"Quite a lot." Lucky stopped talking as a burst of laughter announced the arrival of the first cla.s.s of the day.

Gary accompanied his sister to the meeting. He looked most uncomfortable walking through the living room, full of young women blossoming in all the stages of pregnancy. But Lucky didnt particularly care about Garys comfort level.

Gary was carrying a plastic supermarket bag. Before he even sat down, he pulled out the contents and put them on the table. Ski-goggles. Lucky flicked over the price tag that was still attached to the strap. Mid-Kootenay Adventure Vacations. She lifted one eyebrow toward Gary.

"Somehow these found their way into our house," he said. "As did these." He placed a thin gold necklace, a jar of face cream and a bottle of bath oil on the table. "Lets leave it at that, okay?"

Lorraine studied the floor.

The meeting did not go well. Lorraine was p.r.i.c.kly and defensive. At first, she denied shed had anything to do with the bracelet that found its way, apparently all by itself, to the floor of the Craft Gallery. Then she was blaming Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth, saying that Wendyd planted the jewelry on Lorraine. Finally Lorraine laid her forehead on the table and cried. Gary and Lucky eyed each other over the girls heaving back. His face was tight with anger. Whether at Lorraine, or Wendy, or the whole world, Lucky couldnt tell. She pa.s.sed Lorraine a box of tissues.

Eventually the girl lifted her head from the table. Her face was red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. Wendy and Sophie and that crowd had so much. The best ski clothes and equipment, pa.s.ses for cat-skiing and heli-skiing, good restaurants and lattes and cappuccinos, money for jewelry, clothes, anything they wanted.

She touched the gold hoop that ran through her right ear. "See," she said. "See. He gave me these. He wanted me to have as many good things as his sister had. Why cant I have them now? It shouldnt make a difference 'cause Jasons dead. He wanted me to have everything. He did." She fell onto the table again, her body convulsing with sobs. Gary stroked his sisters back and looked at Lucky as if she would pull her comfortable beige cardigan, the one with roses crawling up the sides of the zipper, aside and reveal a giant S. S for Superwoman, ready to leap into the air and solve the problems of every poor child brought up in an abusive family Why indeed? Why did Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth get to go on ski vacations and attend good universities and shop to her hearts content, while Lorraine LeBlanc screwed strangers in dark alleys in a search for love, and her brother tried to sc.r.a.pe together every cent he could find to get her an education.

Why wasnt life fair?

Lucky Smith had given up worrying about that long ago.

"It just isnt," she said.

"What isnt what?" Gary asked, and Lucky realized that shed spoken that last thought aloud.

"Never mind." She forced herself to smile at the LeBlanc siblings. "If it comes to court, and it might not despite what the police say, Ill be happy to testify on your behalf, Lorraine. I hope you know, dear, that possessions dont buy happiness. Lorraine, look at me."

Obediently the girl lifted her head. Her eyes were red, her face pale.

"Right now, I cant imagine a sadder person than Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth and that bunch."

Lorraine shrugged.

"They have money, lots of it. And plenty of stuff that money can buy. Do you think theyre happy, Lorraine?"

Another shrug.

Lucky and Gary exchanged glances again.

"Tell us what you think about this, Lorraine, please," he said. "Are Jason and Ewans friends happy people?"

Lorraine jumped to her feet. Her chair toppled over and crashed to the floor. "Happy? Are you freaking kidding? Ask me about happy will you? Jasons dead. Theres nothing else that matters."

John Winters visited the Doctors Wyatt-Yarmouth at their hotel, and told them Jasons body would be released today. Jack mumbled something about the incompetence of the Trafalgar City Police, and Patricia smiled her thanks. She had not looked surprised at the news, and Winters suspected Barney had been on the phone even as he uselessly tossed shovelfuls of snow into the woods while waiting for the plow to rescue him.

Molly Smith came on duty at three oclock. The weather was supposed to be good-nice and cold to keep the snow frozen, but no new stuff expected to fall.

They had a full complement of officers on duty, ready for anything, and everything, that might happen.

