Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

dispatch officer, said.
    “Where is she?”
    “At her store. It’s called Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen at…”
    “I know where it is.”
    “I’ve got her on the line. She mumbled something about a bike. You think maybe she knows something about a motorcycle gang?”
    “God only knows. Tell her to stay put until I get there.”
    “Will do.”
    Beer and pizza forgotten, Winters headed for the door. When he’d arrived home, he’d changed into shorts and a Vancouver Grizzly T-shirt. He stuffed his gun and handcuffs into the belt of the shorts and pulled a flannel shirt on to cover them. No need to let Mrs. Fitzgerald think he’d come to arrest her at gunpoint.
    Winters drove into town. People strolled up and down Front Street in the warm evening air, and light and music spilled from the town’s many bars and restaurants. He couldn’t find a place to park close to his destination, so he ended up at a lot several blocks away. He jogged toward Rosemary’s Campfire Kitchen.
    The Closed sign was on the door. He knocked, grateful for the chance to control his breathing before he had to talk. He was getting old.
    A woman opened the door. She was as lean as whippet.
    “Mrs. Fitzgerald?”
    “The one and only. Come in. But please understand that I’m so backed up, what with rushing off to Toronto for absolutely no reason at all, that I have to keep cooking.”
    He stepped into the shop. The smell of frying onions and garlic reminded him that he’d abandoned his dinner.
    “It was grayish blue, ladies’ style, no distinguishing characteristics. Cost me four hundred and fifty bucks. That might not be a lot to some people, but it sure is to me. The deductible on my insurance is five hundred. I’d have to give them fifty dollars to make the claim, eh? It was taken on Thursday sometime before I left after closing. Whoa, my onions are burning. Got to get to them. No one likes burned onions in their chili.”
    Winters’ head spun, and not only from the scent of burning onions. Rosemary disappeared behind a red curtain. He followed. The back of the shop was about the same size as the front. A freezer lined one wall, an oven and range were set against another. The shelves were piled with kitchen implements.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” he said. “But I’m not following you. What was grayish blue?”
    She stirred the onions, while reaching for a spice bottle.
    “Why, my bike, of course. That’s why you’re here, right? Can you pass me that green bottle? Second on the right.”
    “No, I cannot. Mrs. Fitzgerald, please. I see that you’ve a business to run. But I must insist that you sit down and talk to me.”
    “This isn’t about my bike, is it?”
    “The theft of your bike, perhaps not. But I’m interested to hear that it was taken on Thursday.”
    “Would you like a coffee?”
    “No, thank you. Your bike was stolen on Thursday. What time did you notice it missing?”
    “A few minutes before nine.”
    Winters’ heart took a jump. When dispatch had called to tell him that Mrs. Fitzgerald was back in town, he’d almost asked them to send the beat constable around to talk to her. But his pizza had been so unappetizing, and Rosemary had been so elusive, that he decided to come himself. That was looking to be a wise decision. “Are you sure of the time?”
    She shrugged. “Roughly. The store closes at eight. Some nights I stay and cook for the next day, but last week I had plenty of stock, thank goodness for that as it turned out, so I left after cleaning up.”
    “When did you notice your bike was missing?”
    “Right away. I park it just outside the back door.”
    “Can you show me?”
    “Sure.” She unlocked the door and stepped out into the alley. Winters followed. Looking west he could see the rear of Alphonse’s Bakery. The shadows were long, but the alley was fully visible. A dog sniffed at the garbage bags at the rear of the convenience store.
    “What did you do when you realized your bike was gone?”
    She shrugged. “Went back inside. My lock was lying on the ground, right there.” She pointed. “The cable was cut through, so I knew it had been stolen. No point in looking around, was there?”
    “Did you see anyone while you were out here?”
    “You mean behind my store? No.”
    “I mean anyone at all. Anywhere in sight.” He pointed west. “That way perhaps.”
    “What’s all this about, Mr. Winters?”
    Rosemary had been out of town since Friday morning; it was