The dispatcher pulled a tissue out of the box beside the screen monitoring the cells. Tonights only guests of the city were Jake and Felicia LeBlanc. The town drunks. Theyd been at a party and had gotten into a screaming and hitting match on their way home. In a breach of seasonal spirit they were not sharing a family cell.

Ingrid wiped at her eyes. "I hate Christmas, okay. My sister, my big sister who I adored, died on Christmas day. Cancer. I was twelve and she was sixteen. My parents wouldnt take me to the hospital to see her one last time. Didnt want to spoil my Christmas."

"Gee, Ingrid. Im sorry."

"You tell anyone that, Smith, and youll be answering every domestic we get for the next year." Ingrid blew her nose. She was in her late fifties, with short hair the color of a rusty battleship, and hard eyes. Smith didnt know anything about Ingrids background. Other than over the radio, theyd never exchanged more than five words at a time.

"Why dont the parents phone the sister? This isnt news that should come from a stranger."

Ingrid threw up her hands. "I dont know. They asked us to send someone around to inform the group in person."

"Ingrid..."

"Dawns gone to the fire. Might be there a long time if they have trouble controlling it. Caldwells at an OD. Found a nice package of white power while he was there."

"Send the Mounties."

"Molly."

"Okay, okay. Ill pop round. Not as if I have anything to do Christmas morning anyway."

Try as she might to remain aloof, Wendy found herself forgetting her troubles and falling into the spirit of things. Presents were opened, snacks eaten, champagne drunk, more champagne drunk. The presents the friends gave each other were frivolous stuff: chocolates, bath salts, silly puzzles, costume jewelry.

Alan gave Sophie a barely-there peach nightgown. Sophie turned red and covered her face with the thin fabric while Mrs. Carmine broke into giggles. Their landlady had definitely had too much Champagne.

Mrs. Cs gift to Kathy was a set of flannel pajamas, and Kathy gave her mother an electric kettle.

Lorraine clutched the tiny blue box that was her present and watched the festivities with a gentle smile on her face.

Wendy refused to open her gift from Jason without him present.

As they hadnt seen Ewan since yesterday, and everyone a.s.sumed hed found more hospitable accommodations, they opened the gifts from him.

Finally there were only a handful of wrapped presents under the tree. Gifts to Jason and Ewan, and Wendys from her brother.

"Something must be wrong," Lorraine said, staring at the small pile of gifts. "Why isnt he here?"

"Because he doesnt wanna be," Wendy said. She took the last piece of shortbread. Homemade, packed with so much b.u.t.ter it melted in her mouth.

"Peraps 'e and Ewan caught up," Sophie said in her strong Quebec accent, rubbing her fingers through the fabric of her gift as if she were already imagining the feel of it against her body. And the feel of it being taken off. "And 'e 'ad to go wherever Evans been."

"Im sure youre right, Sophie," Mrs. C said. "Thats a perfectly sensible explanation. Good heavens look at the time. Kathy, help me do up the dishes. What time would you like breakfast in the morning?"

"Breakfast," Rob shouted, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. "Perish the thought. I cant think of breakfast."

"Well you have to if were going to be on the slopes early," Alan said.

The seven of them-Jason, his sister, and five of his friends-had come to B.C. for two weeks skiing. They were all university students. Jason, Ewan, and Alan had grown up together in Oakville, allowing, sometimes, Wendy, the kid sister, to tag along. Alan had gone to McGill, the University in Montreal, where hed met Sophie, the Quebecois.

Rob had been Jasons roommate first year and theyd stayed friends. Wendy didnt quite know where Jeremy fit in.

For as long as Wendy could remember Jason and Ewan had been best friends. Ewan-Jason, Jason-Ewan. So close they might as well have hyphenated their names. Shed grown up tagging along after Jason and his friends, and shed always had a bit of a crush on Ewan. Who never paid the slightest bit of attention to her. Hed disappeared only a few days into their two-week vacation, but no one even considered worrying about him. Typical Ewan, they all thought. As hed been temporarily between girlfriends, hed started looking for something to lay before theyd even gotten off the plane at tiny Castlegar airport.

This vacation was Jasons idea, formulated after last years incredibly dull New Years Eve at a house party. Hed found the B&B on the Internet and had been early enough to book the entire place. The group had gathered at Toronto airport. Flown to Calgary and then to Castlegar. Jason had arranged the rental of a seven-seater SUV with a ski compartment on the roof. Bags, friends, skis, presents were loaded aboard, and theyd headed for Trafalgar and their Christmas vacation.

