Stockdale accompanied her into the kitchen. Pots boiled and frying pans sizzled. She remembered the salmon burger shed never had the chance to eat the last time shed been here. The kitchen staff obediently looked at her picture, but no one recognized Ewan. Not a surprise-he would have been unlikely to venture into the kitchen.
"Lift operators?" Stockdale asked.
"I guess." She wasnt optimistic. All day long, the lift operators saw nothing but the shape of bodies and if they did look at faces, they were likely to see nothing much more than goggles and helmets.
But she asked anyway, and got the answers she expected.
"The glamorous life of a detective," Stockdale said as they walked back to the lodge.
"Lets check ski patrol before I give up," she said. "Someone might have been having lunch at the time in question and seen something."
Stockdales radio squawked. "Be right there," he said. He turned to Molly. "Someones remembered something."
The woman who cooked the fries met them as they came through the doors. A young woman in slim white jeans and a white sweater with the Blue Sky logo over the right pocket stood beside her. She was much shorter than Molly and as thin as a ski pole. Her long hair, black highlighted with streaks of copper, swung in a ponytail that reached halfway down her back. Her skin was golden, with high flat cheekbones, and she was exceptionally pretty.
"Show the picture to Marilyn," the woman said.
Smith held it out and the girl took it.
"Thats him," she said, almost immediately. "Positive."
"Marilyns my daughter," the woman explained. "Shes a cashier. She was on her break when you came by. I told her about the guy youre looking for and she asked to have a look. Right, dear?"
"I can talk, you know, Mom," Marilyn said.
"You remember seeing this man?" Smith asked.
"Yes, I do." Marilyn glanced at her mother out of the corner of her eyes.
Smith said, "Thank you very much, Mrs...."
"Monroe. Im Janice Monroe."
That would make her daughters name...Marilyn Monroe? Marilyn read Smiths face. She was probably used to the expression. "Im Marilyn Chow. When my parents divorced my mother went back to her maiden name. I chose not to change."
No need to wonder why.
"Thank you for your help, Ms. Monroe. I dont want to keep you any longer," Smith said. A small lineup was forming at the serving counter. Although no one seemed in much of a hurry to be served: they were all watching the police officer question the women.
"You can go back to work now, Janice." Stockdale said, not as politely as Smith had done.
Janice Monroe tilted her chin and returned to her station. Marilyn sighed audibly.
"Im not actually looking for this man," Smith said. "He...uh...isnt missing. But we would like to speak to a woman he met here, at the resort, on December twenty-third. She was dressed in a white ski suit. They had lunch together. If you can give me any information about the woman, Id appreciate it."
"Why?" she said. Her dark eyes studied Smith.
"As part of an ongoing police investigation."
"Which doesnt answer my question, but never mind." Marilyn took a step backward and held out her arms. "Not exactly ski clothes. But this might be white enough for you. I had lunch with the guy in the photo that day."
A man was leaning off the edge of his chair, so obviously trying to hear better he was about to drop onto the floor. Smith glanced at Stockdale.
"My office," he said. "Lets go."
Marilyn Chow had met Ewan Williams on December twenty-second when he paid for his lunch. Hed smiled and flirted and she hissed at him that hed get her fired if he didnt move on. He paid twenty dollars too much for his food. She put the money in the tip jar to share with the rest of the staff.
He took a table close to the checkouts and watched her as he ate his lunch. Meal finished he bought a coffee. Coffee drunk, he went for a slice of blueberry pie. His friends had stopped at his table, and asked why he wasnt sitting with them. "Because Ive found the spot that has the perfect view hed said, with one eye on Marilyn. His friends had gone off shaking their heads.
Time came for her break and shed left her checkout. He stood up as she pa.s.sed his table. "Im in a relationship," she said, and ran for the stairs.
He didnt follow.
The next morning he was in the breakfast line. As he paid for his coffee he pulled a fresh red rose out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "What time do you take lunch?" he asked.
Marilyn was in a relationship, but it was getting wobbly. "Eleven," shed said. "Before the rush."
"Ill reserve a table."
