Smith punched in the code to bring up the computer as she heard the doors open and the car pull in.

The door to the booking room opened. "Jesus, Molly, you have to help me. It was that sister of Jasons. She framed me."

The prisoner was Lorraine LeBlanc.

"You know this young woman, Constable Smith?" Nose worthy asked.

"Yes."

"It was frame-up. You know she hates me. Let me go and well forget all about it."

"Im sorry, Lorraine, but its not my call. Constable Nose worthy?"

"Clerk at the Craft Gallery saw her pinch a bracelet. We got there and the bracelet was on the floor. Witness, a shopper, says she saw this woman take the item and drop it when she was accused." Lorraines eyes were round and wild. She was dressed in her winter coat and boots. Noseworthy carried a tattered scarf. He tossed it onto the counter.

"Tell them, Molly," Lorraine pleaded. "Please tell them."

"Ill call Gary," was all Smith could say as Noseworthy went to the computer.

"Full name?" he said.

Lorraine moaned.

Fortunately Gary was home when Smith called. He arrived at the police station red-faced and breathing heavily. He placed his hands on his thighs and gathered his breath for a few moments as Smith explained the situation.

Lorraine was a minor, with a local address, a relative to take care of her, and no prior record. She was released to her brothers care.

Smith walked with them to the door. The air was sharp but the sky clear in the approach of night. A few stars were popping up in the east. "This isnt over, Lorraine. Youll have to appear in court."

The girl avoided her brothers eyes. He put an arm around her and gave her a hug, but his fist was closed tight, knuckles white. "Well worry about that when the time comes," Gary said. "You understand, Moon, that this is a vendetta by that Wyatt-Whatever bunch."

Smith let out a breath. It turned to mist in the cold air.

"Wait for me at the bottom of the stairs," Gary told his sister.

Lorraine left them. Her head was bent, her coat formed a black shroud around her thin frame.

Gary LeBlanc and Molly Smith watched until Lorraine was standing on the sidewalk, underneath a street lamp. A patrol car pulled out of the station parking lot. Brad Noseworthy glanced at them.

"Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth was in the shop, Gary," Smith said. "But she only backed up what Mrs. Roberts told Constable Noseworthy. And that was that she saw Lorraine take the bracelet, put it into her coat and head for the door. When she was stopped, at the door, Lorraine dropped the bracelet."

"When she was stopped by Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth who, as we all know, has a personal animosity toward my sister. Mrs. Roberts didnt see the bracelet emerge from Lorraines coat. She only says that it was there on the floor."

"Im not an attorney, Gary. Dont argue your case in front of me."

"They wont be hard on Lorraine, will they, Moon? Shes never been in trouble before, you know that."

"Ive no idea what the courts will do. But I can tell you one thing: you dont want a repeat of this. Talk to her. Get her some help."

Gary lifted his chin, but his eyes shifted to one side and the slightest touch of color crept into his face. He could afford professional help only if he used the money he was trying to put together for Lorraines education.

"Call the Trafalgar Womens Support Center. Ask to speak to my mom. Sh.e.l.l know what to do to help."

"Thanks, Moon."

An RCMP car drove past. It signaled a turn into the Trafalgar City Police parking area.

Constable Smith stood on the steps of the police station as Gary LeBlanc wrapped his arms around his sister and guided her up the street toward their home.

Molly turned and headed back inside.

Adam Tocek was talking to Jim Denton. They looked up as Smith punched in the code to let her into the station.

Tocek had deep brown eyes and curly black hair and a five-oclock shadow no matter the time of day, but his face always seemed to light up from inside when he saw Molly Smith. "Hey," he said. "Havent seen you for a while. Hows it going?"

"Problems. Always problems. Where are you from, Adam?"

"From? My grandparents emigrated from Slovakia in 1950. My father was very premature, born on the ship in the middle of the Atlantic. Lucky, so the story goes, to have lived."

"Sorry, no. I mean where are you from? Where did you grow up?"

"Toronto. The Big Smoke." He glanced at Denton. Denton shrugged. "Why are you asking, Molly?"

"To be honest, Adam, I dont know."