Very little did. A few drunks were taken into custody to sleep it off, a couple of marijuana smokers warned to put it out, and several cans of beer poured into the gutter. At about eleven-thirty Dave Evans had been attacked by an amorous female, and Smith had to pull the woman off him. She was in her forties, at a charitable estimate, with the skeletal body of long-time heroin user.

"d.a.m.n it," Evans said, wiping furiously at his mouth with his glove, as they watched the woman walk backward, still blowing kisses to him. "Who knows what diseases she might have?"

"Heres an idea," Smith said. "You stop with the digs against me, and I wont tell everyone Fancy Nancys got a crush on you. Whatd she call you? The s.e.xiest cop in B.C?"

"Ive never made a dig against you, Molly."

"Or was it all of North America? I forget."

"Drop it, Smith."

"Its nice sometimes," she said with a laugh, "to be a female officer. We dont have to deal with hara.s.sment like that."

Evans growled. Smith doubted he got her point, but it had been fun making it anyway.

They were sitting in the patrol car outside the Potato Famine watching the clock tick toward midnight. The window was rolled down and they could hear pounding music, shouts, and overly-loud laughter coming from inside. The music was cut off in mid-note, and people began to chant. Smith glanced at her watch. "Midnight," she said. "Happy New Year, Dave."

"Same to you, Molly."

Cheers and cries of Happy New Year filled the street. A group of young men ran out of the bar, waving brown bottles over their heads and yelling. A bottle hit the brick wall of the pub and shattered. The red light in the bar window advertising a brand of beer glistened off shards of gla.s.s. Smith and Evans got out of the car and went back to work.

Warnings were issued, beer emptied into snow banks, and the broken gla.s.s was being picked up, piece by piece, by the miscreants to be deposited into a trash bin when radios crackled. Fight at the Bishop and Nun. Evans took the car and Smith remained behind, to continue walking the beat. "Am I going to hear anything more from you guys tonight?" she asked.

"No, maam. Not a peep." They swayed slightly and their words were stirred, but theyd sobered up quickly enough at the sight of Evans and Smith approaching and poured out their beer before being told to do so.

"Make sure of it," she said. "You can go now."

"Happy New Year," they shouted, as they continued on their way.

She watched them go for a few moments before turning to take a walk through the pub, to check that everything was under control. The hair on the back of her neck bristled and she looked around. The light over the entrance of the small office building across the street was burnt out. The streetlamp touched the edges of a black shape standing in the doorway. A red glow from the end of a cigarette did nothing to illuminate the face. It was a man. He was very large and was watching her.

She placed her hand on the b.u.t.t of her gun. He stepped into the light.

Charlie F. Ba.s.sing.

He looked at Smith, his expression unreadable in the light hitting his face from above. Or, perhaps, there wasnt an expression for her to read. He flicked the burning cigarette into the street and walked away with slow, lazy strides.

Smith took a deep breath and watched until he turned at the corner.

She felt a blast of hot, sweat-filled air. The bouncer stepped out and joined her on the sidewalk.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"So far. But theres some serious drinking going on in there. One or two that might be trouble later." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you okay, Molly?"

"Sure," she moved her hand away from her gun and tried to smile. "Im fine." She flexed her fingers.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Molly Smith was late getting to the ski slopes. Last nights shift had been long and tiring, but other than a handful of arrests for drunk and disorderly, uneventful. She hadnt seen Charlie again, but he played at the back of her mind all night. She could hardly make a complaint against him for standing on the other side of the street and not talking to her. Shed call Christa tomorrow evening and find out if Charlie had been watching her. That Smith could complain about. Christa had promised to contact the police, or Molly, if she saw Charlie, but Christa might decide to 'not make a fuss. Not wanting to make a fuss was what had gotten her beaten up in the first place.

Smith had made it home at four-thirty, had a quick shower, laid out her ski clothes, and gone to bed, planning to get up at seven. When she opened one eye to peer at the clock, the room was light and it was after nine.

