Alpine Hero (21 page)

Since it was now into the noon hour, Jessie had only one seating available, up front. It was inevitable that she noticed the smell when she moved our place settings.

“Are you sure Vida isn’t sick?” she asked, wrinkling her broad nose.

“That’s not Vida,” I replied, feeling protective as well as defensive. “It was something in a package she just opened.”

“She ought to send it back,” Jessie declared, putting down silverware and new napkins. “I’d ask for a refund. Whatever that was, it’s worse than a dead skunk. Do you want me to hold your orders?”

I’d been holding my breath, as the smell had followed us almost to the Burger Barn’s front section. Without knowing it, Jessie had come very close to the truth. But I made no comment on her observation, except to agree that she should wait before serving us. Sitting down, I breathed deeply, bravely. The dead-cat odor was almost masked by the usual film of grease that clung to the Burger Barn’s atmosphere. I wondered if I was brave enough to drink my coffee. I also wondered if I was stupid enough to buy a pack of cigarettes. Until the previous night out with Milo, I hadn’t smoked for six weeks.

Before I could let weakness overcome me, Becca
Wolfe stopped at the booth. “Ms. Lord!” she exclaimed. “You already changed your new haircut! Didn’t you like the way Stella fixed it?”

At the moment I felt lucky that my hair hadn’t fallen out in clumps. Trying to emulate Vida’s staunchness, I offered Becca a feeble smile. “Have a seat, I’m waiting for Mrs. Runkel. She had to … run an errand.” I almost choked on the words.

“I’m doing takeout,” Becca said. “Let me put my order in and then I’ll come back to wait. I wanted to ask you a question.”

Anxiously, I kept my eye on the door. Several Alpiners I recognized, including Father Dennis Kelly, came in. My pastor didn’t see me, since he was absorbed in conversation with his luncheon companions, Jake and Buzzy, the Brothers O’Toole.

Becca returned, sitting sideways in the booth. “I was wondering about something that’s been bothering me,” she said, looking unusually diffident. “You were so nice to me the other day when … you know, when that customer got killed. Usually, if I have a problem, I go to Stella. She’s great. But Stella’s got a good marriage—she and Richie have been together forever.” Becca paused, running a hand through her short, dark hair. “I know you’re a single mom. So what I’m asking is how do you deal with an ex-husband? Or did you get what they call an amicable divorce? That’s the phrase, right?”

Next to a dead cat, the last thing I wanted to do was discuss my private life. “I’m not divorced,” I said primly. “I was never married.”

Becca’s blue eyes grew wide. “But I thought … oh, excuse me!” Her flawless cheeks turned pink, and though she was embarrassed, she couldn’t suppress her curiosity. “I heard you had a son, and I … well, you know.”

“I do have a son,” I said, lifting my chin. “I don’t have
a husband.” The smile I offered Becca felt brittle. “Go ahead, ask me anything. I love giving opinions on subjects I know nothing about.”

Becca appeared as if she wasn’t sure whether I was trying to be funny or sarcastic. I didn’t know, either. To soften my words, I reached over and patted her arm. Becca bit her lip.

“It’s my ex,” she said. “He’s trying to drive me crazy. Stella said I should get a restraining order, but I’ve heard they don’t do much good. In fact, I think it would only make Eric mad. What do you think?”

I understood Stella’s rationale, though I, too, had heard of cases where the restraining order was not only violated, but the woman involved had ended up dead. “What’s he doing?” I asked, remembering the phone call Stella had received while I was in the salon Thursday morning.

Becca placed her dimpled, manicured hands against her mouth, then whispered through her fingers: “I don’t know exactly what he’s doing. But he’s here in Alpine.”

From the rear of the restaurant, a youthful male voice called Becca’s name. She jumped, then realized it was the cook. “My order,” she said, flushing deeply. “I’m sort of nervous these days. Thanks, Ms. Lord.”

I’d done nothing to help Becca. Stella or Vida or one of the many divorced women in Alpine could offer more sound advice. I knew nothing of husbands or ex-husbands, except secondhand. Disconsolately, I watched Becca pick up her food and exit the Burger Barn. Jessie Lott refilled my coffee mug. I kept eyeing the door.

Vida finally appeared, looking grim. “Milo says the cat is—was—definitely Dodger. His neck had been broken. Ugh.” She sat down and held her head.

Jessie returned, this time with our orders. Neither Vida
nor I had much appetite. I nibbled a french fry; she poked at her sliced peaches.