"Well, I know that its almost four and if my replacement doesnt get here in the next two minutes, youll be short a dispatcher," Denton muttered to no one who cared. "Not again." He took a 911 call.

"Do you have time to grab a coffee, Molly?" Tocek said, in deep contemplation of the floor.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest. A coffee. With Adam Tocek, the big, tough Mountie who turned to mush around Molly Smith. Should she have a coffee? Would that be a betrayal of Graham? Graham would want her to be happy.

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

"Vehicle out of control," Denton said. "Corner of Front and Elm. Pedestrian injured. Brad is occupied and cant take it. Sorry to break up this tte--tte, Mol, but we have work to do here."

"See you, Adam." She ran for the parking lot.

Chapter Twenty-two.

Low clouds covered the tops of the mountains and mist rose from the river running through the valley. The trees, thickly covered with fresh white snow, seemed almost to float in the gray air, neither anch.o.r.ed to earth nor reaching to the sky.

Someone might have stolen all the colors from G.o.ds crayon box, leaving only black and white, and a stub of brown, to work with. John Winters stood at his kitchen window, drinking strong dark coffee.

"More snow?" Eliza wrapped her arms around him from behind and laid her warm cheek against his back.

"What day is it?"

"December thirty-first, as you know full well. Why do you ask?"

"This much snow I thought itd be February at least."

He felt her smile. "Lets buy a home in the mountains, I believe I heard you say. Fresh air, great views."

"You could have reminded me that it has been known to snow at higher elevations."

She chuckled, and he felt her move away.

Theyd house hunted in November, when the snow was a dusting high on the mountains, and moved into their new home in the middle of March, after two weeks of spring sunshine had gone a long way toward reducing the size of the snow pack.

Winters was from Vancouver. Hed lived most of his life in that coastal city where winter meant thick gray clouds and lots of rain. When the snow did fall, the city ground to a halt for a day or two, then the temperatures rose and it all melted.

"You might have to get the s...o...b..ower out," Eliza said.

"The SUV can handle it. Thats why we bought it. The plow guy will be here soon." He turned away from the window. "Any chance of a working man getting breakfast around here?"

"I might be able to rummage up an egg or two." Eliza opened the fridge. "You havent forgotten were going out tonight, have you, John?"

"New Years Eve. I havent forgotten."

Eliza preferred to spend Christmas Eve and Day enjoying a quiet celebration at home, but tonight was a night to party. They always went to one of the best restaurants in Vancouver or to a fashion-industry party. Always, that is, once hed moved up the police ladder enough to be allowed the night off. This would be their first celebration in Trafalgar, and hed made a reservation at Flavours.

A thump on the stairs, another thump, then the sound of a body being dragged across the floor. Barney came into the kitchen, having deposited her wheeled suitcase, which was the approximate size of a steamer trunk, at the door. "It doesnt look too promising for my flight."

"In the mountains the weather can change on a dime." Winters desperately hoped such would be the case today. Barney was due to take the one oclock flight out of Castlegar to Vancouver. If it was cancelled, there was another at three-forty-five. If that one didnt go, shed be coming with them to Flavours. He liked Barney well enough, but, like fish, after three days her time was up.

Eliza pulled the cast-iron frying pan out of the cupboard. Barney pushed her aside and made bacon (crispy) and eggs (not tough) and toast (unburned) for the hungry working man.

"Did you speak to Patricia yesterday?" Winters asked around a mouthful of bacon as he ran a sliver of toast through the smear of yellow egg yolk on his plate.

"Briefly. Shes not doing too well, John."

"I get the feeling," Barney said from the stove, "that her marriage has been a train-wreck for a long time. Instead of bringing them together, this horrible business has driven her and her husband even further apart."

"Hes a right p.r.i.c.k." Eliza rarely, if ever, used bad language. "Why an educated, wealthy woman, a doctor for heavens sake, would put up with that sort of emotional detachment, I cant imagine."

Winters said nothing, although he wondered if emotional detachment was a family trait. According to Molly, the police had to notify Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth of her brothers death although her parents knew about it, and Patricia appeared to be so wrapped up in her own grief that she wasnt much concerned about her daughters precarious mental state.

