She owned several pairs of skis that she alternated depending on the environment and where she was, but for Blue Sky under these conditions only her newest powder skis would do. She fastened them to the roof rack and drove to Big Eddies Coffee Emporium. Patrons were streaming in, adding to the line-up that was almost at the door. Soon it would be. Eddie and Jolene and their two helpers moved to the beat of loud dance music. Everyone in line was dressed for a day on the slopes. They came into the shop stomping snow off boots, shaking colorful woolen hats and scarves. Packs were tossed over shoulders and ski pa.s.ses hung from zippers.

The line edged forward. People chatted and laughed. Locals leaned across the counter and gave the staff hugs or pecks on the cheek. Jolene toasted bagels and made breakfast sandwiches. Her helpers made mochas and lattes, and Eddie poured coffee and took money.

The seating area was empty. At this time of the morning the customers, like Smith, were here only to fuel up and head out to the mountain before the lifts started and the hills got busy.

As Alphonse had kindly provided her breakfast, Smith bypa.s.sed the bagel line and ordered her usual extra-large mocha, with full fat milk and whipped cream. She asked, very politely, for an extra dribble of chocolate syrup on the top.

"Sure, Moon," the clerk said.

It was about half an hour to Blue Sky. She munched on warm croissants and drank hot mocha on the way. There was no sunrise, just a gradual lightening of the sky. Except for the pure white snow, the whole world was gray. Gray clouds, gray deciduous trees-gray bark and gray branches-gray-green evergreens, and brief glimpses of gray mountains.

The mornings skiing was as great as shed hoped it would be. In the early morning, the snow was deep and untouched. The air was so cold and crisp she could almost crunch it between her teeth. Snow continued to fall. The trees were covered in the stuff until it was a wonder some of them didnt topple over.

Shortly before noon she was lucky enough to find an untouched section of powder, and used it to take her down to the lodge. The croissants and mocha had been a long time ago. Skiing in deep powder is difficult, but Molly was very good. Shed dreamt at one time of going to the Olympics, but she wasnt that good, and once she realized it she gave up compet.i.tion. Although her muscles ached from the mornings exertions, it was a good ache. She headed down the mountain, planting her poles with a light, quick flick of the wrist, accompanied by a flick of the arm that helped to turn the skis in the deep snow. The movement of the skis was gradual, much slower than on groomed slopes, and she barely had to turn to keep herself upright and moving. There was no feeling of friction under her feet; instead, she almost literally floated down the mountain, as if she were soaring on clouds, moving in slow motion, surrounded by nothing by snow and silence. The air was cold on her face, fresh and smelling of pine and ice.

She reached the bottom and rotated her feet into a hockey stop, driving the sides of her skis into the packed snow. Snow flew and she punched the air in sheer joy.

She headed for the lodge, debating between the giant veggie burrito and the wild salmon burger.

Her radio crackled. As a police officer, she could ski for free, provided she wore her uniform jacket over her usual ski clothes, carried a radio, and helped out if needed. Altercation in the dining area of the lodge. Respond immediately.

She snapped off her skis and left them and the poles in a ski rest. She ran, as fast as she could in ski boots, up the wooden steps into the building. People, many of them with small children, were hurrying down the steps.

The room was warm and damp and smelled of good food cooking, wet clothes, sweat-soaked socks exposed to the air, and steaming bodies.

She had no trouble locating the problem.

People lined the walls, some of them still gripping plates or cups. A long wooden table had been overturned, bowls of food and mugs of coffee spilled onto the floor. Two men were taking wild punches at each other, yelling and swearing all the while. Blood streamed from the nose of the larger man. In their inflexible ski boots they moved as if they were performing a ballet at the bottom of the Upper Kootenay River. The police officer trying to get through the crowd to reach them walked with no less difficulty.

A resort security guard, all of about sixty-five and weighing a good hundred pounds, soaking wet, jumped from one foot to the other, suggesting that the fighters stop this right now!

A girl was screaming at the top of her lungs. She didnt look at all frightened, more like she was enjoying the excitement and happy to add her own contribution.

"Trafalgar City Police," Smith shouted. People in front of her looked over their shoulders and scurried out of the way. The screaming girl toned it down a notch.

