Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

nine.”
    Evans shrugged. “The bakery closes at six, the bookstore at seven. Everyone says they were gone a few minutes after. The convenience store was open at the time we’re interested in, but you know that. The same guy, the Chinese fellow who was there last night, swears that he didn’t go out the back and heard nothing until the police arrived. At Mid-Kootenay Adventures,” Evans looked at Smith, “Mr. Smith closed at eight, stayed for a while to rearrange stock, but didn’t hear anything. The same story, up and down the alley.” He studied the pop selection with care, before grabbing a Coke.
    “Have a bag of chips, Molly,” Winters said. “My wife finds them and I’ll be done for.”
    “Thanks.” Smith licked mustard off her fingertips, wondering, not for the first time, why middle-aged men couldn’t take responsibility for their own health. Her father was just as bad. His weaknesses were frozen sausage rolls and pizza pockets. He’d been known to devour entire packages at one time. Lucky kept watch over the freezer and guarded against sausage rolls as she might a cockroach.
    Smith folded up her sandwich wrappings and grabbed a bag of salt and vinegar chips. While she tore the bag open, her mind pulled up a map of the alley behind Front Street. “What about Rosemary’s?”
    “Who?” Evans said.
    “Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen. It’s just off Elm, between the bookstore and Mid-Kootenay Adventures. Did you talk to Rosemary? She works all hours of the day and night. Before and after the shop’s closed, Rosemary’s usually there cooking.”
    Evans shrugged. “The girl behind the counter,” he checked his notebook, “Emily Wilson, said she left at eight, soon as they closed. Rosemary locks up.” He tilted his head back, and sucked at the last drops of his drink.
    “So where,” Winters turned from the trash can, where he’d been about to deposit the sandwich wrappings and chip packets, “is this Rosemary person?”
    Evans crushed the can in his right hand. “Gone to Kelowna to visit friends. It’s the busy season so she won’t be gone for more than a day, Emily said.”
    “She left when?” Winters’ voice was low. Evans sorted through the remaining chip packets.
    “This morning. She did enough cooking to last the day, told Emily to look after the store, and said she’ll be back tonight. Nice girl, Emily, pleased to be left in charge.”
    “You didn’t think we need to talk to Rosemary?”
    “I got a description of her from Emily. She’s a middle-age widow. You know what they’re like, Sarge. If she’d seen anything she’d be in a lather to report it.”
    Smith considered hitting Evans over the head with her truncheon. Instead she watched Winters. He didn’t appear to have been all that impressed at Evans’ suggestion that he would know what middle-aged women were like. By the way he spoke of her, Smith guessed that Winters was a man very much in love with a wife of many years. Sort of like she’d imagined her own parents marriage to be—until recently.
    “Why,” Winters asked casually, “would she be in a lather, as you put it?”
    “Enjoying the excitement, of course. Nothing better to make you the center of attention than finding a murder victim on your doorstep. What?”
    “Find Rosemary…what’s her last name, Molly?”
    “Fitzgerald.”
    “Find Rosemary Fitzgerald, Dave. Your friend Emily should have a number for her. I want a report of what she has to say before five.”
    “If she’d seen something, she’d have told us….”
    Smith’s cell phone rang, and she turned away from the table to answer. It was the station.
    “Smith.”
    “Molly, there’s a young lady here. Says you were supposed to meet her.”
    She’d forgotten Christa. Smith glanced at Winters. He was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll be right there, Jim.”
    “What’s up?”
    “I have to get back to the station. A woman’s come in to make a complaint about a stalker and she wants to speak to me.”
    “We’re ready. I want to pay another visit to the dentist. His wife’s failure to provide him with an alibi puts him firmly in the frame. Meanwhile, Constable Evans, you’ll be making a phone call, am I right?”
    Evans mumbled something.
    “Go back to the restaurant at six to question the dinner shift,” Winters said. “And in the meantime, you might pay another visit to some of the shops and houses backing onto that alley. Middle-aged women can be highly