The Alpine Xanadu (35 page)

“Just put in ‘dumb shit,’ ” the sheriff said.

I’d been so focused on the check that I hadn’t noticed he’d come into the open area behind the counter. “Gee—just when I was trying to figure out how to spell ‘deputy assholery.’ ”

“Which one?” Milo asked. “ ‘Deputy’ or …”

I tore off the check and threw it at the sheriff. “I hope you’re having fun at my expense,” I snarled.

“Actually, it’s community … service,” he amended.

“What?” It dawned on me that he was going to say “community property,” given that we were now jackass and wife. “Yeah, right,” I mumbled. “Why don’t you tell Heppner that, as a member of the press, I have rights, too?”

“Then you should get a permit,” Milo said reasonably. “Why didn’t you do that years ago?”

“I never thought I’d have to use it,” I said sulkily.

He sighed. “Sounds like you. Come on into my office. I’ve got a couple of questions.” He opened the gate to let me pass through.

“What? About parking regulations?” I asked before we sat down.

Milo was chuckling. “You’re so damned ornery. Change gears. What did you make of the Fleetwood and Reed interaction?”

I took a deep breath.
Damn
, I thought,
why didn’t I marry a man I could manipulate, at least a little?
“If Spence knows the dead guy from six years ago, I’ll bet he’s known Rosalie for that long. Brother, maybe?”

“At least,” Milo said. “Want to find out?”

“Sure,” I said. “Are you humoring me?”

He shook his head. “No, but I knew you were thinking the same thing. It’s easier for me to check public records than it is for you. Sometimes you have to pay twenty-five or thirty bucks to access them online. I thought I’d save you some money.”

I laughed. “Oh, Milo, why can’t I stay mad at you?”

“Damned if I know. Mulehide sure could.” He swung around in his chair to look at his monitor. “Want to sit on my lap?”

“I can’t do that here.”

He shrugged. “Just thought I’d give it a shot. Rosalie Reed, M.D.… Four of them? Where did this one come from?”

“Didn’t you read our special section on the RestHaven staff? Never mind. She had her practice in Bellevue.”

“It’s a wonder Tanya didn’t run into her.… Ah, right. Started there eight years ago after moving from Santa Monica, California. One son, Clifford. Married, but it doesn’t say to who.” Milo looked at me. “Did you interview her?” He saw me nod. “Did she talk about her husband? Is Reed her married or maiden name?”

“She gave me very little personal information,” I said. “In fact, it was an annoyingly short interview, though not as aggravating as the one with Iain Farrell. I did ask about her husband. She said he was retired. The son’s at UCLA.”

Milo stared at the monitor. “Okay, let’s put in the stiff’s name and see what happens. He glanced at the form Spence had filled out. “Philip Randall Curry. Sounds pretentious. No wonder he went nuts.” Milo grinned. “See for yourself.”

I got up and went to stand by Milo’s chair, trying to ignore the big hand that caressed my rear. “Psychiatrist in Beverly Hills, residence
in Santa Monica as of 1997. No other information except his education and other professional achievements, all in the Los Angeles area. Could he be Rosalie’s husband?”

“One way to find out.” The sheriff stopped pawing me and picked up the phone. “Lori, connect me to student information at UCLA in Westwood, California.”

“How do you know where UCLA is?” I asked, sitting back down.

Milo looked at me as if I were the dumb cluck. “John Wooden, the Wizard of Westwood. What college basketball fan doesn’t know that? I was in high school when Alcindor—sorry, Kareem—and the rest of that gang started their big run to all those NCAA …” He held up a hand. “Yes, I’d like the phone number of a student named Clifford Curry. Or he may use Reed-Curry.” There was a brief pause. “I see. No, that’s fine. I’ll call his mother to get the number. Thanks.” Milo set the phone down. “Clifford Reed-Curry lives off campus. I’m glad I don’t have to tell him his dad croaked. Maybe Spence can do that to help Rosalie out. I wonder what else he’s doing for her? Or is he just doing her?”

“Well … it might explain why he often has spent long weekends in the Seattle area. And why he’s never mentioned having a girlfriend.” I slammed my hand against the desk. “Damn! That’s the leak! Not Kay Burns—it’s Rosalie!”

“Does that make you feel any better?”

“No, but at least I know where it’s coming from. Oh, my gosh—how’s Rosalie going to put together an obituary? No wonder we haven’t seen her husband around here. Maybe she won’t go public in Alpine. She might have his death run only in the L.A.-area papers. Or is there just one paper there now? I forget. He sounds fairly prominent in his field. Before he got goofy, anyway.”

“You through speculating?” Milo inquired. “My ears are falling off.”

I stood up. “Then I’m leaving.”

“Good. I’ve got work to do. You’re a distraction.”

I picked up my purse and started out of Milo’s office.

“Don’t forget the salmon,” he called after me.

I kept going.

As soon as I stepped into the newsroom, Vida demanded to know where I’d been. “It’s after three,” she declared. “Don’t tell me you took a long lunch. I know better. Let me see your hand.”

Leo stopped on his way from the back shop. “What’s wrong, babe? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” I said, annoyed by Vida’s omniscience. I realized that the county auditor, Eleanor Runkel Jessup, had undoubtedly called her aunt as soon as Milo and I left the courthouse. “Here,” I said, holding my left hand out to her.

“Hmm. Rather nice. Olive Dodge’s ring, if memory serves.”

“Yes.” I showed the ring to Leo.

“You mean …?” he said, his jaw dropping.

“Yes.”

Amanda had come into the newsroom. “What’s going on?”

“I had nothing better to do this afternoon, so I got married,” I said—and immediately felt contrite for my waspish tone.

