Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

the murder of some middle-aged guy here in B.C.”
    “It’s like the JonBenet Ramsey business. Some stories simply need to be told. You must have found that, Meredith.”
    “Gosh, yes.”
    “Tell me about this park. The Commemorative Peace Garden?”
    “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss over it. A bunch of folks want to turn some guy’s land into a public garden with a fountain in the middle. Seems like an okay idea to me.”
    “But it’s more than a park, isn’t it? I’ve been told that it’s to honor draft dodgers. Do you have any feelings about that?”
    “Nope.” She pressed a button and the radio blared to life, the music hard and ugly.
    “If you don’t mind, Meredith, could you turn that down?”
    “Sorry.” She twisted a dial.
    “In the 1960s and ’70s some Americans, soft and spoiled, too cowardly to serve their country in Vietnam, ran to Canada. It was a disgrace that Canada let them in and even more of a disgrace when the American government forgave them once the war was over.”
    “Vietnam,” she said. “My mom went there on a tour last year. She said it was nice.”
    “When their country called upon them to do their duty, they ran like rats from the light. And now this so-called peace garden is going to honor their cowardice. That can’t be allowed to happen, Meredith. I’m here to ensure that the people of the United States know the real story of this garden.”
    “I thought you were here because of Mr. Montgomery being murdered?”
    “Just between us, Meredith, I suspect his death has something to do with the park. He wanted to put a stop to it, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And now he’s dead. Murdered. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”
    She took her eyes off the road. “Seems like a bit of a stretch to me.”
    “How many murders were there in Trafalgar last year, Meredith?” he asked, although the answer had been in Irene’s briefing notes.
    “None.”
    “Wow, that’s impressive. A good journalist looks for anything out of the ordinary. Always think outside the box, Meredith, that’s my advice to you.”
    “You think someone who supports the garden killed Mr. Montgomery?”
    “I don’t
think
anything, Meredith. I’m here to investigate, that’s all. We’ll let the truth speak for itself. What the hell is that?”
    On the side of the hill someone had spelled out a word in stones painted white:
Marywuana
.
    Meredith shrugged. “It appeared about a week ago. No one knows who did it or what it’s supposed to mean. Some people think it’s code, and some think the writer can’t spell.”
    “I’m guessing it’s supposed to say marijuana.”
    “Probably.”
    “The police haven’t removed it? You can see that sign for miles.”
    “The police don’t much care who smokes up now and again. As long as no one’s selling to kids, or there are hard drugs involved.”
    “What the hell. Am I in Oz?”
    “Australia? Of course not, this is Canada.” She slowed down as her lane took them off the highway and into town. Small businesses lined the street; the sidewalks overflowed with pedestrians and colorful flower boxes. Trafalgar looked like any one of a hundred, a thousand, small towns Rich had been to in his long career. Except for the surrounding mountains and the misspelled advertisement for marijuana.
    They passed a building built of aging red stone.
1888
was carved above the door, and the modern sign over that said
Trafalgar Daily Gazette
. Meredith turned left, left again, and pulled into a parking space. “Here we are,” she said, redundantly.
    ***
    Dr. Louis Tyler looked nothing like a lothario. He was very short, with a round belly that made him resemble one of Santa’s elves. Long strands of grey hair were draped from left to right, a failed attempt to cover his bald spot. Winters knew diners in Vancouver that could have made use of the grease from his hair. But the dentist’s eyes twinkled with good humor and he greeted Smith with warmth.
    “Molly, my dear, here in your official capacity, I see. In that case, I won’t embarrass you by mentioning that it’s been more than six months since your last visit. You want to keep that gorgeous smile, now don’t you?” The dentist looked at Winters. “Is that smile not a testament to the quality of my work, sir?”
    Smith’s face turned as red as the silk roses on the receptionist’s desk.
    There was one patient in the office, a freckle-faced young woman with straight brown hair, parted