In the Shadow of the Glacier (19 page)

“Morning, folks.” Greg, the CNC cameraman, pulled up a chair. The waitress hurried over with Rich’s orange juice and another menu.

“Good program, I hear,” he said. “How’s the pancakes?”

“Adequate.”

Greg shut the menu with a snap and smiled at Meredith. “How are you this morning?”

She smiled back. Rich bristled. Greg was in his early thirties, muscular from carrying camera equipment everywhere, darkly tanned from an assignment in the Middle East. Rich had invited Meredith up to his room last night, to watch the program and have a drink. She’d refused.

“I’m interested in this Grizzly Resort,” he said. “The place Montgomery was developing. It has potential to be a good story. I called Irene last night, and asked her to find out what she can about the company. Two-man operation, sounds like. Trying to bring jobs and development to this area. Of course, the local animal rights hysterics are up in arms.”

“I don’t think,” Meredith said, “hysterics is the proper word. People in Trafalgar are concerned about the environment, that’s all.”

Rich stuffed a slice of pancake into his mouth.

“We’ll get all sides of the story,” Greg said. “Don’t worry about that.”

Rich swallowed. “I need someone who knows this town, who knows the people, to help me out. You were a great help introducing me to Mrs. Smith, Meredith. I wouldn’t have met her without you. If your bosses don’t want to help us anymore, then why don’t you take a couple days leave and work for CNC? I’ll bet the network pays a hell of a lot better than your provincial newspaper.”

She chewed the lipstick off her mouth. Indecision moved behind the expressive dark eyes.

Rich pushed his plate aside. “I don’t want to pressure you, Meredith, but I have to know now. Time’s important in this business. There’s a job opening coming up at CNC. No promises, but I am not without influence.”

“Really?” Meredith whispered. Indecision retreated and her eyes shone.

Rich wiped his lips with his napkin, tossed it onto the table, and stood up. “Sign the bill, will you, Greg. Are you coming, Meredith? I’ll understand if you’d rather finish your coffee before going to your office.”

She leapt to her feet. “We’ll have to take my car. I can’t use the paper’s car.”

“Before we pay a visit to the surviving owner of the Grizzly Resort, tell me something about Lucy Smith’s daughter. You said she’s a cop here in town. That might make an interesting human interest angle.”

□□□

“Two cancellations. A party of five from Idaho and a couple from Calgary. And it isn’t even nine o’clock yet.” Andy stood in the doorway to Lucky’s office.

“We’ll get other bookings,” she said, not at all sure of herself. “Don’t worry.”

“Of course I’m worried. This publicity’s going to kill us. I can’t imagine what you were thinking to allow that TV hack into our house.”

She stood up. “I was thinking, Andy, that I’d tell our story. Your story, if I remember correctly. Too many people have forgotten what men like you sacrificed for your principles. They need to be reminded, once again. Perhaps you yourself need to be reminded.”

“The world’s moved on, Lucky. No one cares anymore about what happened back in the ’60s. No one but a bunch of aging war resisters who’ve spent the last forty years hibernating up in the mountains.”

“The people in this town care. They want the garden. I care. Barry and Michael, Jane and Norma care. And all the rest of the group.”

“I doubt if Michael even knows where Vietnam is.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that Michael is more interested in getting you into the sack than building a statue.”

“I’ll not dignify that comment with a response. But you, you of all people, how can you say you don’t care?”

“The past is past, Lucky. Times have changed. We’ve lost. The military-industrial complex is stronger than ever. The empire is on the march.”

A heavy glove closed over Lucky’s heart. “I’ll never give up,” she said.

“Hello? Anyone here?” a woman called from the store.

Andy turned.

“Let Duncan take care of it,” Lucky said. “We have to finish this. Where’s Duncan anyway?”

“Getting coffee.” He walked out of the office, a miasma of bitterness and resentment trailing behind him.

