The Alpine Xanadu (18 page)

“Yes,” I said, and then explained Vida’s reaction.

I expected the sheriff to blow his stack, but he merely shook his head. “It just shows how messed up she is when it comes to that damned Roger. What are you going to do about it?”

I told him that I’d seen her car going into Pines Villa and figured she was consulting Buck. “Maybe he can help.”

“Don’t count on it,” Milo said, after tossing a cigarette and his lighter my way. “She can’t stay mad at you. You’d have to fire her.”

“I don’t want her staying mad at
you
—or Rosemary.”

Milo shrugged. “I don’t give a shit. Rosie probably doesn’t, either.”

“Well, I do. I won’t stand for her attitude toward three innocent people, including Judge Proxmire, especially when one of them is you.”

“She’ll get over it. She won’t quit. Vida thinks she
is
the
Advocate
.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said bitterly. “And in a way, she is.”

“Forget it for now. There’s nothing you can do until she thinks straight.” He grinned. “You could suspend her, like I did with Gould.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Did you know Kay is back in town?”

Milo frowned. “You mean Dwight’s ex or his sister, Kay? The sister never left.”

“The ex,” I said. “Mitch told me she’s RestHaven’s P.R. person.”

Milo leaned his back in the chair. “God! That’d explain why Gould’s been such an asshole lately. I wonder if he’s seen her around town. Maybe I should take Blackwell seriously.”

I stared at the sheriff. “You mean Kay might try to kill him?”

“No, but she might want to scare him. She went after him with a meat fork when he dumped her. Then she left town.”

“Mitch took a liking to her,” I said.

“Mitch would. He’s a contrary kind of guy. At least he shows some respect when he sees me at headquarters,” Milo added, referring to the tension that had surfaced between the two men when Mitch’s son escaped from prison.

“I don’t think he knows we’re engaged.”

“So? I wasn’t going to ask him to be my best man.”

“Who will you ask?”

“Doc Dewey. I feel closer to him than I do to my snooty brother. I haven’t seen Clint in ten years. He likes it in Dallas. Good place for him. I’d like to see him in a cowboy hat. If he wore boots, he might be as tall as I am. He never forgave me for turning out to be taller than he is.”

“Are you still going fishing with Doc later this week?”

Milo grimaced. “We can’t. Gerry and I are both on overload. He usually is, and now with Dwight off for two days, I’m short-handed. Besides, we both forgot they had the annual salmon derby at Sekiu this past weekend. The strait’s probably fished out.”

“Maybe the river will drop and you can go steelheading,” I said, getting up to check on the pork chops.

“Not if it keeps raining like this,” Milo said, following me into the kitchen. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t on flood watch again. The only thing that’ll prevent that is the lack of a decent snowpack so far.”

I turned the chops over and closed the oven. “Six minutes,” I said.

“Need a short shot?”

“Why not? Anything new from Tricia?”

“No,” he replied, pouring a half inch of Canadian into my glass. “Mulehide likes to leave me hanging. She keeps hoping I’ll get an ulcer.”

We went back into the living room and resumed our places. “I don’t mean to be a pain,” I began, “but … oh, never mind.”

“Don’t pull that crap,” Milo said. “The answer is no.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“After fifteen years? Yeah, you are. And you’re about as subtle as a sawdust grinder.”

“Okay, so subtlety isn’t my strong suit and my feminine wiles never worked on you. I know …”

Milo held up a big hand. “You don’t have any feminine wiles. That’s one of the things I like about you. What you see is what you get. And I got it. Took me long enough, though. Tell me what’s buzzing around in your brain. Something’s driving you nuts.”

Damn the man
, I thought,
he knows me too well. Why can’t I be at least a little mysterious?
“It’s Cookie. She isn’t acting the way I’d expect of a recent widow. I remember what a mess she was when her son-in-law, Tim, died. You probably do, too. What did you make of her attitude?”

Milo took a sip from his drink and a puff from his cigarette. “I know what you mean. I figured maybe she hasn’t taken it in yet. Doe talked to some of the neighbors, who thought she and Wayne fought quite a bit. At least he yelled at her loud enough so the Dugans and the Lundquists on each side could hear him. But Cookie’d already lost a son, a son-in-law, and now her husband. Maybe she’s numb.”

“I keep forgetting the son drowned in a rafting accident.”

