"Pardon us," Barney said at last. "Dreadfully rude, I know, but now Im living in Vancouver I so rarely get the chance to practice my French, I simply couldnt resist."

It wasnt as if anyone else at the table had anything to talk about. Eliza and Barney expressed their sympathies to Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth.

He thanked them.

Barney asked when theyd be going home.

That was a mistake.

"We should have been out of here tomorrow," he snarled. "But the police are saying they need to keep Jason for a while longer. Let me tell you, I put in a call to the Chief of Police PDQ. I wont have some two-bit, hick town cop sticking his nose into my sons death and trying to score points by making a tragic car accident out to be something out of an episode of CSI."

"Elizas husband..." Barney began.

Eliza silenced her with a look.

"Please, dear." Patricia said, her voice low and calm. "People are looking."

And they were. Chairs might have scratched the golden hardwood floor as diners at adjoining tables tried to eavesdrop without appearing to be rude.

The young people shifted in their seats. Wendy, the daughter, bristled with anger. She opened her mouth to say something. And it would not have been polite.

Eliza gathered her bag from the back of her chair and reached into a front pocket. "I think it best if we dont interfere in your evening." She got to her feet. Barney scrambled to follow. "Thank you for the champagne. It was a pleasure to meet you, Jack. My condolences again." She touched Patricia on the shoulder and slipped her card into the womans hand. A bit pretentious, having a calling card in a town like Trafalgar. She rarely used them any more, and only for business. But she didnt want to take the time to scramble for paper and pen. "If youre going to be here for a few days, perhaps we can have lunch, or another day at the spa. That would be fun. Call me, if youre free."

Patricia Wyatt-Yarmouth smiled at Eliza. "Thank you," she whispered.

The waitress hovered to take their order.

"Is the salmon dry?" Sophie asked.

Eliza and Barney turned toward their table, only to find that it had been given to another party in the interim. They turned again, back toward the hostess table.

"Having a nice family dinner, are you?"

Eliza blinked. "Im sorry?"

The girl didnt look much older than fifteen. She was dressed in a patched winter coat and a long scarf full of holes. Black mascara ran down her cheeks, mixed with melting snow or tears, it was impossible to tell.

Incongruously, she wore a small pair of, if Elizas judgment hadnt completely failed her, 14-carat gold hoop earrings.

"Thought you could have your dinner without me, did you? Well Im here, and Im in mourning too, not that any you gives a f.u.c.k. But Im going to tell you one thing, Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth..."

"Im afraid youve made a mistake," Eliza said.

The patrons were no longer trying not to appear to be eavesdropping. The dining room was so silent that noise from the kitchen, clattering crockery, shouted orders, someone bellowing for carrots, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, could be heard.

The head waiter hurried over, wiping his hands on his white ap.r.o.n. "Is there a problem?"

"Apparently there is." Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth was on his feet. "Now I dont know who you are, girl, but Id suggest that you leave."

"Sit down, Jack," Patricia said in quiet voice, "and shut up. If you are looking for Mrs. Wyatt-Yarmouth, I am she."

"Oh, you are she, are you," the girl took a step toward the table. She faltered and Eliza reached out a hand to steady her. The girl shrugged her off. Her breath was rancid with the sour scent of beer. "Well, Im an even better she."

"Lorraine, get out of here." Wendys chair sounded like a gun shot as it crashed to the floor behind her. "This is a private dinner and you havent been invited."

The girl, Lorraine, turned toward Wendy. "You think I dont know that, you stuck-up rich b.i.t.c.h." She dropped into the chair recently vacated by Eliza. "Ive as much right to be here as he does." She pointed at Jeremy. "More." She bared her teeth at Patricia. "Im Jasons girlfriend, see. We were going to be engaged but before that could happen he...then he...died." She burst into tears.

The head waiter stood beside her, not at all sure of what to do.

Eliza glanced at Patricia. All the blood had drained from the womans face, leaving it stark white. She might have been a ghost, except for the red in her eyes.

