Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

breath through cracked ribs, and grimaced with the effort. “Go away, Molly. Just go away.”
    “Everything’ll be okay. You’ll be out of here soon, and Charlie’ll not bother you again.”
    Christa opened her eyes. They were very wet, but she wasn’t crying. “Whatever you say, Molly.” She turned her head toward the window. “Nice flowers.”
    “Yup.”
    “Who’re the daisies from? There’s no card.”
    “Duncan. Remember, he was here first thing this morning?”
    “Duncan who?”
    “Duncan Weaver, of course. Works at the store.”
    “Never met him,” Christa said, closing her eyes once again. “I wonder why he brought me flowers.”

Chapter Twenty-three
    Rosemary Fitzgerald shifted in the uncomfortable chair, and flicked through the pages of “O” magazine. What a god-awful day. It was mid-July, height of the travel season. She’d spent all day trying to get across the country without airline reservations. Never mind what this wasted trip to Toronto was costing her. Heartburn. She’d abandoned her business, flown across three time zones, because her son had an attack of heartburn. She snapped the magazine shut. She’d better give Emily a call. She hadn’t even checked into the store since leaving for Toronto. She dug her cell phone out of the depths of her bag and flicked it open. The call waiting notice beeped. She’d never managed to figure out how to get her messages.
    “Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen.”
    “Hi, Emily, it’s Rosemary here.”
    “How’s your son?”
    “It turned out to be nothing. What’s happening there?”
    “I’m run off my feet. We’re running out of the soup packages. The chili and stews and stuff that you made? They’re almost all gone. If you don’t come back soon, I don’t know what I’m gonna sell. My mom said she’d try to make some batches of stew or curry, but she doesn’t know anything about health regulations and all that stuff.”
    “I’m in Vancouver. I was stuck in Saskatoon for ten hideous hours. One plane after another left full, and when I finally got on one, it was cancelled because of mechanical failure. I could have driven faster. But I’ve got a seat on a flight to Castlegar that’s leaving in fifteen minutes. I’ll grab the shuttle to Trafalgar and should be there by seven. We can look over the stock before closing. Can you wait, if I’m delayed?”
    “Gee,” Emily whined. “I have a date.”
    “They’re calling my flight now. Wait there until you hear from me. I’ll pay if there’s overtime.”
    “I guess. Oh, the cops have been really keen to talk to you. They told me to tell you to phone Sergeant…something or other…I have the name here somewhere.”
    “I have to go, Emily.”
    “You’re to call Sergeant Whatever, immediately.”
    “Seems like a lot of fuss over a bike. But maybe the police in Trafalgar don’t have anything more important to worry about. That’s a nice thought. I’ll call them when I get there. Bye.”
    Rosemary Fitzgerald stuffed “O” into her bag and ran for the gate, waving her boarding pass in her hand. She was the last one through.
    ***
    Meredith Morgenstern dropped her phone into her black and green Nine West bag as Rich Ashcroft returned from the washroom. He didn’t like the look on her face. She’d been about to fold, he knew it, to follow him upstairs because she wanted the chance of a job at CNC so much she’d prostitute herself to get it.
    “That was interesting news,” she said, licking at the drops of Drambuie that had collected on the rim of her liquor glass. They’d spent the day filming and interviewing the growing numbers of protesters (for and against) gathering outside the site of the proposed peace gardens, and talking to people on the main street. He’d weeded out most of those who approved of the park (except for one or two that were almost certainly certifiable), and prepared the rest for broadcast. An elderly couple who’d lost a son in Vietnam had driven up from Boise, Idaho, after seeing Rich’s Saturday program, to voice their indignation at the very idea of a dedication to men who’d avoided that service. They’d been featured prominently on tonight’s show. He’d done another interview with Brian Harris, just strolling around town, listening sympathetically as the boy talked about how his mother had mourned her husband for the rest of her life, never remarrying, turning their home into a shrine to his memory. It had taken Irene about two