□□□

Smith reached Pine Street; he was still in sight, pedaling uphill. If he’d headed down, toward the river, she wouldn’t have a hope of catching up with him. She ran up the hill, yelling into the radio at her shoulder for assistance. Vehicular assistance, she emphasized.

He didn’t look back, just kept pedaling.

“Stop, police,” she yelled. An elderly gentleman out for his morning constitutional looked at her. A smartly dressed businesswoman walking a Pomeranian turned to stare. The Pomeranian barked and lunged toward Smith. Her gun slapped at her hip, her boots weighed her down. The uniform was hot, even in the mild morning sun.

He turned onto the street at the crest of the hill and disappeared. She heard sirens behind her. The cruiser slowed down. Smith wrenched the door open and jumped in.

Dawn Solway pressed her foot on the gas. “What’s up?”

“Next left,” Smith gasped. A stitch dug into her side. “Guy on a bike. Move it.”

They took the corner on two wheels. Nothing but morning dog walkers and people heading to work. The only cyclist was a toddler on a tricycle, colorful ribbons on the handlebars blowing in the breeze.

Smith pounded the dashboard. “He has to be around here somewhere. That alley, turn down there.”

Solway turned, but the alley was empty. She switched off the siren.

“Back up, back up.”

Solway backed up. At this end of town the roadway was a maze of twists and turns; roads went up the mountain, and down again. Or not. One-way streets turned into throughways, and major roads dwindled into nothing. There were streets that ended at sheer cliffs and others that changed name or direction without warning. And because the roads were so unpredictable, walking paths jutted off in all directions.

“Where to?” Solway asked.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Smith hit the dashboard again. “Keep driving.”

“What’d he do?”

“Stole a bike. Stole a goddamned bike while I stood there watching, thinking it was a nice bike. You laugh and I’ll have your guts for garters.”

“I wasn’t laughing.”

“Christ, I can’t believe the nerve of the guy. He didn’t even look around to see if anyone was watching, just snapped the chain and took off.”

“Recognize anything about him?”

“Too far away. Might not have even been a guy, now that I think about it. All baggy pants and oversized T-shirt.”

They drove around, Smith shouting at Solway to stop at every pedestrian they passed, to ask if they’d seen someone on a red bike. No one had.

“Could be anywhere by now,” Solway said. “Holed up in someone’s back yard, most likely. Watching us driving around in circles.”

“Go back to the tourist info center. See if we can find the bike owner. This’ll make the Trafalgar City Police look good—hey, I saw someone steal your bike but couldn’t catch him.”

“You tried, Molly, don’t sweat it. You were on foot, he was on a bike.”

“I just can’t get over the gall. He must have known I was chasing him, or her, but he didn’t even look back when I yelled.”

“Maybe he knew you’d recognize the face.”

“That’s a thought. Which means someone local, or who’s been brought to our attention recently.”

A man was standing outside the tourist info center, looking at the empty bike rack, incomprehension on his face.

Smith’s cell phone rang as Solway pulled up beside him and got out of the car.

“Are you missing something, sir?” Solway said.

“Moonlight, where are you?” Lucky’s voice was tinged with panic.

“Right near you, Mom. I can see the store from here. What’s wrong?”

“Can you come by for a minute?”

“Is Dad okay? Are you okay?”

“I need you in your professional capacity, Moonlight.”

“I’m coming.” Smith jumped out of the car. Solway was making soothing gestures to the wildly gesticulating bicyclist.

“I have to go. Something’s wrong at my parents’.”

“You,” the bicyclist shouted. He was older than she’d thought at first—probably into his forties. His hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven. Sleek black and red bike shirt and shorts on a well-toned frame. He threw his red helmet to the ground. “She said you saw it happen. Was it your coffee break or something? Wrong time of the month to make an arrest?”

“Go, Smith,” Solway said, “I’ll help this gentleman make a statement.” She bent down and picked up the bike chain. “Cheap,” she said. “Easy to cut. I would’ve thought that you’d get better security for such a nice bike.”

