringed at the casual familiarity. “Fine thanks, Bernice.”
    “I’m Sergeant John Winters, Trafalgar City Police. Is Mr. Clemmins in?”
    “I am.”
    Smith and Winters turned. There were no tears on the man’s face, but his eyes were red, and dark lines dragged his face into sorrow’s strokes. He rubbed at his shaved scalp. “I assume you’re here about Reg. I simply can’t believe it.” He gestured toward the open door behind him. “Come in, please. I’ll talk to Mr. Yakamoto if he calls, Bernice, but no one else.”
    Architects’ drawings and blueprints, fastened with stickpins, covered the walls of Clemmins’ office. His grey steel desk was piled high with papers. A single visitor’s chair, orange upholstery stained and ragged, took up most of the remaining space. Clemmins collapsed into his chair. Springs squeaked. He was in his late thirties, much younger than his partner. His hair was shaved down to the scalp, black bristles making a crescent pattern around the naked dome of his head. He was taller than Winters, but thinner. The tail of a snake curled around his bicep and the creature’s body disappeared into the sleeve of his white T-shirt. Rattles were drawn on the end of the tail. It was nothing but a drawing, but a chill ran down Smith’s back, and she turned her eyes away.
    Without being asked, Winters took the visitor’s chair. Smith studied the drawings on the walls. They might as well have been written in Greek. A bunch of circles inside squares inside large squares, all of it inside a big circle. She dragged her attention back.
    “…how we can go on,” Clemmins was saying.
    “Can you give me an idea of what your business is, sir,” Winters said.
    “This’ll be the Grizzly Resort one day. A top-of-the-line luxury resort. We’re planning a hotel and conference center, surrounded by fractional-ownership chalets.
    “Fractional-ownership?”
    “People buy a share in a vacation property rather than the property itself. The potential for fractional-ownership is incredible out here. The Kootenays are too far for people to travel from Vancouver or Calgary for a weekend, so it’s perfect for vacationing a week at time. Five groups of people—families, friends, complete strangers—purchase one-fifth of a chalet. That entitles them to spend one-fifth of the year here. The resort manages the time allocations, maintains the property, looks after communal areas such as the waterfront and the ski hills. Owners’ll be able to come up to the hotel to take advantage of heli-skiing, mountain trekking, horseback rides, a full-service spa. We’ll have luxury dining—Reg’s negotiating with one of Vancouver’s top chefs to headline the restaurant. For nights that people don’t want formal meals, the resort will have a more casual kitchen offering gourmet pizza, pasta dinners, sandwich take-out. Of course, every chalet will have its own kitchen, for those who prefer to cook.” In his excitement at describing the project, Clemmins had returned Montgomery to the present tense.
    “I’ve heard there’s opposition to your plans,” Winters said.
    “Ignorant fools. This resort is exactly what the Mid-Kootenays needs. Money, jobs, tourists. People in the cities are eager to experience nature in all her glory. And what we’re offering here is nature. It’s a win-win situation.”
    Smith shifted from one foot to another. A box air conditioner sat in the single window, pumping out so much cold air that she was surprised Clemmins hadn’t suggested polar bear viewing as one of the resort’s attractions. The resort was going to be built smack-dab in Grizzly bear territory. Once the first fractional-ownership resident came face to face with the reality of nature, red in tooth and claw, nature would be shot, her cubs left to starve to death, and her carcass dragged off for study. Before long the only Grizzly at Grizzly Resort would be the cute little thing in the company’s logo.
    Molly Smith considered wrapping Clemmins’ face in one of his perfectly executed architectural drawings and dragging him out into the woods where he could experience the true glory of nature. She pushed that picture aside as Clemmins confirmed that he and Montgomery had had dinner at Feuilles de Menthe with two representatives of a Japanese venture