The Alpine Xanadu (21 page)

Jennifer looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. But I hope you understand the position I’m in.”

“Journalists are used to this sort of thing—‘an anonymous source.’ It’s a start. I don’t suppose you saw a Rover parked outside?”

“I didn’t go outside. It was raining, so I took the covered walkway between the buildings. Even if I had gone the other way, I might not have noticed it. At the time, the incident didn’t seem important.”

“Of course. I really appreciate your coming forward. But I have to ask, why me? You could’ve gone straight to the sheriff.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know the sheriff, but I know you. Being from Dunsmuir, I’m familiar with small towns. You have to feel your way when it comes to trusting people. I instinctively felt you could be discreet. Small-town newspaper editors have to be, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do,” I said as we both stood up. “Though I assure you, Sheriff Dodge is very trustworthy.”

She smiled. “He wouldn’t be picking up dinner if he wasn’t.”

I laughed. “He’s also kind of loud.”

Her smile faded. “All the same, I hope you can keep me out of this.”

“Don’t worry,” I said as we walked out of my office together. I wasn’t about to make a promise I couldn’t keep.

Milo arrived home fifteen minutes later than he’d indicated on the phone. “Your ice is probably melting,” I said, nodding at the fridge.

He wrapped an arm around my neck and kissed me. “I got waylaid by Jake O’Toole at the Grocery Basket. He’s filing a complaint tomorrow about shoplifters. There’s an epidemic, according to him. Not kids, he figures. The big-ticket item is wine.”

“Why not kids, if they’re broke and under age?”

“Because the thieves only steal the good stuff. Kids don’t know the difference. Where do you want me to put the fried chicken?”

“Leave it on the counter. Go change. I’ll rescue your drink. I’m making potato salad because you wanted it the other night.”

“Good,” he said, swatting my rear before leaving the kitchen.

Ten minutes later he returned as I was setting the oven to heat the chicken. It took me another five minutes before I finished explaining about Dwight and Jack’s ex-wife, Jennifer, and Tiffany. By that time we’d migrated to our usual places in the living room, drinks in hand.

“If I’d known about Kay,” Milo said, looking faintly remorseful, “I wouldn’t have been so rough on Gould. Nobody knows better than I do what a pain an ex can be. Still, that’s no excuse for his going after Bill Blatt. Damn, I wish people could leave their private lives at home.”

“I could say the same about Mitch. But we all do. You were a real beast after we broke up. So was I. It’s a wonder my staff didn’t mutiny.”

Milo looked surprised. “You were? I didn’t think you cared.”

“I didn’t think so, either,” I admitted ruefully. “But obviously I did. That’s how I ended up on sleeping pills and Paxil.”

Milo grinned at me. “God, Emma, didn’t that tell you something?”

“No. I was still in my ‘dopey phase,’ as you call it. I blamed it on menopause, and maybe it was, but I couldn’t get along without you.”

“Same here. I tried to avoid you, but with our jobs being so close, it was tough. Maybe you should’ve worn a disguise.” Milo sipped his drink. “Why’s Tiff skulking around in a black wig? Why was she seeing Kay? They have one thing in common—Blackwell. If Kay’s P.R., she knew he was speaking at the opening.”

I nodded. “But nobody else has seen Tiffany?”

“No. It doesn’t mean they haven’t or that she didn’t leave town for a day or two. This Jennifer didn’t say Tiff had the kid with her, right?”

“I imagine she’d have mentioned it.”

“I guess I’ll have to tell Blackwell,” Milo said. “I don’t like doing that. If he can find Tiff, he might beat the crap out of her. He used to do that with Patti Marsh. Not that she ever had the guts to file a complaint.”

“I saw the bruises. She always lied about how she got them.”

“Classic case of abuse. I wonder if Patti’s seen Tiffany.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Tiffany moved in with Jack a week ago. How did she get disillusioned so fast? He gave her money to buy clothes from Francine Wells. It makes no sense.”

“Maybe,” Milo suggested, “he didn’t give her the money. She might have swiped it from him. That could’ve started a row and she walked.”

I nodded halfheartedly. “Tiff’s not the quick-thinking type. You figure she’s making the rounds of Blackwell’s ex-squeezes?”

“Could be.” Milo drummed his fingers on the arm of the easy chair. “I’ll talk to Patti tomorrow. She’s a lousy liar.”

“Good idea,” I said, standing up. “Maybe by that time my usual font of all knowledge will be back to work.”