Smith left him sputtering his indignation, and sprinted down the street.

No one was in the store. “Mom? Dad?”

“In the back,” Andy Smith called.

She went into the office. Her parents stood together, their arms wrapped around each other. Lucky’s red and grey head was tucked into her husband’s chest. For a moment Smith was happy just to see them together. Then Lucky pulled away. Her face was pale beneath her freckles and tan.

“What’s happened? Sam?”

Andy’s cheeks were red, his mouth set in a tight white line.

Lucky picked a piece of paper up off her desk, holding it by the tips of her fingers as if it were covered in dog dirt. She handed the note to Smith, her hand shaking.

Smith took it. The paper was badly crushed.

Boom, boom

Too bad this isn’t a bomb

But I don’t have enough fertilizer

Yet

Remember Oklahoma

That’s what we do to traitors and deserters

Boom, boom

Chapter Fifteen

Smith let out a long breath. “When did you get this, Mom?”

“It was pushed under the door,” her father said.

“When?”

“It was there when I opened up. I figured it was someone local paying a bill, so I tossed it on your mother’s desk. People in town sometimes don’t bother with the post office, you know that.”

“Where’s the envelope?”

Lucky nodded toward her desk.

Smith looked at the envelope but didn’t pick it up.
Mrs. Smith
and the name and address of the store printed in neat black letters. There was no return address and no stamp.

She punched numbers into her phone. Andy gathered his wife back into his arms and looked at his daughter over Lucky’s shoulder. His eyes were wet.

“Winters.”

“Can you meet me at my parents’ store, John? It’s important.”

“I’m just leaving the Hudson House Hotel. Be there in five.”

The bell over the front door jingled cheerfully. Footsteps crossed the wooden floor.

“Tell them we’re closed, Moonlight, please.”

But it was only Duncan, carrying two coffee mugs with snap-on lids. He was dressed in baggy surfer shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, with Tevas on his feet. “Sorry I took so long. You wouldn’t believe the crowd at Eddie’s.” He smiled at Smith. “Hi, Molly, you look really good today. Doesn’t she always look great in that uniform, Andy?” Finally he appeared to notice their faces. “What’s up?”

Smith held out the letter. “Don’t touch, but have you seen anything like this before?”

Duncan put the mugs down and read. His cheerful smile faded. “That’s awful. It must have been delivered here by mistake. Why would anyone want to bomb our store?”

Lucky gasped.

“Duncan, would you please make my mother a cup of tea,” Smith said.

“I don’t want tea.”

“You need one. Duncan?”

“She can have my coffee.”

“I said tea.” Lucky didn’t drink coffee, and right now she needed sugar. “Dad will have one too.”

“Okay, sure. Tea all around.” The kettle was set out beside a half-sized bar fridge in one corner of the office. Duncan had to go to the washroom to fill it.

The bell over the door rang again. “Molly, where are you?”

“In the back,” she called. Duncan returned with the filled kettle. “After you’ve plugged that in, go and lock the door,” she said. “And turn the sign to closed.”

“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.” Duncan saluted. Smith didn’t think the situation was particularly amusing. He passed Winters on his way out of the office.

Smith held the letter by the corners for the sergeant to read. Lucky would have opened the envelope, taken out the letter, read it, crushed it in her hands, and tossed it in the garbage. Then Andy would have pulled it out and uncrumpled it. Later, it had been passed to Smith, who’d accepted it without a thought. It was unlikely that the fingerprints of the author would be identifiable. But there was never any harm in being careful.

“Nasty,” Winters said.

“Gee, you think?” Andy said. “This is a direct threat to my family and our business.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Smith. Constable, find a bag for the letter and the envelope.”

The kettle switched itself off. Duncan began gathering cups and tea bags, milk and sugar.

“I’ll get a forensic examination started on this right away,” Winters said. “It’s a threat all right, but it’s unlikely that this person has either the inclination or the knowledge to carry it out.”