“They’ll check with the Sultan post office,” Vida said, still glum. “Surely someone will remember who mailed the box. Sultan isn’t that big.”

Sultan had just under three thousand citizens, but the outlying area took in at least twice that number, including Startup, Gold Bar, and Baring. “The package didn’t have to be mailed from the post office,” I pointed out. “Whoever sent it could have figured out how many stamps were required, and used a mailbox. It would’ve fit, barely.”

Vida now looked thoughtful. “That’s so. But why would anyone do such an awful thing?”

I had no answer, though a sudden idea occurred to me. “Vida—the postmark was Wednesday. The Whitmans didn’t leave until Thursday, yesterday. Wouldn’t Honoria have missed Dodger?”

“Maybe she had given him away,” Vida replied slowly. “Cats are strange creatures. Perhaps he sensed that Honoria was leaving and ran off.”

We didn’t speak for the next few minutes, except for Vida’s complaining that her meatloaf sandwich was dry, and my noting that my hamburger bun seemed stale. The truth was that we could have been eating at a five-star French restaurant and still found our entrées unappealing.

I finally remembered to tell Vida about Becca’s visit to our table. “We should tell Milo,” my House & Home editor declared as we figured out our separate bills. “I’m not saying that Eric Forbes had anything to do with Kay’s murder, but he sounds like a danger to Becca.”

“There are too many side issues,” I grumbled, leaving a dollar tip and heading for the register. “It’s like links in a paper chain—Kay was Becca’s client, and this Eric is Becca’s ex-husband. Laurie was present at the time of
the murder, and she may or may not be the daughter of Toby Popp. There are connections all over the place, but do they mean anything?”

We were now out on the sidewalk where the rain was coming down in a steady drizzle. The clouds were so low that Mount Baldy had disappeared behind a gray curtain. Dampness permeated the air, with icicles dripping from storefronts and melted snow trickling along the gutters.

“The connections—I should say situations,” Vida corrected herself, tromping across Front Street in her brown galoshes, “mean a great deal to the people involved. But if you’re asking what they have to do with Kay Whitman’s death, I must confess to being up a stump.”

So was I. We were now in front of Parker’s Pharmacy.
The Advocate
was a block away, at Front and Fourth; the sheriff’s office was right across Third Street. Vida and I exchanged swift looks, then marched west.

Milo was behind the curving counter where Dustin Fong sat at a computer, Bill Blatt talked on the phone, and Toni Andreas held sway in her newly installed receptionist’s slot.

“Now what?” Milo demanded, sounding exasperated.

“Don’t be like that,” Vida said crossly. “It gets my goat when you act as if we’re a pair of pests. We’ve come to see if you’ve checked with the Sultan postmistress.”

“Sam Heppner’s out on patrol, so I sent him into Sultan,” Milo replied, still sour. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve called Grants Pass. Honoria and her mother ought to get in around six. With any luck, the local cops can contact them at one of the motels. Then we can find out when Honoria last saw Dodger.”

Vida gave a single nod. “Very good.” She turned to her nephew, who had just gotten off the phone. “What about that fax from US West?”

Bill’s fair skin colored slightly. “It hasn’t come yet, Aunt Vida. They said it’d probably be late today.”

Vida uttered a small snort. “No wonder they were divested. You’d think they’d be more efficient these days.” Her eyes darted from her nephew to Milo to Dustin and back to Bill, who was squirming in his seat. “Well?” She spoke sharply. “What is it? I know when something’s bothering you, Billy.”

Nervously, Bill pushed a lock of blond hair off his forehead. “It’s … it’s just business, Aunt Vida. Honest.” He gave his boss a helpless look.

Milo hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Okay, go ahead.” He sighed. “What now?”

Bill pointed to the phone. “That was Stella Magruder. She says Becca Wolfe never got back from lunch. Stella’s worried.”

E
D
B
RONSKY’S WARNING
buzzed through my brain as I sat across from Milo in his private office. If there was gossip about my voyeuristic involvement in local crime, maybe it was justified. For the third time in a single week, I found myself giving information to the sheriff.

“Look,” I said, “Becca didn’t say anything except that her ex-husband was in town. He scares her, but she didn’t seem inclined to call you.”

In the chair next to me, Vida was looking at her watch. Milo hadn’t tried to keep her out of his inner sanctum; he knew such an effort would prove futile.

Vida looked up. “It’s one-twenty now. How long has Becca been missing?”