At ten to eleven he walked into the lodge. He gathered up his friends backpacks and placed them across the seats at a long table in an alcove toward the back, thus reserving the entire area.
He slipped up behind her, as she accepted the money for two hot chocolates, and whispered, "Anything you dont eat, Madame?"
Charmed, shed laughed. "I eat anything and everything."
He soon was back to pay, pushing two trays along the line. Salmon burger with side salad, spinach salad, sweet potato soup, hamburger and fries, curried chicken and rice, Thai noodle salad, scrambled tofu.
"Anything and everything," he said as she racked up the bill.
Yes, yes. All terribly charming. Smith steered the conversation to the evening in question.
"He didnt show," Marilyn said.
"You were going to meet where?"
"Six oclock at the Bishop and Nun in Trafalgar. I waited for an hour and left. I dont hang around in bars waiting for men who cant be bothered to show up."
Smith would bet a years pay that Marilyn was not accustomed to being stood up.
Marilyn had taken the visitors chair in Stockdales office. The security chief sat behind his own desk. Molly Smith leaned against the wall. Marilyn was so tiny, so incredibly lovely, that she made Smith, in her heavy boots, uniform and gunbelt, feel like G.o.dzilla.
"And that was the end of that." The girl shrugged. "I gave him my number. He never called."
"You dont seem too upset," Stockdale said.
"His loss."
Molly Smith wondered what it must be like to have that much confidence in yourself. "Did you see him again? Or hear from him?"
"Nope. Look, I figured Id go out with him that night, check him out, right? What the h.e.l.l, he was good looking, sure knew how to lay it on, and seemed to be rolling in dough. My boyfriend and I were having problems. I agreed to meet Ewan in town after I got off work. It didnt exactly break my heart when he didnt show. Tell you the truth, Constable Smith, I went home and phoned my boyfriend. We had a long talk and I think that when he gets back after the holidays well be okay."
Marilyn fidgeted in her chair. "I need to go back to work now. Its not fair to May for her to be the only one on cash."
"Were done here. Thank you for your time."
Marilyn stood up. "Ive seen you before, Constable Smith, skiing. Heres a tip: try the Shanghai noodle bowl. It is to die for."
Smith grinned, liking this young woman very much. "Are you trying to bribe an officer, Ms. Chow?"
"Guaranteed."
Marilyn put her hand on the door.
She turned around. "Hey, I never asked. Why all the questions? Im guessing Ewan was up to some trouble that night. What happened to him anyway?"
Chapter Twenty-one.
Wendy Wyatt-Yarmouth opened her eyes. Shed fallen asleep, fully dressed, draped across the bed. The weak winter sun was slanting through her window, the angle low. She must have slept for hours.
She pushed herself off the bed and went into the tiny bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Hair standing on end, dark circles under her eyes. The necklace shed bought this morning was draped around her throat. She lifted a hand and fingered it. So beautiful. Blue stones set into silver.
And it hadnt been all that expensive. Hundred and fifty dollars for a piece of handmade jewelry. Youd pay twice that in Toronto, maybe more.
Shed hesitated at the matching earrings, not sure if her credit card could stretch for another fifty bucks.
Wendy eyed her reflection in the mirror. The blue stones did look great against her white throat, and would look even better with the earrings. What was the worst that could happen? Her card would be rejected: shed act indignant and huff and puff and vow to sort it out. And leave.
Not a problem.
If Doctor Wyatt-Yarmouth Number Two got wind of how much Wendys credit card was carrying, shed have a fit, but what did it matter. Jason was dead. Which proved what they said: life was short. Live fast; die young. And then her parents could take care of her bills.
Wendy grabbed her leather coat and left the room. She didnt bother to lock the door behind her. Her suspicions at the room having been broken into were largely forgotten. Besides, what did it matter? Shed tossed her underwear, including the lavender bits, into a trash bin on the street corner and bought more. Who would have thought that in a town the size of Trafalgar one could find an exclusive lingerie shop?
