Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

last name as his mother, eh, Molly?”
    “You mean the good old days when there was no divorce because people died in their twenties and thirties, and so the surviving spouse, provided they were healthy enough, and lucky enough, might live to be widowed several times over?”
    “Right. The good old days.” He dug his knuckles into his eyes. He needed some sleep. “Let’s go.”
    “Go where?”
    “Back to the park. The Mounties’ll be there, doing their thing. I’d like to have a look around in the daylight.”
    ***
    Rich Ashcroft untangled himself from the front seat of Meredith’s car. He’d seen bigger sardine cans.
    The Grizzly Resort was a sorry sight. A single trailer on a muddy patch of dug-up forest.
    “Not too photogenic,” he said.
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Greg said, looking away from the building, toward the forest. “There’s always something.”
    “I want promise. I want hope. I want to see the future here. I want to see nature in all her tamed and pacified glory, kneeling before the authority that is the modern American man.”
    “This is Canada, Rich,” Meredith said.
    “Whatever.” She was starting to get tedious. But he needed the local help. At first he’d tried to keep a low profile, didn’t want to be spotted by too many fans on the street. But as no one seemed to recognize him, he became bolder. Still no luck. He hadn’t been recognized anywhere he’d gone. So Meredith was pretty much the only talent he could draw. He couldn’t wait to get back to L.A.
    They climbed the steps of the trailer. Greg followed, lugging his camera.
    The eagerness on the receptionist’s face as she welcomed them brought joy to Rich’s heart. Either she dressed every day as if the Queen would be dropping by, or she’d gone home to change after Meredith called to make the appointment with her boss.
    “It is
so
nice to meet you, Mr. Ashforth.” Flecks of lipstick stuck to her prominent teeth.
    “Ashcroft.”
    “Sorry. Hi, Meredith.”
    A man came out of the inner office. He crossed the floor in two strides and held out his hand. Rich shook it.
    “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us, Mr. Clemmins. It was good of you to take time on such a sad day.”
    “No problem.” Clemmins waved toward his pokey office at the back of the trailer. “Come in.”
    Clemmins looked like a biker gone soft. Not the image of a respectable businessman that Rich wanted, but there was nothing he could do about that.
    “Why don’t we step outside? It’s a nice day, and the woods’ll give us plenty of atmosphere.”
    “Sure. Bernice, hold all my calls. Unless it’s Mr. Yakamoto or Mr. Takauri.”
    “You wouldn’t like to take a few pictures in here first?” Bernice looked like a dog whose bone had been snatched inches from its drooling jaws.
    “Great idea,” Rich said. “Greg, get some footage of the office. I want the feel of a busy organization, lots of paperwork. Would you mind, Bernice, is it? if Greg gets you in the shot? Talking on the phone, or working at the computer.”
    “If you think it would help,” she said, whipping a brush out of a cavernous handbag.
    “It’ll add background. Thanks, Bernice. Join us as soon as you’re finished in here, Greg.”
    Rich posed Clemmins against the side of the trailer. He asked a couple of introductory questions, waiting for Greg to finish taking useless footage of Bernice wasting her time and join them. Meredith watched.
    Greg and his camera clambered down the trailer steps. “Not there,” he said. “Too many shadows. How about if you stand over here, Mr. Clemmins. If I shoot high, I can catch the color of those trees against the blue sky. That’ll give us the pristine wilderness look I think you’re looking for, Rich.”
    Everyone moved into position. Rich settled his face into serious lines. “This is a beautiful spot you have here, Mr. Clemmins, looks like the perfect place for families to enjoy the wilderness.”
    Clemmins cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it, just keep talking. It’s normal to be nervous. Pretend we’re interested investors.” The cough could be edited out. Along with anything else that Rich’s audience didn’t want to hear.
    “You’re correct, Mr. Ashcroft.”
    “Rich. Say it again, but this time call me Rich.”
    “You’re right, Rich. What we want to build here is a place to which people can bring their children, and those children will, in years to come, bring their own children. Far