Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

old? About the same time my husband abandoned all our ideals, my daughter became a cop (a pig, as I used to say) and my son graduated from law school, and instead of taking on pro-bono cases for the poor and dispossessed, joined an oil company.
    The phone rang. Lucky considered not answering it. A supplier explaining that they were backordered. Another supplier wondering why they hadn’t been paid (because the check is in the mail, goddamnit!). A booking calling to cancel. Duncan reporting that they were still waiting for the last of the overnight group and had she heard anything.
    Who would care? It would just go into the ether that was voice mail. Where she’d answer it or not, as she chose.
    “Lucky, phone,” Flower, the weekend employee, called. “Can you get it? I’m with a customer.”
    She took the call. “Welcome to Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations.”
    “Mom? I need you, Mom.”
    Lucky ran out of the store so fast that the customers thought a hurricane was blowing through. “Christa’s in hospital,” she shouted. “Tell Andy I’ll call soon as I know anything.”
    As worried as she was about Christa, who had pretty much grown up in the Smith house, Lucky was just as worried about Moonlight. The cry in her voice was so sharp that Lucky knew her daughter was reliving the morning she’d rushed to the hospital in Vancouver. Too late. Because Graham was already dead.
    ***
    Rich had planned to have Meredith walking down the street, through the slowly moving crowds, passing Mid-Kootenay Adventures while Greg got a long shot of the store frontage. He positioned her at the corner of Elm Street and stationed Greg on the other side, to get a wide view before narrowing in on Meredith and the store through the traffic. Rich hadn’t bothered to wire Meredith. She’d never make it outside of print journalism; she was pretty enough, but her voice was too high pitched. He’d let her say something on camera and tell the producer to edit almost all of it out. He’d blame the network for cutting her best lines.
    He fastened a mike to his own shirt front and stood with Meredith. He’d walk behind her, just out of camera range. A few passers-by glanced at Greg and his camera, but most people were preoccupied by their own affairs.
    “Okay, babe,” he whispered to Meredith. “Show time.”
    She walked. Her hips swayed under the denim skirt; her heels tapped on the sidewalk. An old lady, all purple dress, sensible shoes, slate gray hair and pearls, smiled at her. Perfect local color.
    As Meredith reached Mid-Kootenay Adventures the door crashed opened and a tiny red tumbleweed fell into the street.
    “Lucky,” Meredith said, forgetting that she was supposed to keep walking. “Are you okay?”
    Lucky Smith was clearly not okay. Her face was flushed, her eyes showing so much white she looked like a horse smelling smoke in the barn. “Meredith,” she said, “hi. Gotta run.”
    “Mrs. Smith.” Rich broke from his planned scenario and ran forward. He tapped at the mike fastened to his lapel as if it were a talisman. “Do you have a moment for our viewers, Mrs. Smith?”
    “You,” she shouted, “how dare you come anywhere near me?” A section of red-and-gray hair broke free of its clip.
    He stepped directly into her path. “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said, using his calm interviewer voice.
    “Get the fuck out of my way,” she shouted. Spittle flew from her mouth. He hoped Greg was focused good and tight. She stretched out both arms and pushed Rich in the chest, with as much force as butterfly crashing into him. He grunted and staggered backward.
    “What’s the matter?” Meredith said.
    “My daughter,” Lucky yelled, “I have to get to my daughter.”
    “Molly? What’s happened to Molly?”
    “Please, Mrs. Smith,” Rich interrupted. He placed his foot firmly on top of hers. “Get yourself under control.”
    “I’ll get you under control, you fucking monster, if you don’t get out of my way.”
    Crowds were gathering. Rich heard a voice call his name in recognition. It was not a friendly voice. Several people asked Lucky, by name, what was happening. Rich backed away and put up his hands, palms outward. “I don’t want any trouble here. Just doing my job.”
    The crowd parted to let a tall, chubby man through. “What on earth?” He recognized Rich. “My God, it’s you. Haven’t you done enough harm to my wife?”
    Rich ran across the street, dodging cars as if a