Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

scurried back into their rat hole after last night’s show.”
    “Which car?”
    “The Neon. Two ahead.”
    “Turn that way. Let’s see where they’re going. But do it unobtrusively. I don’t want any police harassment accusations.”
    The journalists went no further than a parking lot behind Front Street. Smith glided into a vacant spot on the side of the street and watched as Meredith, Ashcroft, and the unidentified man left their vehicle. The man put his equipment into the trunk, and they walked up the street. Meredith’s eyes flickered as she saw Smith and Winters sitting in the unmarked van, but otherwise she didn’t react.
    “I don’t think Meredith’s too happy with her fellow journalists,” Smith said.
    “Why so?”
    “Her body language. She’s holding herself all stiff and tight. Look how much distance there is between her and Ashcroft.”
    “Maybe that’s just her way.”
    “I know Meredith. Her way is to get in the face of every influential person who arrives in town.”
    “You don’t like her?”
    “Ambitious small-town journalist. Dedicated cop. Both products of the hate-factory that is a district high school. What’s not to like?”
    “Stay here. I don’t want them to spot that uniform.” Winters unfastened his seat belt and got out of the van.
    Smith called Christa again. Voice mail again.
    Molly Smith turned her phone off when she wasn’t working, but Christa lived by her cell.
    Smith punched instructions into the van’s computer and pulled up the number for Christa’s dad. Maybe she’d gone to visit him, as unusual as that might be. Cell phone reception in the mountains was pretty much non-existent outside of the handful of towns nestled in the valleys and the highways connecting them.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Mr. Thompson. This is Mol…uh…Moonlight Smith, Christa’s friend. Remember me?”
    “I certainly do, young Moonlight. It’s been a long time. Are you as pretty as ever?”
    Mr. Thompson always did think of himself as a charmer.
    “Is Christa there?”
    “No. Why do you ask, dear?”
    “Nothing important. She isn’t answering her phone. She’s probably out of range, so I thought of calling you.”
    “I’m pleased to hear from you, Moonlight, but I can’t say I’ve seen Christa in the last few weeks. Why don’t you come up and have lunch one day.”
    “Hold that thought, Mr. Thompson. Sorry, I’ve gotta run.” She hung up. Perhaps Christa had found a beach somewhere. It was a perfect day for the beach, and after a month of sunshine and temperatures in the mid thirties, even the glacier-fed lakes would be inviting.
    But Christa didn’t have a car. Hard to get to a beach out of town without a car. A ride with a friend? Christa didn’t have many friends. Just Molly Smith. She might have made new friends, which she hadn’t told Smith about. Nothing wrong with that.
    “Nothing,” Winters said, getting back into the car. “They went to India Delight for lunch. I’m not happy to know that rabble-rousing TV scum is still hanging around. Speaking of lunch, I’m starving. I’d love Indian, but that might be considered police harassment. Chinese instead? My treat?”
    “Chinese is always good in my books.”
    The proprietor acted as if he were delighted beyond belief to have a uniformed police officer in his establishment. Smith gave him a tight smile: at least it was better than the people who metaphorically spat as she passed. Winters asked for whatever would be the fastest, and they were soon served plates piled high with hot, scented food. Winters used chopsticks, but Smith went for a fork.
    “I like to eat,” he said. “But aside from that, I find that it gives me time to slow down and think. What do you make of all this?”
    She was trapped with a snow pea halfway to her mouth. “Huh?”
    “Montgomery. Are we any way toward solving this? The CC wants to call in the IHIT. I told him that I…we…can handle it. Was I wrong?”
    He was asking her?
    She lowered her fork. “You seem to have abandoned the dentist and the not-grieving widow.”
    “Because I think they didn’t do it. I have an appointment with her at three. She graciously managed to fit me in between nail and hair appointments. I’ve never seen a woman so unimpressed by her husband’s death. But I have to believe that if she were in any way responsible, she’d be throwing up a smokescreen of inconsolable grief. Your dentist lied about where he was at the time in question.