Before selecting what shed come for, the blue and silver earrings, Wendy wandered through the gallery again. The large s.p.a.cious room was full of soft winter light, the floor a warm blond wood, the walls aging brick. Items on display, gla.s.s and wood, copper and iron, paint on canvas and paper, were arranged with care and without clutter, allowing the beauty of the gallery itself to draw shoppers in. The woman behind the desk wore a hand-painted scarf around her neck and large gold hoops in her ears. She smiled warmly at Wendy in recognition but, with discretion rarely found in sales staff these days, hadnt rushed forward to ask Wendy what she was looking for.
She was studying the prints on the walls when the bell over the front door tinkled. It was that dreadful Lorraine thing. The one who actually thought Jason cared for her. How pitiable was that. The last thing Wendy wanted was to have to speak to the creature. She ducked behind a rack of postcards.
Lorraine drifted through the shop with that slightly crooked gait she had. The b.u.t.tons on her big black coat were undone and the coat flopped behind her as she walked. Her scarf hung limply around her neck and her boots dripped on the wide-plank floors. She pulled her gloves off and stuffed them into a pocket.
Wendy saw the sales clerk rise to her feet, watching the new customer. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched together and the official smile disappeared.
Lorraine lingered over a group of gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Light shone onto them and the b.a.l.l.s shot sparks of color as if from the wand of a magician. She ran her fingers across the surface of one of the b.a.l.l.s. Her nails were plain, chewed to the quick.
The sales clerk rounded the desk watching as Lorraine touched the precious things. "Can I help you with something?" she said. Her voice was not welcoming.
Lorraine didnt turn around. "No thanks, just browsing."
"Let me know if you need anything."
Lorraine made her way toward the jewelry display. Another couple of steps and shed see Wendy hiding behind the wall.
The phone rang. The clerk picked it up, her eyes still on Lorraine. "Good afternoon. This is the Trafalgar Craft Gallery." Her salespersons voice, as chirpy as a cricket, was turned back on.
"I told you not to call here if it isnt important." The clerks eyes met Wendys and she turned to face the wall. "Tell him I said no. Isnt your father home yet?"
Lorraine reached the jewelry display. Eyes on the clerk, whose voice was starting to rise, Lorraine grabbed a gold bracelet. It disappeared into the depths of her coat.
The clerk dropped the phone, letting it swing in the air from the cord, and whirled around. "Hey," she shouted. "I saw that."
"You saw nothing," Lorraine said, jumping back. "You think your stores too good for the likes of me."
"Put that back, right now, or Im calling the police." The woman gathered the phone, and hung up on the person yelling at her from the other end. A large gilt-framed mirror behind the cash register showed Wendy most of the back end of the shop. Obviously, it was not just there for display.
Lorraine headed across the floor. "Nothing to put back. Screw you, you stuck up old n.a.z.i."
Wendy ran out from the alcove, through the gallery, and jumped in front of Lorraine as the girl reached for the door. "I saw her take it," Wendy shouted to the sales clerk. "Its in her coat."
Lorraines eyes widened as she recognized Wendy. "You b.i.t.c.h."
"Thought you were good enough for my brother did you?" She pitched her voice too low for the sales clerk to hear. "I wonder what hed think now."
Lorraine dug into her pocket, and pulled out the bracelet. It wasnt even a particularly good one, just a thin bit of ten-carat gold. She threw it on the floor. "Here, you can have it."
"Ive called the police," the clerk said.
"Too late to give it back then," Wendy said, feeling quite smug.
Molly Smith was also feeling pleased with herself. As ordered, shed found the woman Ewan Williams met at the ski resort, and the woman had a lot to tell them about Williams activities the day he died.
Perhaps shed make a detective yet.
She backed the patrol car into its bay and went into the station. She scratched the back of her arm and said h.e.l.lo to Jim Denton, huddling over his computers and consoles.
"Whats up?"
"Shoplifter nabbed in the act. Theyre bringing her in."
"Ill see if they need a hand."
She went back downstairs. The patrol car would drive into the garage, doors would close, and the officers would take the prisoner out of the vehicle to be processed in the adjoining room. And put in the cells, if necessary.