"And now shes still sitting around that cheerless hotel," Eliza said.

"I expect to order the release of the bodies today. The Wyatt-Yarmouths have a funeral home ready to accept them and arrange transport to Toronto. Everything will be shut down tomorrow for the holiday, and I dont see any reason to keep them any longer. Youre not to say a word, either of you. If something changes, I dont want Patricias hopes to be up."

Barney and Eliza smiled at him with as much innocence as two puppies in the window of a pet shop.

"Any luck in contacting the other boys parents?" Barney asked.

"No, but the neighbors wh.o.r.e minding the house say the Williamses are due back from their sailing trip on January third. Theyll be met at the airport and given the news."

"Hard." Barney helped herself to more bacon.

"No matter how they hear about it," Eliza said, nibbling at the edges of a slice of unb.u.t.tered toast.

He pushed himself away from the table. Breakfast had been great. Regardless of whether or not she could cook, Elizas idea of a proper morning meal was blueberries and yogurt with a sprinkling of granola, or toast without b.u.t.ter and a sc.r.a.ping of low-sugar preserves.

Ugh.

"Nine oclock," Eliza said. "The reservation is for nine."

"Yes, dear, I know. You should probably call the snow plow guy and make sure h.e.l.l be here before you have to leave for the airport."

Barney got to her feet and held out her arms. Winters gave her a big hug. "Good trip."

"Keep safe," she said.

Ten minutes later, John Winters was trudging back to his house though snow up to his calves. The front of his SUV was half buried in a drift and the big winter tires had dug deep furrows in the driveway.

"Call the snow plow guy," he shouted into the kitchen. "Tell him Ill pay double if hes here within half an hour. If you dare laugh, youre out of my will." He slammed the door and went to the garage for a shovel.

Lucky Smith didnt normally go into the Trafalgar Womens Support Center on a Monday. Monday was the busiest day of the week in the office, with all the weekend activity to sort out.

But Moonlight had called last night, just as Lucky and Andy sat down to dinner. "If you hear from Lorraine or Gary LeBlanc, Mom, you might want to talk to them."

Now that shed been given an opening to interfere, Lucky felt she could tell her daughter what Lorraine had told her: the trouble Ewan had apparently caused between Alan and Sophie.

The CBC news was starting when the phone rang again. Gary LeBlanc, asking if Luckyd mind talking to Lorraine in the morning.

Lucky had returned to the news, not paying much attention to what Peter Mansbridge had to say about the state of the world. It was always depressing anyway.

"What brings you here this morning, sweetie?" Bev Price opened the door with her usual welcoming smile. Bev was even shorter than the five-foot-nothing Lucky Smith, although a heck of a lot thinner. A bundle of positive energy, Bev was the personification of the support center shed founded and kept afloat by little more than her own heart and soul and skill at begging for funding. Lucky knew, although not many did, that Bevs only daughter, at age seventeen, had died many years ago on the streets of Halifax, her baby at her side. Dead of malnutrition, both of them, because the mother didnt know how to access what government services were available. Bev, not much over thirty at the time, had been in jail, the result of a knife fight arising from a drug deal gone wrong and a vengeful pimp. Once shed been released from prison, instead of wallowing in despair over the death of her daughter and granddaughter, Bev had thrown all of her formidable energy first of all into getting herself clean, and then into making sure that women down on their luck were able to find the support they needed. Now in her late fifties, shed arrived in Trafalgar ten years ago and immediately set about coercing the good citizens into funding and staffing the support center.

"Im meeting someone," Lucky said. "We need a place to talk in private."

"The nutrition-in-pregnancy groups here at nine-thirty. Some of the girls like to get here early." And they were girls, probably not one of them over eighteen. Women with careers, money, supportive families, employed partners, didnt have need of the services of the Trafalgar Womens Support Center.

"We can sit in the living room," Bev said. "So you can close the kitchen door. That okay?"

"Thanks. Its Lorraine LeBlanc. Do you know her?"

Bevs bushy gray eyebrows rose. "Lorraines never been too keen, shall we say, to come here. Somethings happened to change that?"