Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

hold her liquor. “Is that I can get to Constable Molly Smith, whereas you, on your own, wouldn’t be able to approach her with a ten-foot pole.”
    “A disturbing metaphor. Get to the goddamned point.”
    “I will,” she said, “arrange for you to meet with the elusive Constable Smith. It’s up to you what you get out of her. If anything. That has nothing to do with me, because I’d guess that Molly’s a good deal smarter than you.”
    “Are you here to insult me, Meredith?”
    “Not in the least. I’m pointing out a few truths, that’s all.”
    “What do you want in exchange?”
    “A personal introduction to the producer of
North America Tonight
.”
    “You’re a crafty little bitch, aren’t you?”
    “I’ve spent the last three days watching you at work, Rich. Deal?”
    “Deal. And just so you know, I’m going to mean it.”
    She laughed.
    The bill was sitting on the table between them, the charge already run through. Rich signed the receipt with a scrawl.
    They stood up and headed for the door. The group of elderly women whispered to each other as he passed, watching him out of the corner of their eyes. He gave them his publicity photo smile.
    Three of the women turned away. Two stared. And one woman lifted her middle finger.
    Get him the hell back to L.A., where women who looked like your mother didn’t make obscene gestures.
    They stood in the street. The night air was warm and dry.
    “So,” Meredith said. “Let’s go to your hotel, eh?”
    ***
    The freezer at Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen was almost empty. Tired as she was, she’d now have to spend the night cooking. “I’ll pay time and a half if you help me in the kitchen tonight, Emily.”
    “Okay.” The girl answered so quickly that Rosemary suspected there hadn’t been a date on tonight’s plans after all. “I can’t cook, though,” she said.
    “I’ll tell you what to do. First, go to Safeway. I’ll prepare a list.”
    “You’d better call the cops. They really have been bugging me about you.”
    “All right, all right.” Rosemary looked in the pantry. No onions, almost out of rice, enough tins of tomatoes and beans.
    When she emerged from the pantry, list in hand, Emily was holding the phone. “Call the police, Rosemary, please. The cop who keeps coming around is really cute, and I wouldn’t mind if he dropped by off duty, understand, but I’m afraid that he’s going to arrest me and throw me in jail for killing you and burying the body in the cellar.” She exchanged the phone for the shopping list.
    “You are such a nag.” Emily had saved Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen these last few days. A less reliable assistant might have taken the opportunity to close up, and say that business had been slow. She owed Emily something. “What’s the number?”
    “911.”
    “I can’t call 911 if it isn’t an emergency.”
    “Well, if you listen to the dishy Constable Evans, it’s like there’s a terrorist attack threatening Trafalgar and only you can stop it.” She dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a card. She handed it to Rosemary. “Be back soon.”
    The bell over the door tinkled as Emily left on her errand. Rosemary looked at the card. All this fuss over a bike. In Toronto they could hardly be bothered to talk to you if you called to report a stolen bike. She punched in the numbers.
    “Mrs. Fitzgerald. Sergeant Winters has been trying to get in touch with you,” the person who answered the phone said in tones that might be used to admonish a child who’d failed to return their signed report card.
    “I’ve been out of town on a family emergency.”
    “Where are you now?”
    “At my shop. 343 Front Street in Trafalgar.”
    “Hold on please, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
    Rosemary hung on. She’d start with beef stew. And then make vegetarian chili and macaroni and cheese. Why had she thought cooking for a living was going to be easy?
    “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Sergeant Winters requests that you remain in your shop until he gets there. He’ll be about ten minutes.”
    “I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t understand. It’s only a bike, why is all of this so critical?”
    “A bike?”
    “The bike that was stolen Thursday. I didn’t even report it—I didn’t think you’d much care.”
    “Please wait for Sergeant Winters, ma’am. He’s on his way.”
    “Okay.” Rosemary hung up. There were some wilting vegetables in the back of the fridge. Soup was always a