They were gathering their gifts, leaving the cleaning up and dishes to Mrs. C. and Kathy-they were paying guests, after all, no matter how homey Mrs. C. made the place-when the doorbell rang.

Lorraine ran to the door like a greyhound out of the starting gate. Wendy followed, prepared to give her brother a piece of her mind. Shed only come on this stupid trip because hed asked her. She had plenty of other things she could have done with her vacation.

"Alain," Sophie said, "I am going to bed. You can come with me or stay to 'ave a drink with your ami, Jason. Not both."

Alans feet hit the stairs, hard.

"As for me," Jeremy said, "Ill have another drink. Tell Jas and Ewan to get in here. I hope to h.e.l.l they brought more booze."

Lorraine threw open the door. Wendy and Mrs. C. crowded behind.

It wasnt Jason.

The woman was young, probably not much older than Wendy herself. Very pretty with an oval face, sharp, high cheekbones, pert nose, and large blue eyes. Cheeks and plump lips were reddened with cold. She was tall and, much as one could tell with the way she was bundled up, in good shape. Snowflakes fell on the shoulders of her blue coat and blue-trimmed hat.

For a brief moment Wendy dared hope this was a strip-o-gram, bringing a raunchy holiday greeting from friends back in Ontario. But the police uniform was too perfect. And the woman was not smiling.

The cop shifted her feet and took off her hat, revealing short hair the color of ripening corn.

"Lorraine?" she said, blinking in surprise. Behind her, reflected in the street lights, snow fell steadily.

"Are you following me, Molly? You cant come in here. I know my rights. I havent done anything. Mrs. Carmine." Lorraine darted to safety behind the landladys chubby form. "Tell her to go away. Tell her to stop bothering me."

"Im sorry," the officer said. "Lorraine, I didnt know you were here. Honest." She sounded hesitant, unsure of herself. It was none of Wendys business, but she never minded seeing pretty young women slapped into place. Interesting, that this representative of the law and Jasons holiday amus.e.m.e.nt were on a first name basis.

"You didnt?" Lorraine squeaked.

"No, I didnt. Sorry if I frightened you, Lorraine. Im looking for Ms. Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth and Ive been told shes staying here."

Wendy looked around in confusion. Attracted by the voices, Kathy had stuck her head out of the kitchen, and Jeremy and Rob were in the doorway to the common room.

"Youd better come in, Moonlight," Mrs. Carmine said. What the h.e.l.l did the light of the moon have to do with any of this? Wendy thought. "Or youll catch your death. Dreadful night, isnt it? Were cleaning up. Such a lovely party we had. Ill make up a plate for you. Kathy, put the kettle back on and lay out the remainder of the shortbread. See if theres enough cheese left. How dreadful you have to work tonight, dear. Lucky cant be at all happy about that, now can she. Come in, please."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carmine. But I need to speak to Ms. Wyatt-Yarmouth. Is she here?" The womans voice was recovering some of its confidence.

Wendy stepped backward. Pushing Jeremy and Rob aside, into the common room, where the tree was almost devoid of presents. Someone had switched the lights off on the side tables and the beautiful Christmas scenes had gone dark. Only the fireplace still cast a soft yellow glow. The room looked like the set of a play, coming to the end. Wendys heart was in her stomach and, for some strange reason, she was aware of a vein throbbing in her neck. She considered making a run for it, but she didnt know where the back door was.

The police officer walked into the room. She hadnt bothered to remove her boots and coat, as any well mannered visitor would do.

"You must be Ms. Wyatt-Yarmouth. Im Constable Smith, Trafalgar City Police. Id like a few minutes of your time, please." Her big black boots spread sand and snowmelt across the floor.

Wendy looked around. Jeremy was holding his beer bottle behind his back, and staring at the place where the womans jacket was pulled up, revealing the black gun at her hip. Mrs. Carmine was ringing her hands, finally understanding that this was not a social call of the sort that necessitated tea and shortbread. Kathy and the boys just stared. Lorraine had disappeared. Upstairs, in Alan and Sophies room, a floorboard creaked and a toilet flushed.

The heat of the gas fireplace was hot against the back of Wendys legs. "It wasnt my fault. Go away."

"Id appreciate it if you and your guests could give us some privacy, Mrs. Carmine," the cop said.

Mrs. C waved her hands as if she were gathering chickens into the hen house. "Im sure its nothing to worry about. Lets go into the kitchen, shall we. My late husband was rather fond of his Cognac, nothing but the best would do, and theres something in the back of the cupboard. Why dont I fetch you one, Wendy. Im sure Moonlight would enjoy a sip as well. Kathy," Mrs. C snapped. "I said, come into the kitchen."