There wasnt a lot Smith could do in these d.a.m.ned boots. Fortunately the fighters wore similar footwear and thus couldnt do a lot either.

"Break it up," she said.

They did the opposite, and crashed together, all wild punches and kicks that barely left the ground. They were both young, not a surprise. The heavier one was clean-shaven and short-haired. The other had a scraggly beard and hair that touched the back of his neck.

The bigger guy was closest to her. As he pulled his arm back to aim a punch at his opponent, Smith jumped forward, grabbed the wrist, and twisted. She jerked him back. "Police. I said break it up here."

He resisted for a brief moment before the fight drained out of him. "Okay, okay," he said. "No problem, officer."

Another security guard arrived, running and breathing hard. At least this one was young and looked reasonably fit.

He sized up the scene and launched himself toward the smaller of the fighters, who turned and swung a punch that got the young security guard in the face. He fell back, blood pouring from his nose like lava rushing from an exploding volcano. The girl began screaming again.

"Hey," the older guard yelled. "You cant do that."

The fighter turned toward his opponent. Conveniently restrained by Constable Smith. She read his eyes. "Back off, buddy. Fights over."

He took a step forward into a pile of rice and tofu and curry sauce. He slipped. The old guy stuck his boot under the fighters feet to help him to the floor.

Nice.

Smith spoke into her radio. "Request a car. Two to tran sport."

"Hey," the guy Smith was holding said, "I gave in, didnt I?"

"Well wait in the office," she said. The younger security guard got to his feet. He wiped blood onto his jacket sleeve, but didnt seem too badly hurt. "Take this one," she said to him. While the taller fighter had given in as soon as the police arrived, the other one had kept on fighting-shed better take control of him. The old guard was standing over the man on the floor, trying to look threatening.

"Help me get him up," Smith said. They pulled the man to his feet, and she wrenched his arm behind him.

"Hey," he yelled. "That hurts. Youre gonna break my arm."

"Then dont make me. Lets go." Smith headed for the stairs, aware that they must make a strange procession indeed. The arresting officer and the two fighters stomped in ski boots that afforded no flexibility of movement whatsoever. The younger security guards face was streaked with blood, and the older one seemed quite pleased with his prize. The crowd parted in front of them. Smith looked for someone who might get it into his head to free his friend, but no one approached them. The man she was holding took a half-step toward the girl whod been screaming. Smith jerked him back into line.

It got a bit tricky on the steps to the bas.e.m.e.nt, as ski boots were even more difficult to manage on stairs than on flat surfaces.

Behind them, noise flowed across the main room with the force of water bursting through a broken dam.

Five people just about filled the security office. Smith ordered the two offenders to sit down. The bleeding guard grabbed a handful of tissues off the desk and held them to his face.

"I know you," said the guy whod given up when the police arrived.

Didnt everyone in a town this size?

"Last night. You were there last night. At the restaurant."

Smith looked properly at the guy for the first time. Last time shed seen him, hed been enjoying that scene between Lorraine and the Wyatt-Yarmouth family at Flavours. "Name?"

"Huh?"

"Whats your name?"

"Sorry, Maam. Sir, Miss."

"Your name?"

"Jeremy. Jeremy Wozenack. I came here with Jason and Ewan, you know, the ones who..."

"I know."

He held out his hand, as if offering to shake.

She ignored it.

"Get out your I.D." She turned to the other man. "You too buddy, I.D."

"What?"

"I said, I.D. Do you have any on you?"

The man dug under his ski jacket and pulled out a worn wallet. He handed her his drivers license.

"Mr. DAngelo." She handed the license to the older security guard.

"You too, Mr. Wozenack."

"Sorry, but Ive got nothing on me. My friend drove so I only brought what cash Id need."

"Call dispatch with that I.D.," Smith said to the guard. "Spell your name, Mr. Wozenack, and give us your address." He did so and the guard wrote it down.

"Step outside," she said.

Jeremy leapt to his feet.

"What the f.u.c.k?" the other guy yelled, half-rising from his chair. The younger guard pushed him down. "Youre going to let him go because he eats at Flavours, is that it? How much does it take to buy you? Not much, Id guess."

