The Alpine Xanadu (34 page)

“Heppner found eight of them—all wiped clean.” Milo offered me a cigarette, which I accepted. He was lighting it for me when his phone rang. “Screw it,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Lori can take it. The knives will go to the SnoCo lab as soon as I can free somebody up to take them over there. For all I know, whoever stabbed Blackwell might’ve tossed the thing.”

I was about to ask if the sheriff was going public with any of this when Lori interrupted. “Doe called to say they found the body on Tonga Ridge. They’re taking it to the hospital morgue. Is that okay with you?”

“Fine,” Milo said. “Call RestHaven and tell them to send somebody to ID Mr. Nut. We need a name this time. And make sure Doc knows he’s got a stiff coming in.”

Lori nodded and scurried off. I posed my question to the sheriff.

“Hell, Emma,” Milo said, “you can’t do anything on Mr. Nut until we get an ID, right? But I wanted to give you background on Blackwell to see if …” He stopped, took a drag on his cigarette, and shook his head. “Damn it, maybe I just wanted to spend some time with my wife.”

I smiled. “That’s incredibly sweet. But I don’t believe you.”

Milo scowled at me. “Okay, it’s partly true. Knowing you, I suspect some ideas are dancing around in your funny little head.”

I tapped my cigarette into the sheriff’s NRA ashtray. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about that sort of thing on the way back from lunch with Beth.” Given that Milo had left the door open, I lowered my voice and told him about the missing box of sports memorabilia. “I gather,” I concluded, “she hasn’t mentioned it to you.”

He shook his head. “I hardly ever see her. She stays holed up in back and works until six. You think Blackwell took the stuff?”

“Well … Tiff wouldn’t know the value. She apparently never asked Beth about it after Tim died. But if she knew it existed, she might’ve mentioned it and then he decided to check it out.”

Milo stroked his chin. “No. That doesn’t sound like Blackwell. Even for a few grand, I doubt he’d pull a stunt like that. How about Wayne? He was a baseball fan. The few times I talked to the guy he’d always yap about the latest game he’d watched.”

“I never thought of him,” I admitted. A thought flashed through my mind. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but Jennifer Hood told me something was burned by the road where Wayne was killed. Did you notice that when you were at the crime scene?”

“Yeah. It looked like some paper. Not much of it, either.”

The sheriff was probably right, but I persevered. “Kip lives next to Mel and April Eriks’s house. He told me Mel was burning something in his backyard right after Wayne died. I happened to run into him at the Grocery Basket and I alluded to that. Mel seemed … evasive.”

Milo leaned back so far in his chair that I thought he’d tip over. “Mel’s a baseball fan, too. Hell, Emma, do you think he’d set fire to Ken Griffey Jr.’s rookie card? He’s not nuts.”

“Okay,” I said, sounding humble. “But if you’re right and Wayne took the carton, then Tiff probably has it. Unless it’s still at Cookie’s.”

The sheriff shrugged. “So? That’s where it belongs—legally.” He sat up. “I don’t see where this stuff has anything to do with Wayne’s murder. Or Blackwell’s stabbing. Tiff will show up sooner or later. We’ll talk to her. In fact, when Doe gets back, I’ll send her to talk to Patti.” He paused. “We should talk to Kay, too. Maybe Dwight wasn’t the only ex she decided to bang for old times’ sake.”

His phone rang again. He stared at it as if he could make it explode. “Damn, it must be important or Lori …” He picked up the receiver. “Dodge,” he barked. I watched his jaw set as he listened, obviously trying to remain patient. “Okay, Doe, here’s what you do. Tell Dr. Reed to get her ass down to the morgue pronto and ID the stiff or we’ll take a picture of him and post it on every utility pole in SkyCo until somebody comes up with a frigging name.” He banged the phone down. “Those dinks at RestHaven are going to drive
me
nuts. Woo’s having emergency dental surgery at Dr. Starr’s office and, according to Dr. Reed, he’s the only one with authority to ID the dead guy. That’s bullshit. Isn’t he Reed’s patient if she’s in charge of the nut jobs?”

“I’d think so,” I said. “That sounds a little too weird.” I stood up. “Maybe I’ll go up to RestHaven.”

“Hold it.” Milo had gotten out of his chair. “I’ll do that. You keep out of the way. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“No, you won’t!” I actually stamped my foot. “This is news, you big jerk! I’ll take my own car. If Mitch were here, I’d send him.”

