A Cold White Sun: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Series) by Vicki Delany

about one week a month in Victoria.”
Winters said nothing. If Lindsay was away from home on a regular basis, his wife could be up to just about anything in his absence.
“Did you kill your wife, Mr. Lindsay?” Winters asked.
Lindsay didn’t react. No doubt he’d been expecting the question. “No, Sergeant, I did not. We had a good marriage, a solid marriage, and I loved her very much.” The muscles in his face twisted, but the tears did not fall.
“Is your son at home?”
He grimaced. “It’s daylight, so Bradley’s at home. Sleeping probably, or pretending he’s leading a counterattack on an invading alien army. If Cathy and I did have our differences, it was over that boy. She thought he was going through a stage, and we have to be patient. I thought, I think, he needs to have his head slapped and his allowance cut off.”
“I’d like to speak with him.”
Lindsay got to his feet. “I’ll see if he’s receiving visitors.”
The front door opened, and voices poured into the house. A smile lit up Gord Lindsay’s face. “My daughter, Jocelyn. Home from the movies with her grandparents.”
“While you’re getting Bradley, I’d like to speak to Jocelyn.”
“Checking my alibi?”
“Checking everything. How old is she?”
“Ten.”
“You or one of her grandparents can be in the room while we’re talking.”
“Count on it.” Lindsay opened the door. “Ralph!”
“Saw the cop car out there. Don’t know why you’re bothering Gord when there’s a killer on the loose.”
“My father-in-law, Ralph Podwarsky,” Lindsay made the introductions.
Podwarsky was a big man, solid and weather-beaten with a permanent tan and folds in the skin of his face as deep as trenches. His gray beard was unkempt, his eyebrows long and bushy. His fingernails were ragged and broken, the hands scratched and scarred. Cold gray eyes studied Winters and did not look away.
“Routine questions,” Winters said.
If he hadn’t been inside, standing on a soft beige carpet, Winters thought the man would have spat.
A girl came to stand behind her grandfather. He put a rough hand protectively on her thin shoulder.
“Tell Bradley the police want to talk to him, Ralph. Please,” Lindsay said.
Podwarsky grunted and walked away. The girl slipped into the room. Keeping her eyes fixed on Molly Smith, she went to her father and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
“Good movie?” Lindsay asked.
“Okay.” Huge brown eyes in a frightened face.
“You’re Jocelyn, right?” Winters asked.
She nodded.
“Why don’t we sit down? Constable Smith has a couple of questions for you. Is that okay, Jocelyn?”
Smith kept her surprise to herself. She might be in uniform, her belt jangling with weapons and equipment, heavy boots dirtying the carpet, but her blond hair was tied back in a stubby ponytail, her face soft and pretty, her cheeks pink with the heat from the fireplace. Winters knew nothing about children and hoped Jocelyn would relate better to a young woman than a grumpy old man.
“I know this is really tough on you, Jocelyn,” Smith began. Her voice hit a high note, and she coughed once to clear it. Her face flushed. “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, is that okay?”
“Can my dad stay?”
“Sure.”
“Okay.”
“Did you see your mom yesterday morning?”
The girl shook her head. Her long brown hair was tied into a neat braid.
“Did you notice what time it was when you got up?”
“No.”
“Was it still dark outside?”
The girl shook her head. “The sun was up, and it was snowing. Mom was going to make a special breakfast ’cause it was the first day of March Break and we were going skiing after.”
“Was your dad in the house?” Smith didn’t look at Gord Lindsay.
Another nod. “I was hungry, but Dad said we had to wait until Mom got home. We waited a long time. Then Dad cooked breakfast.”
“Was your dad in the house all morning?”
“After we ate he went out to look for Mom.”
“Which is