They fled. Leaving Wendy alone with Barbie-plays-cop.

"Im very sorry, Ms. Wyatt-Yarmouth, but I have to inform you that..."

Chapter Four.

Smith stepped into the night. Snow was still falling and the wind was still blowing. The street was deserted, everyone at home with their loved ones.

She pulled her collar up around her neck and dug in her pockets looking for her gloves. Light from the streetlamps was dim in the falling snow. It was only two blocks to her apartment, and she walked through deserted streets, enjoying the sound of snow crunching under her feet.

The wind was a problem, but all this snow promised great skiing. She had to work tomorrow, Christmas day, much to her mothers dismay, then she had four whole days off. The hills would be packed with tourists, but it would still be quite wonderful. Even at the height of the tourist rush, there wasnt too much of a crowd at the double black diamonds, where Molly Smith went to ski.

What a miserable business that had been. Many officers said that informing people of the death of a loved one was the worst part of the job. Tonight had been Smiths first time. Evans was senior to her, he should have done it. Sergeant Caldwell should have done it.

Anyone but her.

As she tried, gently as possible, to inform Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth of the death of her brother and his friend, she couldnt help but be aware of the piles of cast-off gift wrap littering the floor, the gla.s.ses stained with reside of eggnog and wine, half-eaten cookies and crackers and smears of cheese and pte on paper plates decorated with a cheerful a.s.sortment of holiday motifs.

And, under the huge, perfectly shaped and decorated Christmas tree, one heartbreakingly small pile of gifts, waiting to be opened.

Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth had crumpled to the floor like a rag doll left out in the spring rains, while Smith shifted her feet and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Obviously Mrs. Carmine and the whole crew had been listening at the door; theyd come running into the sitting room at Wendys moan.

a.s.sured that Wendy would be taken good care of, Smith left. Feeling like absolute c.r.a.p.

Mrs. Carmine walked Smith to the door. She looked like Mrs. Santa Claus, all steel grey hair and red clothes and white ap.r.o.n. "They forget, these young ones, so proud of themselves, so sure of their invulnerability, protected by money and arrogance, they forget what weather can do."

She touched Smiths arm. "Say Merry Christmas to your parents, will you? Tell Lucky she left her plate here after our pot luck the other night."

"Sure, Mrs. Carmine. Sure." Smith had stuffed her hat onto her head, faced the wind and headed back to the patrol car.

It might be time to start looking for a job in a big city, Vancouver, say, or Calgary. Even Toronto. Toronto was advertising for experienced police officers, but Smith was, she admitted to herself, afraid to venture too far away. Shed never been further east than Calgary; Ontario was as foreign and exotic as the Orient. Although the advantage of Toronto was that she could be pretty much guaranteed that the citizenry would not tell her to say hi to her parents or know that her given name was Moonlight. Moonlight Legolas Smith. Legolas being a character in The Lord of the Rings, of which her parents, hippies, draft-dodgers, idealists, had been exceptionally fond. What a name for a cop.

Smiths mother, Lucy, whom everyone called Lucky, was no less idealistic now than shed been back in the day. Which also didnt make it easy to be an Officer of the Law in this opinionated, left-leaning, artistic, independently-inclined town nestled in the mountains and forests deep inside British Columbia.

That it was also beautiful, creative, invigorating, and a place of independent minds, was, well, something shed rather not think about as she pondered whether shed have to move to the big city. If she wanted her career to go anywhere, she probably did. Trafalgar was generally a peaceful town. No gun battles in the streets, no gangs, no organized crime or street prost.i.tution. Not much in the way of hard drugs, although there were almost as many grow-ops as citizens, and marijuana was, despite being illegal, the areas most famous, and most profitable, crop. Murder was rare, and when it did happen, was usually solved quickly.

Trafalgar wasnt a place to get good policing experience.

But it was her home. And she didnt want to imagine living anyplace else.

She made her way up the back stairs to her apartment. She particularly enjoyed her new place when she got off duty at six a.m. to be welcomed by the scent of fresh bread and croissants, straight out of the ovens of the bakery below, wafting up the stairs. Tonight, a brown bag full of left-over baking sat on the landing in front of her door. She scooped it up, peeked at the contents, and let herself in.

Shed moved out of her parents house in the fall, realizing that it was time to become a real adult. Shed never lived alone before, and was afraid she wouldnt like it. Shed moved out of the parental home into res at university-all giggling girls, parties, booze and drugs, and serious study-then an apartment with Graham, her fiance. When Graham was knifed and left to die beside a garbage container in Vancouver she returned to her parents house by the river.