Milo took his jacket off the hook on the wall and slung it over his shoulder before looking down at me with bemused hazel eyes.
“I can’t win. I had one wife who hated my job and didn’t want to hear about it. Now I’ve got one who can’t keep her nose out of it. You’re on your own.” He pushed me out of sight from the outer office, wrapped his free arm around my neck, and rested his chin on the top of my head. “Happy?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my cheek against his chest. “I hate you, though.”

“I know. You often do.” He kissed my nose and let me go.

Milo was just ahead of me a couple of blocks from the River Road arterial when, instead of crossing the tracks, he made an abrupt U-turn onto Seventh Street. I didn’t dare attempt that maneuver, so I reversed in Swanson Toyota’s parking lot and tried to spot the Yukon. I had to wait for the stop sign at Front Street. Up the hill, Milo turned onto Pine. I guessed he was going to the hospital. After I hooked a right off Seventh and passed the Presbyterian church, I saw him walking into the main entrance. The Yukon was parked in a loading zone. There was just room enough behind it for my Honda. As Mrs. Sheriff, surely I had
some
perks.

Milo had disappeared by the time I got inside. Jenny Bjornson was on duty again. “Are you looking for Sheriff Dodge?” she asked.

“Yes. Where did he go?”

“To the morgue in the basement.” She grimaced. “Do you really want to go there? Just seeing the sign creeps me out.”

I assumed my callous reporter’s air. “Yes. Which way do I turn when I get down there?”

“To your left. Oh! Here’s Mr. Fleetwood. I’ll bet he wants to go to the morgue, too. Hi,” she said with a big smile for Mr. Radio.

“The charming Jenny,” Spence said, blowing her a kiss. “Did you say the magic word ‘morgue’? I’m headed there with Ms.
Lord.” He practically pushed me to the elevator. “Surprised to see me?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Who’s getting news leaks now?”

“I happened to run into Dodge at the courthouse,” I replied as the elevator doors slid open. “I’m filling in for Mitch. He’s gone out of town.”

“Good timing on your part? Or were you letting the resident bear maul you during working hours?”

“Hey,” I said as the elevator stopped, “don’t get nasty. By chance I was there when the call came through about finding the escapee’s body.”

Spence stopped at the morgue’s door. “You ever done this before?”

“No,” I admitted. “Milo’s always spared me.”

“Then why don’t you turn around and go back to your office?”

It wasn’t the worst suggestion I’d ever heard, but I refused to let my rival intimidate me. “It’s my job. Open the damned door.”

“We have to be buzzed in,” he said, but before he hit the button, a female voice called his name.

We turned. Rosalie Reed was coming from the doctors’ parking area. “Spencer!” she cried before falling into his arms. “Help me!”

I stared at them. Spence was holding her close, speaking soothing words and patting her back. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

Stupefied, I hit the buzzer. I heard Doc Dewey ask who it was. I told him it was me—along with Dr. Reed and Fleetwood. Doc said to wait until I heard a click before turning the knob. A moment later all three of us entered a small office where Doc and Milo were standing by a large wooden filing cabinet. They both looked faintly dismayed.

“Is this a media tour?” the sheriff demanded.

Doc pulled out a chair for Rosalie, who was still sobbing. “Sit, please. Are you ill, Dr. Reed?”

Spence eased her into the chair. “Dr. Reed,” he said softly, “gets emotionally involved with her patients. She’s very upset. Is there some way to prevent her from having to make the ID?”

“We can’t wait for Dr. Woo,” Doc replied. “What about Farrell?”

“He didn’t know the patient,” Spence said, his hand on Rosalie’s shoulder. He cleared his golden throat. “Would you trust me to do it?”

Doc removed his glasses to stare at Spence. Milo shot Mr. Radio a sharp glance. “You know the man?” Doc finally asked.

“I’ve known him for six years,” Spence replied solemnly. His dark eyes flicked in Milo’s direction. “Do you need a sworn statement?”

“No,” the sheriff said. “You’ll sign the death certificate. If you’re lying, criminal charges will be brought.”

“I’m not lying,” Spence declared with dignity.

“Then let’s do it,” Milo said. “Come on, Doc, Fleetwood.” He turned at the heavy steel door and pointed to me. “You stay put with Dr. Reed. You got that, Ms. Lord?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. Grim as the circumstances were, I could have sworn that Milo’s eyes sparked.

I pulled the only other chair up next to Rosalie, who seemed to be getting a grip on her emotions. “Could I get you some water?” I asked.

