Read Online Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier by Vicki Delany - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vicki Delany
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furniture.
“You okay?” Smith asked.
“Why doesn’t he stop this? He has to know that he’s only making me mad at him. Even if I’d ever considered going out with him, I sure wouldn’t now.”
“He doesn’t know anything of the sort. He thinks he’s reminding you of his devotion. And that you’ll eventually come around to seeing things his way.”
Christa started to cry. Her face was so red and blotchy, it was obvious this wasn’t the night’s first crying jag. She shifted her right hip to pull an almost worn-through tissue from the pocket of her shorts.
“I’ll make tea,” Smith said. “Come sit at the table.” She held out her hand.
Christa took it and Smith pulled her friend to her feet. She wrapped the other woman in a fierce hug. When they separated Smith said, “My mom believes that tea holds the secret to the solution of all life’s problems. And you know my mom’s a wise woman.”
Christa cracked a smile. “I do. How are your folks anyway? I’ve been so busy I haven’t been over for a visit in a long time.”
“Not good, I fear.” Smith knew her way around this kitchen as well as her mother’s. She lit the gas on the stove and placed the kettle on the element. “I’m trying not to notice it, but they’re hardly talking to each other. Mom is so into this peace garden, it’s consuming her.”
“Lucky’s always been like that. You remember when the province removed funding from women’s second stage housing? I was surprised she didn’t have us all manning the barricades. Like in
Les Misérables
. And when that politician told her it was a financial decision? He was lucky to leave with his head on his shoulders.” Christa laughed. “There’s a loaf of bread from Alphonse’s in the cupboard, and cheese in the fridge. I can’t normally afford anything from there—four bucks for a loaf of bread, whew, but I needed a treat.”
Not the time, Smith thought, to remember Alphonse’s Bakery and the alley behind it. “It’s not just Mom rushing to the barricades, to use your analogy, and Dad supporting her. They’re on opposite sides on this one. He thinks the park’s a bad idea.”
“Are they fighting a lot?”
“No. And that isn’t good. They’ve always fought—they’re both so passionate about things—but now they’re hardly speaking. It’s creepy. Kinda like a horror movie when everything goes quiet and you know the monster’s about to crash through the walls.”
“Bummer.” Christa was an only child; her mother had died when she was in primary school, her father devastated by the death. She’d been unofficially raised by the Smith family.
Smith put the loaf onto the table, along with margarine and a pie-shaped wedge of brie. The kettle whistled, and she poured hot water into the brown tea pot with the broken handle. “It’s two AM and I’m not here to talk about my mom and dad. Spill, kid.”
Christa explained about taking the phone off the hook, the knocking on the door, the neighbor screaming at her.
Smith munched on bread and cheese. “If you just wanna talk, go ahead. But if you want my advice, you already have it.”
Christa stirred milk into her mug. “I have to get some work done or I’ll fail this course.”
Smith watched a fly trying to find its way out the window over the sink.
“Okay, I’ll make a complaint.”
Smith knew how hard this decision was for her: no matter how harshly life treated her, Christa always believed the best of people. “Charlie Bassing might look like a tough guy, but he’s a weasly no-account nerd beneath all that steroid-enhanced muscle. No point in calling right now, you’ll get night dispatch. Go down to the station tomorrow, that’ll be best. You want me to come with you?”
Christa nodded.
“I’m on this special assignment, so I’m busy in the morning. Perhaps we can meet up at the station.” Smith was dying to tell her friend about the investigation and her part in it. But Christa was looking
“You okay?” Smith asked.
“Why doesn’t he stop this? He has to know that he’s only making me mad at him. Even if I’d ever considered going out with him, I sure wouldn’t now.”
“He doesn’t know anything of the sort. He thinks he’s reminding you of his devotion. And that you’ll eventually come around to seeing things his way.”
Christa started to cry. Her face was so red and blotchy, it was obvious this wasn’t the night’s first crying jag. She shifted her right hip to pull an almost worn-through tissue from the pocket of her shorts.
“I’ll make tea,” Smith said. “Come sit at the table.” She held out her hand.
Christa took it and Smith pulled her friend to her feet. She wrapped the other woman in a fierce hug. When they separated Smith said, “My mom believes that tea holds the secret to the solution of all life’s problems. And you know my mom’s a wise woman.”
Christa cracked a smile. “I do. How are your folks anyway? I’ve been so busy I haven’t been over for a visit in a long time.”
“Not good, I fear.” Smith knew her way around this kitchen as well as her mother’s. She lit the gas on the stove and placed the kettle on the element. “I’m trying not to notice it, but they’re hardly talking to each other. Mom is so into this peace garden, it’s consuming her.”
“Lucky’s always been like that. You remember when the province removed funding from women’s second stage housing? I was surprised she didn’t have us all manning the barricades. Like in
Les Misérables
. And when that politician told her it was a financial decision? He was lucky to leave with his head on his shoulders.” Christa laughed. “There’s a loaf of bread from Alphonse’s in the cupboard, and cheese in the fridge. I can’t normally afford anything from there—four bucks for a loaf of bread, whew, but I needed a treat.”
Not the time, Smith thought, to remember Alphonse’s Bakery and the alley behind it. “It’s not just Mom rushing to the barricades, to use your analogy, and Dad supporting her. They’re on opposite sides on this one. He thinks the park’s a bad idea.”
“Are they fighting a lot?”
“No. And that isn’t good. They’ve always fought—they’re both so passionate about things—but now they’re hardly speaking. It’s creepy. Kinda like a horror movie when everything goes quiet and you know the monster’s about to crash through the walls.”
“Bummer.” Christa was an only child; her mother had died when she was in primary school, her father devastated by the death. She’d been unofficially raised by the Smith family.
Smith put the loaf onto the table, along with margarine and a pie-shaped wedge of brie. The kettle whistled, and she poured hot water into the brown tea pot with the broken handle. “It’s two AM and I’m not here to talk about my mom and dad. Spill, kid.”
Christa explained about taking the phone off the hook, the knocking on the door, the neighbor screaming at her.
Smith munched on bread and cheese. “If you just wanna talk, go ahead. But if you want my advice, you already have it.”
Christa stirred milk into her mug. “I have to get some work done or I’ll fail this course.”
Smith watched a fly trying to find its way out the window over the sink.
“Okay, I’ll make a complaint.”
Smith knew how hard this decision was for her: no matter how harshly life treated her, Christa always believed the best of people. “Charlie Bassing might look like a tough guy, but he’s a weasly no-account nerd beneath all that steroid-enhanced muscle. No point in calling right now, you’ll get night dispatch. Go down to the station tomorrow, that’ll be best. You want me to come with you?”
Christa nodded.
“I’m on this special assignment, so I’m busy in the morning. Perhaps we can meet up at the station.” Smith was dying to tell her friend about the investigation and her part in it. But Christa was looking
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