She loved living on her own. She could play her choice of music, watch what she wanted on TV, cook what she wanted to eat, leave the bed unmade for days, and the dishes unwashed, and the floor unswept, if she felt like it.

Shed been lucky to get this place. Shed seen the apartment in the summer when they investigated a murder in the alley behind, and had loved it even while poking around looking for evidence. But the time hadnt been right for her to move, and when she did inquire, someone else had taken it.

That someone else only stayed for a month and when he left, Alphonse, the landlord, called to ask if she still wanted it. The apartment was on the second floor of an old building on Front Street, Trafalgars main thoroughfare. Alphonses traditional French bakery took up the ground floor, filling her dreams-and the clothes hanging in her closet-with wonderful smells. She thought shed miss the dark nights and clear skies and quiet of her family home, but found that she liked living in town. Still, the first thing shed done was to hang a couple of big heavy blankets over the thin blinds at the bedroom window directly across from a street lamp.

Shed placed a small chair at the door, so she could sit down and take off her boots the minute she stepped inside. She walked into the bedroom, took off her belt and locked her gun in the safe. Back to the kitchen for a closer inspection of the contents of Alphonses brown paper bag. A slice of apple tart and a half-sized whole wheat baguette. Did they make whole wheat baguettes in France?-maybe not, but despite advertising his bakery as traditional, if Alphonse wanted to survive in Trafalgar, British Columbia, he had to make what the customers wanted.

And people in Trafalgar wanted organic, natural, local, and healthy.

She tore the loaf into hunks, spread b.u.t.ter on the exposed ends, and took a bite.

She should go to bed, but she was still wound up from the shift. Imagine going off the road and into the river. Imagine sitting there, in your car, and not being able to get the door or windows open. Sitting there while the car filled with water and the air ran out.

Better not go there. Second rule of the job-dont take it home.

She filled the kettle and poured hot chocolate powder into a mug. When the drink was ready, she carried it and her food into the living room. She was expected to be at her parents house first thing in the morning for presents and spend the day with them, suitably cheerful and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with holiday spirit. Shed help her mom in the kitchen, go for a walk with her dad and the dog, eat an enormous turkey dinner, and then head home to change and be at work by three. She wouldnt even be able to have a gla.s.s of wine with the meal.

She switched on the TV and DVD player and settled down to watch the end of the boring movie shed rented yesterday. She should have known better than to choose a film the guys in the lunch room were talking about. She finished her baguette, sipped hot chocolate, and started in on the apple tart. Even better than her mother made. There would be apple pie for dinner tomorrow-later today, that was-and banana cream, her dads favorite. Smith liked banana cream pie just fine, but some years ago her mother had gotten it into her head that her daughters favorite was apple. And so there was always an apple pie.

Shed rather sleep for eight hours and pop over to the house for a quick exchange of presents and brunch. But, particularly as her brother Sam and his family were not coming this year, her mom was determined to fit the whole Christmas experience into the few hours Molly had off work.

By the time the final credits of the movie ran, she was asleep on the couch.

Dead. Jason was dead.

Wendy lay in bed, her eyes wide open. A street lamp burned outside her window, throwing yellow light through the thin curtains.

Mrs. Carmine had been all brisk efficiency. Showing the cop to the door, shooing the onlookers away, telling Rob to use her car to take the sobbing Lorraine home, taking charge of Wendy, whod been reduced to having as much muscle control as a rag doll. Mrs. C had ordered Jeremy to take Wendy upstairs to her room, which hed done in sort of a half-carry. Mrs. C followed, ordered Jeremy out, flicked through the wardrobe and found pajamas and a warm blue robe. She unbound Wendys hair and stripped her down to bra and panties. Pulling and stuffing, pajamas had gone on. She placed the robe at the end of the bed, in case it was needed in the night, pulled the homemade quilt up to Wendys chin, switched off the light, and whispered goodnight.

Jason was dead, and Ewan along with him. Fitting somehow, that they went off the road together.

Or so the cop had said, but the police werent perfect. They got things wrong all the time, didnt they? That officer, the woman, she was young, obviously inexperienced. Embarra.s.sed and awkward, in her big boots, dripping hat, and ill-fitting gun belt. Who knew what mistakes she might make.

Yup, that was it. The cops had, typically, made a mistake. Jason would be here in the morning, shouting for coffee and breakfast, apologizing for keeping everyone waiting. Charming Mrs. Carmine and yelling that they were going to the hill and hed leave anyone behind who wasnt ready in five minutes.

And Ewan?

No one would care what happened to Ewan.