Under Cold Stone A Constable Molly Smith Mystery Read Online Free PDF

that turned his handsome face ugly.

Chapter Eight
     
LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER RESTAURANT. BANFF, ALBERTA. SATURDAY MORNING.
Lucky knew Paul was estranged from his only son, Matthew. He had been for quite some time, long before the divorce from Karen. The boy, Paul had told her, had a wild streak and a quick temper he couldn’t control. He’d hoped that as Matt got older, out of the tempestuous teenage years, he’d calm down. But that never happened. Matt quit school at seventeen and wandered from one dead-end job to another. He seemed to stay out of trouble, mostly, and for that Paul was grateful. It was all too easy, as Paul Keller well knew, to start down the slippery slope of not having much money but a sense of entitlement that led to crime and eventually prison. The boy kept in touch with his mother and she passed his news on. Matt was pretty much a ski bum these days, drifting from one resort to another, picking up jobs as ski patrol or a ski instructor in the winter, waiting on tables or tending bar in the off-season.
It hadn’t helped, Paul had confided in Lucky, that he, Matt’s father, had been a police officer. In a small town like Trafalgar, the boy felt humiliated every time one of his friends had an encounter with the police or if his dad was the one to answer a call to a house party out of control. The family moved to Calgary when Matt was seventeen, and he refused to go with them. Father and son had argued, angrily, bitterly, said words that could never be unsaid. Karen blamed Paul for her son’s failure; Paul didn’t see it that way. The kid simply didn’t have the fortitude to make something of himself. Paul had only seen Matthew a few times over the years since: a Christmas at Karen’s sister’s, at Paul’s father’s funeral, at the wedding of his daughter Cheryl. The latter had been only a year ago, and Paul thought it was well past time to bury the hatchet. To reconcile. Matt had not agreed. If anything, he seemed angrier at his father than ever. He blamed Paul for the divorce, which seemed odd considering that the boy hadn’t lived with his parents for sixteen years now.
But when families fell out, sense and reason had little, if anything, to do with it.
“Sit down,” Paul ordered now, in a voice Lucky hadn’t heard since their younger days when Constable Keller and Mrs. Smith could often be found on opposite sides of the barricades. Figuratively, and occasionally, literally.
Matt dropped into what had been Lucky’s chair.
“I don’t want any trouble here.” The cook lifted his phone. “Matt, go home.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Paul said.
The cook glanced between the men. “Now that Barry’s scarpered, Matt won’t cause any more trouble.” He shook his head, his long gray hair confined in a net, and went back to the kitchen, mumbling. The waitress slid up to their table. She put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and he shrugged it off with a growl. The girl winced.
Paul pulled over a chair but did not sit down. “First of all, apologize to Mrs. Smith. Then you can tell me what you think you’re doing harassing people at this time of the morning. At any time of the day.”
Matt lifted his head. He studied Lucky. He was a good-looking young man, with high cheekbones and thick black lashes guarding brown eyes that could have been attractive if they had a touch of warmth in them. “So,” he said with a lazy drawl, “this is her . Mom told me you’d taken up with some fancy lady. I thought she meant someone… younger .”
Paul’s face flushed and for a moment Lucky thought he’d strike his son. She said, quickly, “I remember you, Matthew. You used to come into the store to look at the ski equipment. You skied with my daughter, Moonlight, didn’t you?”
Matt’s eyes widened, and then he dipped his head. “Mrs. Smith. Yeah, I remember. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you there.”
“Would that have made a difference?” Paul was still standing, looming over his son.
The policeman,