Lorraine picked up a menu. "Im going to have dinner. Dinner with the family what shoulda been my in-laws. Whats the most expensive thing?"

"As you appear to know this person," Jack yelled at his daughter, "do something." He had resumed his seat at Patricias order.

Wendy tugged ineffectually at the sleeve of Lorraines heavy coat.

"Shall we go to the powder room, Patricia?" Eliza placed her hand on her friends shoulder.

Patricia didnt move.

"What a good idea," Barney said. "What do you think youre you looking at, buddy?

The man at the next table began sawing at his steak.

A man ran into the dining room, shedding snow, looking around him as if he quite desperately needed to find something hed lost. A waitress tried to stop him, but he stepped around her. He walked to the table that was the centre of the room, figuratively as well as literally.

Elizas hand was on Patricias arm, guiding the woman to standing. Her legs wobbled and Eliza gripped harder. Barney took the other arm.

"Come on, Lorraine. Lets go home," the new arrival said. The girl reached across the table and grabbed Patricias unfinished gla.s.s of champagne. The man plucked it from her fingers. "Lets go."

The head waiter signaled to the hostess, who picked up the phone.

"I havent ordered my dinner," Lorraine said.

"Ill take you to dinner. Anyplace you like."

"I want to have dinner here." Lorraines eyes were red and puffy and her nose ran. She swallowed a sob, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her coat.

"Please come with me."

The girl looked around. Her eyes fastened on Eliza, who was handing Patricia to Barney.

"Tell them I belong here," she said, her voice a weak whisper.

Barney half-dragged Patricia Wyatt-Yarmouth toward the back.

"Christ, as if," Wendy said in a laugh that was more like a bark. "Youre pathetic. We might as well have invited Geronimo to dinner. Jason cared more about that cat than he did about you."

"You," Eliza said, "are not helping."

"f.u.c.k off, lady."

"Will someone get this person out of here," Jack bellowed.

The door opened, bringing in a blast of drifting snow, wind and cold, and a figure dressed in dark blue.

The head waiter, almost jumping up and down with excitement, spoke to the police officer. By now most of the restaurant patrons were standing to see better, the kitchen staff had emerged from the back, and the wait staff lined the walls, twisting fingers in white ap.r.o.ns.

The cop crossed the room. She was young, pretty, blond. Her cheeks glowed red with cold, and fresh snow sprinkled the top of her flat blue hat with the light blue band.

"Hi, Lorraine," she said, in a warm and friendly voice. "Lets go outside and talk. Gary can come with us."

"Thats a great idea," Gary said.

"No. Im here to have dinner with my family. They should have been my family. They would have been. They would have, Molly. Its not fair."

So, Eliza thought, this was Constable Molly Smith, who had driven John to distraction more than once over the summer.

"Lifes not fair, Lorraine." Smith dropped her voice so only the people immediately around her, which happened to include Eliza, could hear. "Gary, can you get her up? I dont want to make a scene, but Ive been called to get her out of here. How much has she had? And what?"

"Just beer, I think. When I got home, Lorraine was in the kitchen. She had a couple bottles in front of her and was crying. I tried to talk to her, but I had to go to the can, and when I got back, she was gone."

"Whats the matter with this police department?" Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth yelled. His face was almost as red as Smiths. But not from the cold, and the effect was not nearly as attractive. "I demand you remove this person."

"Shut up, Dad," Wendy said, unexpectedly. "She isnt going to shoot her, you know, even if you demand her to."

Jack spluttered.

Sophie let out a burst of embarra.s.sed laughter. Alan studied the tines of his fork. Jeremy leaned back in his chair, looking as though he were enjoying every minute of the other peoples misery.

Gary managed to lift a wobbly Lorraine to her feet. Constable Smith talked to her in a quiet voice. Together they guided the crying girl toward the door.

Eliza let out a soft sigh. Patricia had gone to the ladies with Barney and missed the scene. Jack was huffing and puffing and threatening to blow the straw house down. His daughter, Wendy, after throwing Lorraine a look that would freeze lava, resumed her seat.

