Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

observant, I’ve found.”

Chapter Eleven
    Rich wanted lunch. Meredith suggested a French place in the center of town. From what he’d seen of Trafalgar, Rich figured that everything was in the center of town. They walked a few blocks from the paper, past George’s Diner, which looked like somewhere locals went for a reasonably priced home-cooked breakfast or lunch, to Feuilles de Menthe
,
a perfect tourist trap. He’d asked Meredith to take him somewhere that would give him a feel for the town. Plop this place down in New York, and he’d get a good feel for Manhattan.
    At three thirty, the patio was almost empty. The waiter escorted them to a table for four in a back corner.
    “Nice,” Rich said. The restaurant was located on the town’s main street. The patio jutted out into the street, cutting off a section of parking. Windowboxes overflowing with petunias and variegated ivy spilled down the freshly painted white picket fence enclosing the patio. Vehicles moved slowly and the sidewalks were heavy with foot traffic. Sunlight and small boats played on the blue water. The mountains surrounded the town in every direction, making it feel as if they were sitting in the bottom of a wide-bottomed, green and blue pasta bowl.
    Two young women walked by, long straight hair parted in the middle, hanging loosely down their backs. Brightly patterned skirts flowed around their ankles. Their sandals were thick and practical.
    “Haven’t seen outfits like that since the Sixties,” Rich said.
    “This is Trafalgar.”
    The waiter arrived with the menus. “Hey, Merry,” he said. “How’s it goin’?”
    “I’ll have a glass of white wine, please,” she replied, obviously mortified at having been recognized by what was probably some nerd from her high-school days.
    “Ice water.” Rich studied the menu. “One thing I’ll say for the surrender monkeys, they know how to cook.”
    “The what?”
    “The French. This is a French place, right?” The printed menu was large and ostentatious, the selection small and select.
    “The chef’s from Los Angeles. The paper did a spread on him when he arrived.”
    “I’m going to have the paté followed by lamb shanks.” He closed the menu. “Order what you want, the company’s paying.”
    Rich’s phone rang. He pulled it out, said a few words and snapped it shut. “That was Greg, my cameraman. He’ll be landing in an hour. He’ll grab a car and meet us at my hotel. Plenty of time to meet up and head out to the Smith place for the interview.”
    A dark van pulled to a stop in the line of cars waiting for the lights at the corner to change. The driver wore a cop’s uniform, but she was one pretty girl. Two men, one in uniform, were with her. She half raised her hand in greeting to Meredith. The light changed and she drove away.
    “Let me guess,” Rich said. “That was Smith.”
    “Wow. How’d you know that?”
    “Observation and experience.”
    His paté arrived, pink and plump, served with browned toast points.
    “I have to ask.” Meredith glanced around to ensure no one was listening, before taking a hearty swig of her wine. “You sort of suggested to Lucky Smith that you were local. Like from the Kootenays.”
    Rich coated toast with paté and took a bite. Liquid velvet spread across his tongue. “That was to make her more comfortable. Trust me on this, Meredith. CNC has such an enormous audience that people, not the elite political types who crave the attention, but salt-of-the earth folks such as Mrs. Smith, get scared at the idea of such exposure. I find it works better to gradually lead them to understand what a wide audience they’ll be getting from me.”
    “I guess,” she said. But she drew out the last word in such a way that he knew she wasn’t totally convinced. Her glass was already empty. A sign of nerves. Rich snapped his fingers to attract the waiter’s attention, and ordered another.
    “It’s like this, Meredith. You go running in there, thrusting the CNC logo in their face, and people draw back. Heck, once upon a time I’d have been afraid of CNC too. How would you feel if you were just a common-and-garden housewife about to be featured on a program like
Fifth Column
?”
    “Intimidated.”
    “Right. Mrs. Smith and her friends would be intimidated if I told them straight out that I’m with CNC. I decided to ease into it, introduce my cameraman, explain that we want to capture their story so all of America can understand.