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Hands in his pockets, he stood there, looking over the lights of town.
    Smith watched Henry. Henry watched Smith.
    “Here it is.” Mrs. Montgomery was back, waving paper in the air. “Two photos, front and back. You can see the inscription here.” She handed him the pictures. “It says ‘To Reginald on his birthday. Love, Mother.’”
    “May I borrow these, Mrs. Montgomery? I’ll have them returned tomorrow.”
    “Certainly. Now if there’s nothing else?”
    “What did you do this evening, Mrs. Montgomery?”
    “These Japanese businessmen don’t care for the company of wives. As I was on my own, I had a friend over for dinner.”
    “We may need to speak with you tomorrow.”
    “I should be here most of the day.”
    Winters headed for the door.
    “Mrs. Montgomery,” Smith said. “Was it Dr. Tyler you had dinner with?”
    Mrs. Montgomery tilted her head and looked at Winters almost flirtatiously. “I might have told you a little lie.” She giggled. “I do have one good friend in the area. I know what you’re thinking, young lady, but I assure you that neither of us had reason to wish harm to poor Reginald.”
    Henry barked in agreement.

Chapter Five
    Winters was silent as Smith negotiated the SUV down the steep streets. The lights of the bridge leading out of town shone on the water.
    “That’s a new one on me,” he said, as she pulled into the alley behind Front Street. Constable Evans stood aside to let them pass. “Not exactly the grieving widow. How did you know who her friend is? Her lover, I guess, judging by that schoolgirl giggle. We were supposed to be there in a sympathetic capacity. Deliverers of tragic news and all that stuff. Not that I’m criticizing, mind. You got to the point fast enough.”
    “Mrs. Montgomery didn’t even pretend to be upset at her husband’s death. And by the sounds of it, she doesn’t expect her son to be too broken up, either. I thought that was sad, so sad,” Smith said. “Everyone needs someone to mourn them.” Her hat threw shadows across her face and he couldn’t read her expression. He waited for her to continue. “I’ve seen Dr. Tyler’s car parked at their house. I sorta guessed why he was there because one of my mom’s friends mentioned that the Montgomerys’ marriage was somewhat unorthodox. I suppose I paid attention because you don’t expect that sort of thing in people of that age. Sorry, John. No offense meant.”
    Winters grunted. Considerable offense had been taken. “Your mother knows the Montgomerys?”
    “No more than anyone else. He’s here to build a big resort, the most exclusive resort between Alberta and the Pacific, he calls it. Called it, I should say.”
    “Some people would be opposed to that.”
    “You’d be right there. Plus he’s, I mean he was, strongly opposed to the peace garden. You know, the park they’re wanting to build at the O’Reilly place?”
    “I’ve heard about it.” Everyone in North America had heard about the Commemorative Peace Garden. In the 1960s and early ’70s Trafalgar and the Kootenays had been the major settling point for young Americans fleeing to Canada because of the war in Vietnam. Draft dodgers, deserters, anyone against the war, had settled in the Kootenay Mountains. A good number never left. War resisters, they called themselves. And now, in the first decade of the twenty-first century, more were coming.
    Tom Maas, mayor of Trafalgar for more than twenty years, a Canadian of the same age as the American hippies who’d found refuge in the mountains, had thrown his considerable influence behind the proposed Commemorative Peace Garden. Three acres of prime land had been left to the town in the will of Larry O’Reilly, a one-time draft dodger who’d prospered in Canada. He’d also left money, and the plans, for a fountain to be built at the center of the park. A stream of water flowing from the broken sword of Ares, the Greek god of war, into a reflecting pool. An inscription