"I hope were going to eat now," Sophie said.

Only Eliza saw Gary hand Lorraine to Smith. "What?" the young constables lips said.

Gary walked back to the table.

"Pardon me, Maam," he said to Eliza as he brushed up against her to reach the table. He put two big, hairy hands on a tablecloth as snowy white as the night outside. His nails were torn, the cuticles ragged, dirt trapped in the folds of skin. His eyes pa.s.sed over Wendy, then Sophie, and settled down to flick between Alan and Jeremy.

Eliza glanced toward the door. Clearly Constable Smith didnt know what to do. She was trying to keep Lorraine standing while watching Gary.

"You guys. You come to our town and throw around your money and show off your flash cars and skis. You f.u.c.k our girls, and then you leave. Back to Mommy and Daddy and the trust fund."

"I scarcely think," Wendy said.

"I scarcely care what you think, kid. Get this straight, all of you. Your precious Jason was a wh.o.r.emonger and a cradle s.n.a.t.c.her. And, outside of this table, there arent many people bothered that he, or his friend, is dead."

He glanced out of the side of his eyes. Eliza followed, to see Constable Smith, still trying to hold Lorraine upright, coming back their way.

"Gotta go," Gary said. "Have a nice evening folks."

He straightened up, and pointed one finger toward Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth. "If youre a religious sort, old man, youd better pray my sister isnt knocked up. Otherwise, youll be seeing my ugly mug again."

He crossed the room in several strides. "Ready to leave, Moon?" he said in a booming voice. "I sense were no longer welcome here. Enjoy your dinner, folks." Gary waved at the crowd, watching him as if he were tonights floorshow.

"I want to know what all that was about, and I want to know now," Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth shouted at his daughter.

Wendy didnt resume her seat. "I dont think so," she said, heading for the door. She grabbed her coat from the rack by the exit.

"How about we grab a pizza?" Alan said. "Pizzad be good, eh, Sophie."

"Pardon?"

"Were going for pizza. Thanks for the champagne, sir." Alan and Sophie followed Wendy at nothing much short of the speed of light. Jeremy followed at a more leisurely pace.

Eliza was still standing in the middle of the floor. Thank heavens Barney had gotten Patricia out of here before that hideous scene.

Jack Wyatt-Yarmouth was the only one remaining at the table. He stared at Eliza across the detritus of champagne bottles, crystal flutes, menus, and untouched plates. "Who the h.e.l.l are you anyway?"

"Wife of a two-bit, hick-town cop. Good night, Jack."

Eliza headed for the back to check on Patricia and Barney.

Chapter Thirteen.

The bedside clock radio sprang to life at seven a.m. Molly Smith rolled over and for once didnt punch the snooze b.u.t.ton. With a glance at the picture of Graham on the night table, she reached for her cell phone and flipped it open. In the dim light cast by the face of the instrument, she hit a stored number.

After listening to the brief message, she jumped out of bed.

Twenty centimeters of snow at Big Sky last night. Almost ten inches of fresh-untouched-powder. The nearest thing to heaven on this earth. She ran for the bathroom. It had snowed on the mountain for days, and so the conditions would be good. Good wasnt worth getting up at seven oclock after a long shift for, but new powder-that was worth it.

By seven-fifteen she was carrying her equipment down stairs.

Alphonse was at work and the days bread was baking. The back door to the bakery opened as Molly reached the landing. A hand pa.s.sed out a brown bag. She accepted it and the door closed, without a word. The bag was warm and smelled wonderful.

She stuffed it into her pack and headed out into the cold morning. She turned her face to the black sky. Big fat snowflakes drifted down. A lot of big fat snowflakes.

When she moved out of her parents house, she no longer had the use of their cars whenever she wanted, so she bought herself a vehicle. An eight-year-old Ford Focus in a rather unattractive shade of green. The seats and armrests had been chewed up a bit, hopefully by a dog not a person, but the engine was in good shape and shed put on new winter tires.