Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

office is closed for the day. And then tell your boss you’re going home.”
    The two officers crossed the dusty parking lot to their car. Yesterday’s rain was just a memory, and the heat continued to build.
    “What do you think, Molly?” Winters asked, fastening his seat belt.
    She twisted the key in the ignition. Heat burned in her chest. “You want to know what I think? I think this resort will be the death of this community. Not to mention the environment. They might as well buy a vacation home in downtown Toronto. That’ll get them as close to nature as they’ll get at Grizzly Resort. They want Disney World in B.C. and they can’t see the difference.”
    “I meant,” Winters said, “what do you think about Mr. Clemmins as a suspect?”
    Smith blew out a lungful of air. That outburst had been a mistake. She could almost see him writing “over-emotional” on her evaluation. “Sorry. I think he’s genuinely distressed at the death of his business partner. Not because he particularly cares on any personal level, but because this’ll set the cat among the pigeons, so to speak. Mr. Clemmins might do a fine job at pimping for prospective investors, but as for building a resort? Maybe not so good.”
    “For what it’s worth, I agree with you. But if you want to be an effective officer, and I’ll go out on a limb and assume that you do, Constable Smith, you’d better learn, fast, to keep your personal opinions under control. I could hear you huffing and puffing behind me like a locomotive running out of coal when Clemmins talked about how much good his resort would do for the area.”
    Smith concentrated on the track ahead of her. She stopped where the construction road met the highway, and turned the air conditioning up a notch.
    “Where to next?”
    “We have enough time to meet with Mrs. Montgomery’s lover before the autopsy, but we can’t be late. Dr. Lee gets nasty when she’s left waiting. You know where we can find Tyler?”
    “Sure. He’s my dentist.” Traffic was light, and Smith pulled onto the highway.

Chapter Eight
    As Rich Ashcroft expected, Meredith Morgenstern was waiting at the small airport outside the town of Castlegar when he arrived. As he’d also expected, she fell all over herself to welcome the reporter from Cable News Corporation.
    But he hadn’t expected that she’d be so hot.
    “Ms. Morgenstern, a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a wide smile and outstretched hand.
    “And it is
such
a pleasure to meet you,” she said, as if she were greeting Brad Pitt. “This is such an honor. I can’t wait to tell my mom that you’re here. She never misses
Fifth Column
.”
    Rich didn’t care too much for the mention of Mom, but he let the comment pass. “Perhaps I’ll have a chance to meet your mother after I’ve finished with the story.”
    “That would be great, Mr. Ashcroft.”
    “Call me Rich, please.”
    She giggled, and tossed her mane of black hair, like a filly let out to pasture. “I’m Meredith. Do you have to pick up your bags or anything?”
    He gestured to the wheeled suitcase at his side. “I never check luggage if I can help it. It causes no end of bother if things get lost. And in our business, time is of the essence.”
    She preened, visibly pleased at his use of the word “our.” As intended.
    Even better than hot, she was young, mid-twenties. This hick town newspaper was probably her first real job.
    Young, impressionable, inexperienced. And beautiful. Perfect.
    The airport was so small that they only had to walk a few yards to the waiting car. It was an SUV with
Trafalgar Daily Gazette
splashed along the side.
    “I thought you’d bring a cameraman,” Meredith said, as Rich tossed his bag into the back.
    I bet you did
. “He’s following. I wanted to get here without any delay.”
    They got into the vehicle and she pulled into the non-existent traffic.
    Rich was surprised at how warm it was—he hadn’t known it got so hot this far north. “Fill me in, Meredith.”
    “I don’t know much more than I did last night,” she said. “It’s all in my story that was on the front page of the
Daily Gazette
this morning. Did you read it?”
    Of course he hadn’t read it. Irene told him what he needed to know. “Great piece,” he said. “Powerful writing.”
    Color touched her cheeks. “I appreciate hearing that from someone of your stature, Rich. But, well, I’m wondering why an important outfit like CNC would be interested in