Milo glanced at the notes Bill Blatt had taken over the phone. “Stella said Becca left the salon about twelve-fifteen. She hasn’t come back.” The sheriff turned to me. “What time did Becca leave the Burger Barn?”

I considered. “Twelve-thirty, twelve thirty-five? It was while Vida was here with … Dodger.” I hated calling the poor dead thing by name. Somehow, it made the tragedy seem worse.

Milo picked up the phone and poked a button. He asked whoever answered exactly when the cat corpse had been reported in the log. “Twelve twenty-four,” he said,
making another note, then directing his attention at Vida. “You didn’t see Becca on your way back to the Burger Barn, I take it?”

“No.” Vida answered without hesitation. “If I had, don’t you think I would have said as much?”

“Shit.” Milo swore softly, ignoring Vida’s reproachful expression. “What could happen to her in one block? She didn’t even have to cross Front Street to get back to work.”

The only businesses between the Burger Barn and the Clemans Building were the ski shop and the cobbler’s. The most likely scenario was that Becca had been hailed by someone, maybe in a car. I made the suggestion and watched Milo roll his eyes.

“Hell, you think I haven’t thought of that already? But would she go off with her ex-husband right after she’s announced he’s dangerous?”

“She didn’t say that exactly,” I hedged.

Milo had already requested an all-points bulletin on Becca. I could imagine Stella Magruder’s reaction to the latest disaster. The salon owner must feel hexed.

“We need a description of this Forbes guy,” Milo declared, his gaze on Vida.

For once, Vida couldn’t help. She made a rueful face, then offered suggestions, as if to make amends for her inadequacy. “Ask Stella. She may have seen a picture. Or Becca’s parents. Perhaps they knew their son-in-law, even if they didn’t approve of him.”

Milo gave orders to Dustin Fong to deliver the news. “I hate this part,” the sheriff lamented. “Telling the relatives is harder than anything else.”

“You’ve no reason to believe Becca is dead,” I pointed out. “Vida—who was on the street when you went to and from the sheriff’s?” I didn’t doubt for a minute that Vida
could recall not only names, but apparel, attitude, and family background.

Vida sighed. “Reverend Phelps, from the Methodist church. Heather Bardeen and Chaz Phipps from the ski lodge. The Peabody brothers. Georgia Carlson, Dr. Flake, Irene Baugh, George Engebretsen—one or two others I can’t recall off the top of my head. But I saw no strangers.”

Milo had been hurriedly jotting down names. “We’ll find out if they saw Becca—or anybody else. What about cars?”

“I pay no attention to cars.” Vida sniffed. “Cars aren’t important—only who is in them. I did see my brother-in-law, Edward, passing by in his truck. He needs a new muffler. Such a racket it made!” She shook her head in disapproval.

Any law-enforcement official who didn’t know Vida might have questioned her accuracy. But not Milo. “I’m going to see Stella,” he said, getting up. “We’ll keep you posted on the latest developments.”

“Of course you will,” Vida agreed. She was also on her feet. “That’s because we’re going with you.”

Milo stopped at the edge of his desk. “Hold it! This is official business. I said we’d keep you posted.”

“I need hair products,” Vida announced blithely, then looked at me. “You need a permanent, but there’s no time for that. Perhaps you could have Stella perk up your new cut. It looks a trifle … limp.” She wore a genuinely apologetic expression.

“On the contrary,” I said, suddenly feeling bold, “I’ll see if Stella can fit me in this afternoon.”

In defeat, Milo was a reasonably good sport. I was serious about the perm. There was nothing pressing on my calendar for the rest of the day. This week
all the breaking news seemed to be coming out of Stella’s.

Stella, however, had a busier schedule than I did. Laurie was not only working with her own clients, but she’d volunteered to take over for Becca in the facial room.

“I could do it tomorrow,” Stella said, obviously trying hard to keep worry at bay. “Eleven-thirty?”

I nodded, then let Vida move in. But my House & Home editor deferred to Milo. “After you, Sheriff. Becca’s situation is far more compelling than my need for a good conditioner.”

Stella wasn’t as gracious. “Make it short, Milo. I’ve got the mayor’s wife with her head in a shampoo bowl, and Minnie Harris under the dryer.”

Milo’s questions were brief. Stella’s replies were to the point: unless Becca had a client in the noon hour, she always brought her lunch back to the salon. She’d been booked until twelve, and had a twelve-thirty, with Irene Baugh. When Becca didn’t show up, the mayor’s wife had decided to have the facial after her hair appointment, instead of before.