“Vida can’t stay away forever. Rosemary’s pissed,” Milo said, following me into the kitchen to top off our drinks. “She figures the Hibberts are pulling a fast one.”

“I hope not, but I’m worried,” I said, putting the chicken into the oven before turning to Milo. “Should I report the Tiffany sighting in the paper? I don’t want to set off Blackwell if they’ve had a big fight.”

Milo gave me a wry look. “You’re asking
me
for newspaper advice?”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Maybe I do sound like a wife.”

He leaned down to kiss me. “I like that. I won’t tell you what to do, but as a husband, I’d say news of the sighting could cause big trouble.”

“You’re right,” I said—and kissed him back.

There were no back-shop crises or urgent calls for the sheriff that evening. “Why,” I said to Milo after we were in bed and he’d turned off the light, “do I feel this is like the lull before the storm?”

“Are you looking for a crisis?” he asked, holding me close. “Don’t.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “We both know it’s coming. We just don’t know from which direction.”

I felt him sigh. “Right. It’s built into our jobs.” He rested his chin on the top of my head. “I wonder when I’ll get a second opinion
on the Eriks autopsy. It could take days. By the way, the bones Bebe Everson found belonged to a gopher.”

“Poor Roy. What do they expect to find with Eriks?”

“If I knew, why would I need a second opinion?”

“Maybe you don’t.” I turned just enough to try to look at him. “You could be holding out on me, big guy.”

Milo didn’t say anything. I shut up and went to sleep in the sanctuary of his arms.

To my relief, Vida was at her desk when I arrived the next morning. She looked tired, an unusual state for her. But she greeted me in a pleasant fashion. “You managed without me,” she said. “I’ll do the advice letters first. Did I miss anything vital?”

“You did,” I said, pouring a mug of coffee. Amanda hadn’t yet arrived from the bakery run. “Or have you already heard about Tiff?”

“Kip informed me,” Vida said, fiddling with the silk roses of her felt sailor hat. “I’m not surprised.”

I felt smug. “But Kip doesn’t know Tiff showed up at RestHaven.”

Vida’s gray eyes widened behind her big glasses. “Well now! As a patient or seeking a job?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought Roger might have seen her there.”

“Roger took the day off. He felt a cold coming on.” She paused as Mitch made his entrance, mumbling a subdued greeting to both of us.

Vida shot me a curious glance. I shrugged. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, fists on hips.

“Oh—Kay Barton Burns is doing P.R. at RestHaven.”

It was rare that I could surprise Vida. “No!” She fingered her
chin and scowled. “My, my—she’s been gone for twenty-five years. Why would she come back to Alpine after so long? It’s very smart of her—she
is
a native. The tug of her hometown must’ve done it. Of course Roger wouldn’t realize who she is. He was just a wee lad when she left.”

In my opinion the chunky Roger had never been wee, except in the brains department. I turned to Mitch, who was sitting down at his desk with his own coffee mug. “Fill Vida in on Kay Burns. I’ve never met her.”

Mitch didn’t look happy about the request, but he got up and went over to Vida’s desk while I headed into my cubbyhole. Maybe, I hoped, things were returning to some state of normality.

Less than an hour later, after Mitch had returned from checking the sheriff’s log, the storm Milo and I had predicted hit.

“All hell broke out,” my reporter announced, slumping into one of my visitor’s chairs. “I’d just gotten there when Jack Blackwell came roaring in about his missing girlfriend. She’d been spotted at the ski lodge last night by somebody who went to high school with her. Blackwell and Dodge almost got into it right behind the reception counter.”

“Oh, no!” I gasped. “Is … are they okay?”

Mitch nodded. “Mullins and Heppner got between them. They managed to haul Blackwell outside. Dodge was pissed because he wanted Blackwell to slug him so he could arrest the guy for assaulting an officer of the law. Didn’t I tell you the sheriff’s a prickly guy?”

“I don’t blame him,” I declared. “Dodge didn’t cause Tiffany to run off. Jack probably slugged
her
. Beating up women is a habit of his.”

“That’s what the sheriff said, and that’s what really set Blackwell off. He told Dodge he wasn’t one to talk about guys who shacked up with women who weren’t their wives. That really riled
Dodge. I’ll bet Blackwell reports this to the other county commissioners.”

I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Leo appeared in the doorway, apparently having overheard part of Mitch’s account.