“It happened over on the Snake River not long before you arrived. They called the kid Ringo. I guess Cookie was a big Beatles fan. That wasn’t his real name—I think it was Robert or Richard. He was nineteen.”

“I remember hearing about it. He wasn’t alone, was he?”

“There were three of them from here. The other two survived.” Milo paused to scratch behind his ear. “Damn. I can’t remember the one kid’s name. The family left town not long after that. But the third one was Travis Nyquist, Arnie’s son.”

“Oh.” I avoided Milo’s gaze. “Travis moved away after Bridget left him. Then he got in trouble with his role in that investment scam.”

“He plea-bargained his way out of that,” Milo said. “Travis still visits Arnie and Louise. I ran into him last month at Harvey’s Hardware. He’s still a jackass. You’re thinking he pushed Ringo off the raft.”

I sighed and resumed eye contact. “It could have been the third kid who did it,” I said with a straight face.

“Get up, Nancy Drew. I’m hungry, and I want to rescue those chops before the oven catches fire. Again.”

I rose from the sofa. “I told you I cleaned it. Didn’t you notice?”

Milo grabbed my backside as he followed me out to the kitchen. “No, but I knew something was missing. Like smoke and flames.”

Our dinner conversation turned to the remodeling project. I had to admit that Milo seemed to know what he was doing—or at least he knew what Scott Melville was doing. It wasn’t until we were snuggling on the sofa at halftime of a college basketball game that I asked Milo how Wayne could die from a live wire through his chest.

“Jesus, Emma,” he said, exasperated, “can you focus on what we’re doing here instead of worrying about Eriks?”

“I
was
focusing.” I removed my arm from around his neck and poked him in his chest. “If I had a live wire, I could jab it into you right now. But how would I keep from electrocuting myself?”

Milo slowly shook his head. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“I will if you don’t answer the question.”

He sighed but kept his arms around me. “The person would have to wear gloves. But he
could
have fallen on a hot wire. That’s why the M.E. and I are being cagey until we get more evidence.”

“If the burn marks on Wayne didn’t match those on his clothes, he must’ve taken them off. What if he was with a woman?”

Milo stared at me for a long moment without blinking. It was a tactic he used when questioning suspects—and had done it to me on one disturbing occasion. “Yes,” he finally said, “that’s possible. Maybe he was trying to make love to her and got mad when she asked if he’d like her better if she had purple hair. Then she got pissed off, put on his safety gloves, grabbed a hot oven coil, and ran him through. About now, I can believe that scenario.” Abruptly he pulled me closer. “Shut up, you little twerp, and pay attention to what
we’re
doing.”

“Okay,” I said in a sort of squeak. We both stopped talking.

But that didn’t mean I’d forgotten my weird theory. The problem was that I didn’t have Vida as a sounding board. When I arrived at work, Amanda informed me she’d called to ask for a personal day off.

“A family matter,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “Do you suppose Holly has shown up to collect her kid?”

I leaned on the counter. “That’s my guess.” I shook my head in dismay. “It’s deadline day. I don’t know if Vida’s finished all of her page or started ‘Scene Around Town’ for the gossip tidbits. I should call a staff meeting. In fact, I’ll do it as soon as … who has the bakery run?”

“Mitch,” Amanda replied.

“Tell Kip.” I glanced in the newsroom and saw Leo sitting down at his desk. “As soon as Mitch gets here, we’ll start. You too, Amanda. Okay?”

I greeted my ad manager before going through the items Vida
had on her desk. “This,” I declared, “has never happened before. Vida’s taken time off, but she’s never left us hanging.”

“At least I can smoke in peace,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“So can I.” I reached out to Leo. “Give me one of those things.”

Leo complied. “Dodge is a bad influence on you.”

“Would you believe neither of us smoked for several years?”

“I never tried quitting. My major achievement was cutting back on the booze. Liza thinks you’re a saint to see me through that sad chapter.”

“Gee, that’s good of her. I mean it. Milo’s ex thinks I’m a she-wolf.”

“You’re more of a fox,” Leo said as Mitch came through the door, followed by Amanda and Kip. “Looks like the meeting’s about to start.”

“Not until we fuel ourselves,” I said, going over to help Mitch lay out the Upper Crust pastries. I grabbed the first sugar doughnut out of my reporter’s hand.

“No Vida?” he asked, glancing at her empty chair.

