Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

Again? What’s this, her third? My mom figures that she’s keeping herself preggers so she can stay on welfare.”
    “Meredith, why are you telling me this?”
    “Maybe just for old times’ sake, Molly. I miss the high school days sometimes, don’t you?”
    Like I miss the time I had a root canal
. “Yeah, sure.”
    “I called the station. They said you weren’t due in until three. Why don’t we have a late lunch, say around one thirty? A quick bite, a place just down the road from the police station, and then you can pop on over to work after. How’s that sound?”
    As appealing as that root canal
. There had to be some reason that Meredith Morgenstern wanted to have lunch with Molly Smith. And it certainly wasn’t for old times’ sake. If this was April 1, Smith would suspect an elaborate joke. Meredith the reporter could have called Smith the cop and asked for a meeting, if she’d wanted. All this let’s-do-a-girls’-lunch joviality—which must have Meredith wanting to vomit up her breakfast—had to be for an audience.
    Who else but Rich Ashcroft.
    “Okay,” Smith said. “I’ll bite. Where?”
    Meredith laughed. “Flavours at one thirty?”
    Flavours was the hottest new restaurant in town. Very, very expensive.
    “I can’t afford Flavours on a cop’s salary. We don’t have expense accounts, you know.”
    “My treat, Molly.”
    “Well, okay. I can change into my uniform at the station.”
    “That’s not necessary. Everyone in town knows who you are. And your uniform suits you so well. That blue is perfect for your coloring.”
    Smith wondered if she’d fallen though a wormhole into a parallel universe. “I’m not having lunch with you as a police officer, Meredith. You said it was a chance for us to get together.”
    “Sure it is. I don’t want you to be inconvenienced, that’s all.”
    “I’ll see you at one thirty.” Smith hung up.
    Something was up. And that something almost certainly had to do with Rich Ashcroft and his interest in the peace garden. But what Meredith hoped to learn from Molly Smith, who knew nothing more than anyone who’d read this morning’s edition of the
Daily Gazette,
Smith couldn’t imagine. Meredith probably knew more about what Lucky’s committee was up to than Molly did.
    She’d have lunch with Meredith, order the most expensive stuff on the menu—too bad she had to work right after and thus couldn’t select something outrageous from the wine list—and listen to her hostess make small talk. As long as she said nothing about police business, what would it matter? If she kept her ears open she might even learn a thing or two.
    She turned back to the computer. Half an hour looking for cars, get dressed for work, and she’d have time to visit Christa in hospital, and then meet Meredith. Her parents had gone into work together so she could take Lucky’s car. She looked at the computer screen. A new Mini Cooper convertible was looking to be outside her budget. But Toyota had some nice deals on almost-new cars.
    ***
    Once again the alley behind Front Street was closed off. Ron Gavin and his team arrived, ready to go over every inch of ground, one more time. Brad Noseworthy was with them. He was the only qualified crime scene investigator on the Trafalgar City Police, and mighty pissed off at having been out of town and thus missing the initial investigation of their first murder in more than a year.
    “A bicycle was stolen from over there.” Winters pointed to the back of Rosemary’s store. “At almost the exact time our Mr. Montgomery was on his way to meet his maker.”
    “Coincidence?” Gavin said.
    “Probably. But it’s possible our bike thief saw something. If he’s the witness I need, he’s not going to come forward and say ‘Hey, Man, I was like, lifting this bike the other day, and I, like, saw this dude killing this old guy.’ So I have to find him.”
    “Don’t give up your day job,” Gavin said. “You do not have a career on TV.”
    “Follow those bike treads to my witness’ back door, and you’ll make me a happy man, Ron.”
    Winters stood to one side and watched them work. This had to be the break he needed. Fitzgerald had seen two men arguing in the alley behind the bakery shortly before nine o’clock. One overweight with a good-sized beer gut—the description fit Montgomery. It also fit half the men in Trafalgar, but half the men in Trafalgar had not been murdered in that place around that time. The other