"Oh, shut up. No ones going anywhere. Other than into town when that patrol car gets here."

Smith and Jeremy stepped into the corridor. She left the door open, but spoke softly.

"What was all that about?"

"Like I know. Guy launches himself out of nowhere, sort of like Superman or something, across the table. All that was missing was the red cape."

"Let me tell you something for nothing, Jeremy. Youve ruined my days skiing and sent me back to work on my day off. Im hardly in the mood to hear your flights of fantasy. You have to know what he was mad about."

"A girl."

"A girl?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Isnt it always a girl?"

"No, it isnt."

It would keep until they got to the station. But she wanted to know. Shed disgraced herself, totally and completely, when shed been allowed to step one hesitant foot into this investigation. Perhaps she could learn something worthwhile and salvage a bit of her reputation from talking to the dead mens friend.

"Are you really taking us to the police station?"

"A cars been called, your I.D. radioed in for a warrant check. Your pal hit a security guard. People, including children, were fleeing left and right. Yeah, youre going to town, Jeremy. You can tell your side of the story to a judge."

"You seem like a nice lady."

Smith considered spitting on the snow-soaked wooden floor. Sometimes shed rather be called a pig b.i.t.c.h than a nice lady.

"I planned to meet up with my friends for lunch. They werent here so I got my food and sat down. Was it my fault I sat beside a cute girl? Well, yeah, that might have been my fault, but it sure wasnt when she came over all friendly, was it?"

"You met this girl before?"

"Nice town youve got here. Great skiing, happening bar scene after. You see someone in the bars, you see them again on the slopes. Whats your name?"

"Smith. Constable Smith."

"You must have a first name."

"I do not."

"Sorry, sorry, bad line. Yeah, Id seen the girl before." He coughed and looked around. The security office was in the bottom level of the lodge. The walls were wood, the floor wood. Outside snow was piled so high it covered the windows. It was cold and damp. "I ran into her a couple of nights ago in a bar in Trafalgar. The Potato Famine, stupid name. The food was about what youd expect from a name like that. Her boyfriend, who youve had the pleasure of meeting, was drunk out of his tiny skull. She was lonely, you know how it is?"

Smith said nothing. Sometimes there were advantages to being a woman on the job. She wouldnt be taking sides here. The drunken boyfriend and the privileged frat boy; most women would know two a.s.sholes when she saw them.

"So we left," Jeremy continued. "She didnt want to hang around with nothing to do but watch him get drunk with his buddies, and I," he looked away from her, "suggested we go to the B&B for a bit. She was game." He gave Smith a knowing smile. "No undue pressure going on, you got that, right?"

Smith said nothing.

"And she was certainly of age." He barked out a laugh.

Smith still said nothing.

"We had a pleasant...uh...time." Once again he looked to one side. "And then she left."

"What day was that?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Sorry, Constable Smith, but Im on vacation, right. One day just runs into another."

"Yeah, I know how it is. Ive done it myself. Days on the slopes. Nights in the bar around a big roaring fireplace. Big gla.s.ses full of red wine. Someone throws another log on."

He nodded.

"Two friends dead in the frozen river. Happens to us all. Right, Jeremy?"

"f.u.c.k you, cop lady."

"Enough chat. Lets go back inside."

"Okay, okay. It was a couple of days before Christmas when I met this girl. Friday, maybe. I didnt even remember her name until I saw her upstairs just now. We were drinking in this low-life bar. Jason and Ewan and me. Alans so p.u.s.s.y-whipped he wouldnt dare step foot into a joint like that one. And Rob spends most of his time checking the Internet to see how his stock portfolios doing.

"And that was it. Stuff happens right? She went her way and I went mine. It matters to me, you know, that Jason and Ewan died."

"Bring me up to today."

"She was sitting with a group of girls. I thought they were her girlfriends, right? So I sat down with my lunch and said hi. She seemed happy to see me, giving me the smile and tossing the hair. I hadnt even had a bite of my food when that guy, the boyfriend, came out of nowhere and started yelling and laying into me. My mistake, she didnt know the girls she was sitting with, but was waiting for him to get back with her tofu surprise."

No doubt the woman in question was the screaming girl. Loving being the center of attention and having two guys fight over her.