“Personal day off,” I said, pouring out my coffee. “That’s all we know.” I sat down at the missing person’s desk and kept quiet until my staff had gotten their own goodies and filled their coffee mugs.

“I found two of Vida’s ‘Scene’ items,” I said when everyone was seated. “Mimi Barton carrying forsythia into St. Mildred’s rectory and Harvey Adcock washing his hardware display windows, egging vandalism courtesy of teenagers, as noted in last week’s police log. Who’s got something?”

“Who’s Mimi Barton?” Mitch asked.

“Father Kelly’s secretary,” I said, recalling that she was also Kay Burns’s sister. I’d forgotten the family connection. “Come on, guys, think.”

Kip winced. “Chili took our dog to the vet Friday. Dr. Medved said the Dithers sisters put down one of their horses. Is that too grim?”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s a wonder they didn’t send us an obit. I’ll hear all about it at the next bridge club meeting.”

Leo grimaced. “Can we stand an Ed Bronsky sighting? I saw him driving Cal Vickers’s pickup full of villa items from RestHaven Saturday.”

“Let’s not,” I said. “Got anything else?”

Leo grimaced. “How about giving that out-of-town guy a boost for taking out the ad about buying sports memorabilia? I had to bury the ad a bit because of all the RestHaven-related stuff.”

“That’s fine,” I said, making a note. “Mitch, you got anything from the open house?”

“The kids in that garden photo? Just after I took it, they went wading in the fish pond. Sorry—I don’t know their names.”

“That’s okay,” I said, making another note. “Probably just as well
not
to ID them. Their parents might get upset.”

Amanda raised her hand. “I hate to tell on Walt, but he tripped over a hose at the hatchery Friday and almost fell in one of the ponds.”

I considered the item. “Two pond incidents? Why not?”

“Thanks,” Amanda said, smiling. “Walt has a sense of humor.”

“What about you, boss lady?” Leo asked with a playful grin.

“I’ll think of something. When I do, that’s all we need. Amanda, could you go through Vida’s in-box and mail to make sure we aren’t missing any late-breaking news? I’m thinking engagements. It’s only been a week since Valentine’s Day.”

“Sure,” Amanda said, apparently glad to vary her daily routine.

“Dismissed,” I said. “And thanks. This feels so weird without Vida. I’ll peruse her advice column letters.”

I found the copy she’d turned in. There were three letters, always anonymous per Vida’s instructions, even though she usually knew the writer’s identity. Two were about St. Valentine’s Day disappointments. The third was from an irate First Hill resident whose neighbors owned a dog that barked all day. Vida had given sensible
advice to all of them. I wished she could write to herself and ask for help.

A few minutes later, Amanda brought me two unopened letters she’d found in Vida’s in-box. Both were postmarked from last Thursday, indicating that Vida had already been too distracted by the possible loss of Diddy to open all of her mail. The first was from a teenager whose mother criticized her wardrobe as “too revealing.” The girl tried to explain that she wore the same kind of clothes her friends did and that they weren’t hassled by their parents. Vida could answer that in short order. The second letter, signed “Disturbed Wife,” concerned her mate’s reading of “provocative” men’s magazines, which made her feel “inadequate.” “I am a willing partner, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my husband to even more depraved and stimulating reading material. I am not fat, being five foot three and weighing a hundred and eighteen pounds.” It might be true, but Vida could also handle that one with dispatch. Unfortunately, neither letter would make it into this week’s edition.

The teen’s clothing problem inspired a “Scene” item. I typed up the sightings of Professor Bo Vardi and Dr. Iain Farrell making purchases at Warren Wells’s store. I sensed Farrell wouldn’t like the mention, but he had to get used to small-town ways. If he complained, I’d tell him it fit in with the RestHaven edition.

Finally I turned to my editorial. Deciding that it was ready to go public, I zapped it to Kip just as Mitch poked his head in.

“Nothing new on Eriks,” he said. “I asked Jack Mullins for a quote from Dodge, but he was on the phone. Should I wait for him to call me?”

“Wait,” I said. “If the sheriff doesn’t call you, call him. Don’t let him off the hook.” I made a face as I had a sudden thought. “Mrs. Eriks wants to have the service tomorrow. I’ll ask Al Driggers at the funeral home if it’s set. I just realized I don’t have an obit from Vida on Eriks. Damn. I’ll see if I can get some information from Al. If so, could you write it up?”