She was on the road before nine-thirty, at the hill by ten. Shed considered paying her money for a lift ticket so she could be sure of spending the day in peace, but New Years Day should be quiet. The partiers would be sleeping it off, or too subdued to make trouble. It would be mostly families today and those serious enough about their sport to avoid overindulging the night before.

A cheerful yellow sun shone in a pale blue sky. In the meadows, snow sparkled as if ground gla.s.s had been sprinkled across the surface.

The parking lot wasnt full, but Smith had to park far away from the lodge. She left her skis and poles on the racks outside and went into the bas.e.m.e.nt to let them know she was here and get a radio. The equipment rental area was next to the security office. Crowds of people were stomping their feet into unfamiliar boots, testing the length of poles and checking out bindings and the surface of skis. The wooden floor was wet with melting snow and the enclosed room smelled of damp wool, human sweat, and excitement.

"Hi, Constable Smith, what are you doing here?" Ellie Carmines daughter, Kathy, lifted goggles away from her face. Her smile was broad and her eyes shining. Without her habitual hangdog expression, she looked good. One of the guests from the B&B was beside her, although he was not looking quite as pleased with himself. Smith dug around in her memory banks for his name, but couldnt find it.

"Same as you, Id guess," Smith said. "Out for a day on the slopes."

"Maybe well see you out there," the girl said. "Im so excited. Ive never skied before." She lifted her poles as evidence. "Can you believe it? Ive lived in Trafalgar my whole life and Ive never been here."

"Have fun," Smith said. She always felt uncomfortable when, in her civilian persona, she ran into people shed met in her professional capacity.

"Robs going to show me the ropes. Arent you Rob?" She gave him a big smile.

The boy shrugged and went back to measuring her poles.

"That makes one of us."

"Pardon?"

"One of us whos excited about todays little adventure." Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth followed Smith toward the security office. Not that she was really following the police officer. More like drifting along in her wake because she couldnt think of anything better to do. Her yellow ski suit was formfitting and expensive. "This morning, Mrs. Carmine asked if Kathy could come skiing with us. What a presumption, as if were friends or something rather than paying guests. She acts as if we owe her because of that little scuffle at the B&B. I told her my dad would pay for what got broken, but Robs all embarra.s.sed about it and trying to make nice. Which suits Kathy, you can be sure. Robs too nice by half. He needs to get some backbone and tell Kathy to get lost. Oh, well, not my problem. Im not going to waste my time holding her hand."

It might not be Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouths problem, but she was enjoying talking about it. "Have a nice day," Smith said, putting her hand on the security office door.

"I doubt it. This place is a gigantic bore. Youll be pleased to hear, Officer, that were getting the h.e.l.l back to civilization tomorrow."

Wont be sorry about that, Smith thought as she said, "Have a safe trip."

It had snowed the night before and, as shed expected, the harder runs were relatively empty and the snow pure and untouched. As the morning drew to a close, heavy clouds moved in, promising more new snow. She hoped it would arrive before closing. She loved skiing through a whiteout. Visibility was reduced to nothing, giving her the feeling of being wrapped in a white blanket, only able to see as far as the tips of her skis. That sense of soaring through clouds was unbeatable and it required all of her skill to just let go and allow the texture of the snow beneath her skis to tell her when to turn.

The radio was quiet, and she stopped only once, for a late lunch, peeking around corners and tucking her head down at a table in the back of the room in an attempt to avoid any more encounters with the gang from the Glacier Chalet. She saw Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth sitting at a table across the room. Wendy was alone, leaning up against the wall, just staring off into s.p.a.ce. A group of several families grabbed the table next to hers. They were too many for the big table, and a young woman spoke to Wendy. The girl waved her arm languidly. The parents didnt spare her another glance as they tried to organize the pack of children who, cheeks rosy from the cold and exercise, eyes gleaming with exhilaration, alternatively bounced in their seats or ran around in circles. Moms and dads were young, lean, well-scrubbed, with good hair and nice teeth, and the children laughed with sheer pleasure at being free and alive.

Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth leaned up against the wall and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She paid the children no attention, but kept her head down and stared into her lap. Her shoulders shook, and Smith knew she was crying.

