Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

open. You’ve locked me out by mistake.”
    She ran up the stairs, blinded by tears.
    ***
    Everyone called her Lucky, but at this moment Lucy Smith didn’t feel lucky in the slightest. She was nothing but disgusted. Disgusted at the pile of petitions on her kitchen table. Disgusted at her husband who appeared to have gone over to the dark side—such a cliché that, but highly appropriate. Disgusted at the people filling her house who were great at rhetoric, but not so good at getting down to solid, productive work.
    “This cranberry loaf’s delicious, Jane. Can I have the recipe?” Norma McGrath was digging out a pen.
    “It’s so easy, you won’t believe it,” Jane Reynolds replied. “Two cups of flour….”
    “Please, can we get back to business,” Lucky said.
    “We have to forget about the Grizzly development and concentrate on the garden,” Nick Boswell mumbled around a mouthful of cranberry loaf.
    “That Rob Montgomery has to be stopped,” Norma said. “His resort will kill the bears.”
    “Reg. Reginald Montgomery.” Lucky restrained a heavy sigh. “But it is a free country, at least for now, and we can’t put out a contract on him, can we? So let’s concentrate on where we can be most effective. And that’s the Commemorative Peace Garden. Once we’re sure its future is secure we can turn our attention to the resort development.” Sylvester, the big, goofy, good-natured golden retriever lying at her feet, yawned. Sylvester was used to groups of people gathering, and arguing, in the Smith kitchen.
    “I agree with Lucky,” Michael Rockwell said. “If we fly all over the map we don’t make an impression on anything. And so we achieve nothing.” He smiled at her and Lucky felt something move in her chest.
    “The garden has to come to pass.” Barry Stevens choked on the words. Lucky turned away from Michael’s friendly smile and looked at Barry. Lines of pain, always there in one degree or another, dragged at his face. His left hand was white against the arm of his chair. His right sleeve hung empty at his side. His eyes, pale, pale blue, filled with water. “It has to. Where’s Andy, anyway? I’d expect that Andy, of all people, would be part of this.”
    “Problems at the store,” Lucky said, studying the pattern of the wood in her kitchen table. “He sends his apologies.”
    “Apology noted,” Barry said. “We can start with a letter insisting that the town council stick to its original decision and proceed with the construction of the Commemorative Peace Garden. To use the estate’s bequest to fund the garden, and that the garden be specifically dedicated to Vietnam War resisters.”
    “Now that the fate of the garden’s in doubt, trouble’s brewing,” Jane said. “Fox News ran a piece on it. I’ve been told it was nasty.”
    “Fox News!” Barry’s mouth twisted to one side and for a moment Lucky thought he was going to spit on her ceramic floor. “Let the chickenhawks come.”

Chapter Three
    “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go that way,” Molly Smith said to the staggering drunk.
    “Whada ya mean,” he mumbled. “I’ll go where I wanna go, pig bitch.”
    She rested her hand loosely on her nightstick. This fellow could barely stand up, much less attack her.
    “Police investigation. Please go around, sir.”
    “What if I say I don wanna go round?”
    “Then I’ll have to arrest you.”
    “You and whose army?”
    This was ridiculous. She’d been told to stand beside the yellow police tape that had been strung across the entrance to the alley, and stop anyone who might be inclined to ignore it. Detective Lopez had arrived a few minutes ago and was making an initial inspection of the area while waiting for Sergeant Winters and the RCMP forensic crew to arrive. The Chief Constable had rejoined his family at dinner, after posting Smith at one end of the alley, and the second duty constable, Solway, at the other. Smith was hoping to be able to watch what Lopez was doing, but she was stuck arguing with a drunk. Who’d probably pass her on the street when she was out of uniform and give her a nice smile, forgetting that she was a “pig bitch.” Trafalgar boasted a population of less than 10,000 people. Smith had lived here all her life, except for a few years at the University of Victoria. It was hard, sometimes, to be a cop in a town where a substantial number of the residents had seen you performing as Number Two Wise Man in the Grade Three