“A dust-up at the sheriff’s?” my ad manager remarked with a puckish expression. “Laskey, it’s time for you to choose sides in this town. Stick with the good guys—Dodge is one of them. Sure, Blackwell employs a lot of people and he runs a decent operation. But his private life’s a mess. Trust me, when he leaves his mill, Jack’s a jackass.”

Mitch shrugged. “I’ve talked to him a few times. He seems okay. He doesn’t look half as intimidating as Dodge.”

“That’s because Blackwell’s shorter,” Leo said. “Emma’s known Dodge longer than I have.” He looked at me. “Has he ever scared you?”

“Aggravated, yes. Scared, never.”

Leo held up his hands. “See? Vida will say the same thing.”

“Nobody scares her. Okay,” Mitch said resignedly, standing up. “But it seems this could be the kind of thing we’re waiting for.”

“Uh …,” I began, but Leo interrupted.

“Waiting for what?” he asked, looking at Mitch and then at me.

Mitch cleared his throat. “Emma and I were discussing an investigation of how Dodge runs law enforcement. He’s been on the job for twenty years—too damned long without some transparency.”

Leo flung an arm around Mitch’s shoulders. “We need to have lunch. It’s Wednesday, a day of semi-rest. Why don’t we …”

I didn’t hear the rest of what my ad manager was saying as he led my reporter back into the newsroom.
Thank God for Leo
, I thought.
What will I do without him if he retires and goes back to his family in California?

But I didn’t have to think about that. What I did have to do was
wait a decent interval before I went to see the sheriff. Meanwhile, I pondered why Tiffany had been at the ski lodge. On a whim, I called the manager, Henry Bardeen, who was also Buck’s younger brother.

“My daughter saw her,” Henry said. “Heather was a year ahead of Tiffany in school. She didn’t recognize Tiff at first because her hair was dark, but when Heather heard she was missing, she realized it was her.”

“Who told Jack Blackwell she’d been seen?”

“Not Heather,” he replied. “The only one she told was her pal Chaz Phipps. Chaz works for Blackwell, so I suppose she told Jack.”

“Was Tiff just passing through?”

“Heather saw her in the lobby talking to a man she didn’t recognize. Maybe a guest from the gardening group or a dinner patron. Oh—here’s Bill Blatt. I bet he’ll ask the same questions you did.”

I rang off, wondering about the stranger. Henry and Heather knew all the locals, except maybe not the entire RestHaven staff. Visitors kept the ski lodge in business. It was futile to dwell on an unknown patron.

A few minutes after nine-thirty I headed out into the morning drizzle toward the sheriff’s office. Just as I was passing Parker’s Pharmacy, Donna Wickstrom crossed Front Street and stopped to wave at me.

“Guess what?” she said excitedly. “I finally heard from Craig Laurentis. He’s got a new painting. I won’t get it at the gallery for another week or so, but I thought you’d like to know he’s okay.”

Relief swept over me. There had been no word of our reclusive artist since his release from the hospital in early December after being shot by someone who thought he might be a homicide witness. “That’s great,” I said. “I’ve been worried. Why aren’t you at your day care?”

Donna smiled. “It’s tax time, so I made your truant receptionist, Ginny, sub for me. Owning two businesses makes filing complicated. Steve surrenders and tells me to farm it out to a tax expert. I hand all the financial stuff to my brother, Rick, at the bank, and my sister-in-law fills in for me at the day care. We like to keep everything in the family.”

“Sensible.” I realized a puddle was forming underfoot. The potholes were another reminder of SkyCo’s lack of funds for basic maintenance. “It’s raining harder,” I said. “I’d better let you get on with your errands. Let me know when Craig’s painting arrives.”

Donna promised she would and hurried on her way. I moved quickly along the half block to the sheriff’s office. Milo’s Yukon was in its usual spot, so I figured he was in. Bracing myself for the usual glower from Heppner and the familiar leer from Mullins, I made my entrance.

“Wow!” Jack exclaimed. “I’ll bet you’re worried that your favorite stud might be in a bad mood. Are you armed?”

“Watch your mouth, Jack,” I retorted. “I’m not armed, but I’m dangerous. His door’s closed. Is he beating up an innocent bystander?”

Jack laughed, but Sam scowled. “You better not pester him with some dumb questions about your remodeling. Save that for after hours.”

“Don’t I always?” I retorted. “Stick it, Sam.
I’m
not in a good mood.”

Sam’s scowl turned into a full glower. “I don’t take orders from anybody except Dodge. You forgot who’s boss here?”