Part 26 (1/2)
”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.