Poor Wendy. Smith ate her lunch quickly and went back outside to get her skis.

She was standing in the line for the lift to Bear Cave Run when the man beside her took a double take. "Hey, Moonlight. Its you, right Moonlight? How are you?"

"Im fine, Doug. You?"

The line stopped moving. A child was yelling something about not wanting to get into the chair. "Just great, Moonlight. Back in town for a visit with the folks over the holidays. You too?"

"Yeah." Just the other day shed thought of Doug Whiteside for the first time in years, and here he was in real life. She hoped her thoughts hadnt conjured him up. What the h.e.l.l was the problem with this line, couldnt they move it up?

"Whats with the jacket?" Doug grabbed her arm and half-turned her to have a look at her back. She wrenched her arm away. "Hey, didnt I hear something about you becoming a cop? I figured that was a joke."

"No joke." she inched forward. Her face burned. After all these years, she was still embarra.s.sed about what had happened between them.

"Hows Sam anyway?"

"Hes a lawyer. Lives in Calgary."

"Funny, isnt it, how some people grow up exactly like youd expect them to, and others turn out completely different. Never would have figured you for a cop. I saw Meredith a few days ago. In school all she ever talked about was being a reporter. And she went and did it. Between you and me, I got the feeling shes not too happy being on the staff of the Gazette. I think she figured shed at least be a foreign correspondent for the Globe and Mail by now. She looks good, though," he added, almost wistfully.

Doug chatted on while Mollys cheeks burned. Years pa.s.sed, and they finally got to the front of the line. The next chair had room for just one more person and Smith leapt in, leaving Doug waving and suggesting they go for a drink and talk about 'the old days. Shed rather spend the night in the Trafalgar jail.

Doug Whiteside had been friends with her brother Samwise when they were in school. Sam was several years older than Moonlight, and so were his friends.

Doug had been a popular guy, good looking, pitcher on the school baseball team. His parents were well off, and hed been one of the few kids in their school who had a car of his own.

Shed been thirteen the summer Sam and Doug were seventeen. When they werent chasing girls, or begging rides from sailboats on the lake, the boys liked to go fishing where the Upper Kootenay River broke off a branch and ran through the back of the Smith property.

One warm, lazy day Moonlight was at home alone. Her parents were at the store and Sam had taken a hiking party on a three day wilderness trip. She was on the dock by the river, swinging her long brown legs in the air, reading and daydreaming, and ignoring the ch.o.r.es her mother had left her. Doug drove up and walked over to the dock to say hi. He asked if Sam was ready to go. When Moonlight explained that Sam had gone away for a few days, Doug smacked his head with a laugh and said hed forgotten. He turned to leave, and Moonlight jumped to her feet.

She asked him if hed like to go to see a movie tonight.

"I thought Sam didnt get back until Monday?"

"I mean, go with me. Just me. I mean us."

He ran his eyes slowly down her skinny, young body, all long limbs, sharp angles, and knees, making her feel like a slab of meat in the butchers display counter, and then he began to laugh. It was not a kind laugh. "I dont think so," he said at last. "Youre a cute enough kid, but Im not into robbing the cradle."

Humiliated, embarra.s.sed, she stood rooted to the spot while he sauntered across the lawn back to his car. "Although...," he said, turning.

"Yes!"

"You could do me a favor and set me up with your pal Meredith Morgenstern. She might be the same age as you, but she looks, you know," he made a gesture like he was weighing two coconuts in his hands, "older." He winked and got into his car. He drove away in a cloud of dust, while Jerome, Sylvesters predecessor, ran alongside, barking.

Moonlight wanted to die. From that moment on shed never had a kind word to say about her brothers friend.

For the rest of the afternoon, the memory of the teenaged Dougs mocking laugh followed Molly Smith around the hills. He didnt seem to have been laughing at her today, though. Perhaps, she told herself, hed forgotten what had happened and was genuinely interested in talking about the old days. Hed never dated Meredith, far as Smith knew, and hed probably forgotten all about Moonlights awkward attempt at asking him out.

But it was still so mortifying.