She shook her head and sniffled into a tissue she’d taken from her hobo bag. “No. No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She sniffed some more and dabbed at her eyes. “It may seem unprofessional for a psychiatrist to become so emotional, but I care deeply about my patients. I personally had the deceased transferred here. He’d been under my care for some time in my former practice. I didn’t think a change would benefit him.”

I refrained—barely—from saying,
You’re the doctor
. Instead I said I could understand her attachment. “It’s very human,” I added.

“Some may think it unwise, though,” she said. “Oh! What a lovely ring. It looks like an heirloom. Did you have that when we first met? I’m very fond of antique jewelry.”

“I wasn’t wearing it that day,” I replied, doing some quick mathematical calculations. “Yes, it’s quite old. At least a hundred years.”

Milo, Doc, and Spence returned to the room. “We’re done here,” the sheriff announced. “Show Emma your statement, Fleetwood. She gets equal time.”

Spence handed me the form. “Philip Randall Curry, age fifty-six, last permanent address, Issaquah, Washington. Got it.” I gave the form back to Mr. Radio and hurriedly wrote the information down in the notebook I kept in my purse. “Thanks.” I turned to Doc. “Will you let me know about cause of death?”

“When I find out, I’ll pass it on to the sheriff, Emma. He can take it from there. I will say that as far as I can tell, there was no obvious evidence of foul play.” The last words seemed intended for Rosalie. “But don’t quote me.” He glanced first at Spence and then at me.

Milo slapped Doc on the shoulder. “I’m done here, Gerry.” He loped out of the room.

“I should go, too,” I said. “Thanks, Doc.” I looked at Rosalie. “Take care.” My gaze took in Spence, conveying I knew he’d be of comfort to her. But I didn’t know exactly how. Or why.

Closing the door behind me, I raced down the hall to where Milo was getting into the elevator. “Stop!” I yelled.

“God,” he said, holding the door. “I can’t escape my nagging wife.”

“I’m not nagging. I don’t like it down here. Jenny’s right. It’s not only creepy, but it smells like formaldehyde. Are you and Tanya coming to dinner?” I asked as the car stopped on the main floor.

“Yeah, unless she eloped with Bill,” he said, nodding to Jenny as we passed the reception desk. “I should be so lucky. So should Tanya.”

“Did she like him in high school?” I asked after we were outside.

“No. She thought he was a dweeb. She was only a sophomore back then. The next year, she was in Bellevue.” He nodded at my car. “You got a ticket. Why the hell did you park in a loading zone?”

I gaped at my windshield. “Damn! Who’s on patrol in town?”

“Heppner,” Milo said.

“Sam knows my Honda. He’s being mean. Can you fix it?”

“No. Are you nuts? You know better than to pull a stunt like that.”

“Milo …” I sounded like a whiny six-year-old. “We’re married.…”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t change the law. Hey, it’s only thirty bucks. Go pay it now. Otherwise you’ll forget.”

“I don’t have thirty bucks on me.”

“We take checks,” he said with a straight face.

“Ohhh …” I whirled around—and bumped into the loading zone sign. “I really do hate you!” I yelled as I staggered to my car.

“Salmon sounds good,” the sheriff called to me.

I made an obscene gesture and got into the Honda. I’d hurt my knee on the blasted sign. I ignored the pain, trying to start the car so I could cut off the sheriff before he pulled out, but I dropped my keys on the floor. By the time I’d retrieved them, the Yukon was turning onto Second. The big jackass driving the big SUV managed to avoid having to stop for any traffic on Front Street, but I had to wait for a Blackwell Mill eighteen-wheeler to pass. When I finally pulled into a legal parking place by the sheriff’s office, Milo was already inside. I was still seething when I made my entrance. “Where’d he go?” I asked Lori.

“The men’s room, I guess,” Lori said. “Are you okay? You look upset. Would you like some coffee?”

“No!” I winced. The coffee in the sheriff’s office tasted like
swill, no matter who made it. “I mean, no thanks,” I said, lowering my voice. Luckily, Lori was the only one in the reception area. “I have to pay a parking ticket.”

Lori’s eyes widened. “You do? Gosh, Emma, I don’t think you’ve ever gotten a ticket before, at least not since I worked here.”

“There’s a first for everything,” I said, trying to remain calm as I handed over the citation. “You take checks?”

“Yes, local ones.” She frowned at the ticket. “Sam did this?”

I’d already gotten out my checkbook. “Sam, like his boss, goes by the book. Do I make it out to SkyCo? Or for Sam’s new fishing license?”

“Skykomish County Treasurer,” Lori said, still looking puzzled.

I paused at the space for the payment description.