Vida stood up. “You should have stayed in the office. I regret that under the circumstances, I can’t offer you my congratulations.” Head held high, she stalked off to the back shop.

Leo put his arm around me. “Damn it, I thought maybe she’d gotten over her snit. Don’t let the Duchess get you down.”

I was on the verge of tears. “She’s a mule,” I whispered.

Amanda patted my arm. “I think it’s terrific. Can I see the ring?”

I sniffed a couple of times. “Sure.” Leo let go of me so Amanda could take my hand.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

I nodded. “It belonged to Milo’s grandmother. I love it.”

Leo hugged me. “I should buy you a drink. Now. How about it?”

I had to smile. “I get married and then hang out in a bar with another guy? Somehow that fits with the rest of the day. Why not?”

Leo picked up his jacket. “If anybody asks,” he said to Amanda, “tell them Emma and I eloped. That’ll confuse the grapevine.”

Amanda was giggling when we left. I was getting to like her more every day, despite almost firing her after she first came to work for us as Ginny Erlandson’s maternity leave fill-in.

“This is decadent,” I said to Leo as we approached the Venison Inn.

“Hey, it’s your wedding day. When’s the honeymoon?”

“Ha. I suspect that we’ll have Tanya staying overnight with us again,” I said as Leo opened the V.I.’s door for me. “Unless Milo has to babysit her at his own house.”

“How long will that go on?” he asked as we walked through the almost-empty restaurant section.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m afraid we’re in for the long haul.”

The bar wasn’t busy, either. In fact, Oren Rhodes, the usual bartender, wasn’t on hand yet. The fair-haired, ponytailed young man who took our orders looked faintly familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Leo, with his ad man’s memory for faces and names, came to the rescue. “Hi, Eric. Ms. Lord and I are taking an unusual afternoon break to celebrate my five hundredth edition of the
Advocate
. Emma?”

“A screwdriver, please,” I said.

“Short Scotch for me,” Leo told the young man.

“Who is that?” I asked after the lanky Eric headed back to the bar.

“Lori Cobb’s kid brother. He’s taking a semester off from WSU
to think about changing his major. Vida had a snippet about that on her page while you were recovering from your near-death experience.”

“Vida,” I said on a sigh. “What will I do with her?”

“Nothing. She has to come around. Uh-oh. Here comes trouble, still limping from her alleged fall.”

I followed Leo’s glance toward the darker reaches of the bar. “Patti Marsh. Was she drinking alone?”

“Not anymore,” Leo murmured as Patti stumbled a bit before sliding next to Leo on the banquette.

“Hey, handsome, how are ya?” Patti asked, ignoring me.

“Not as handsome as I used to be,” Leo replied as Eric came to deliver our drinks.

Patti pointed to Leo’s glass. “I’ll have one of those, too.”

Eric, looking stoic, nodded and left us.

“Gotta pick up Jack,” she said, taking a pack of cigarettes out of her shiny silver shoulder bag. “Light me up, hon.”

Leo complied, offering me the pack. I accepted, letting him light me up, too. I recalled being sixteen and perusing bridal magazines with their elegant photos of post-wedding festivities in handsome hotel dining rooms and under canopies in lush English gardens. At least I wasn’t at the Icicle Creek Tavern with Ed Bronsky. Yet.

“So Jack’s being discharged?” Leo asked.

Patti nodded. “At five. That’s when his IV annybotics are finished. I take over from there. Hell, I can nurse him better than a pro. I know the kind of treatment he needs.” She nodded at least three times.

Eric seemed a bit uncertain when he brought Patti’s drink. I wondered if he was having doubts about serving her, but he went off without a word.

I decided to prove I existed. “Do you know who stabbed him?”

“Not me,” Patti said, trying to focus across the table. “Maybe
Tiff. Prob’ly pissed off ’cause he dumped her. She stole his money and ran off.” She paused, rubbing her bruised forearm. “I dunno—don’t think she’d bother coming back to stab him. Too lazy.” Patti finally zeroed in on me. “Always a dark horse, right? Your big stud got an idea? Or doesn’t he give a shit because he wishes he’d done it himself?”

I stiffened in my chair. “If you mean the sheriff, he questioned Jack earlier today. Your not-so-big stud drew a blank.”

“Hey! Don’t talk that way ’bout my guy!” She gave me a defiant look before tossing back half of her drink in one gulp. “And he still
is
my guy. You got that? The only nurse he needs is me.” Polishing off her Scotch and sticking the cigarette between her smudged lips, Patti awkwardly got up from the banquette and limped toward the ladies’ room.

“Good God,” Leo groaned. “With any luck, when she drives Blackwell from the hospital, they’ll end up in the river.”

I couldn’t see my watch in the bar’s dim lighting. “What time is it?”

Leo glanced at his wrist. “Four. She has an hour to sober up.”

“She hasn’t left the bar yet,” I said after taking a sip from my screwdriver. “Make sure she doesn’t stiff us for her tab.”

“This,” Leo said, finishing his own Scotch, “was not one of my more brilliant ideas. Let’s go. My treat. It’s the least I can do after Patti.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t quite finish my own drink. “I’m low on cash.”

Leo paused to give Eric a thumbs-up sign before putting a hand on my back to steer me out of the bar and to the exit. “What,” I asked, “will Vida say when we show up reeking of liquor?”

“Let her stew. She’ll be dying of curiosity to know where we went, what we did, who we met, and who else was drinking in the afternoon.”

When we returned, Amanda informed us that Vida had left early. “A family situation,” she said wryly. “Roger?”

“I’ll bet she’s collecting him in Bellingham,” I said. “Holly’s taken off, so …” I paused, not wanting to squeal on the Parkers and their role in Vida’s devious plot. “The coast is clear for now.”

At my desk, I tried to focus on my next editorial. The phone rang before I could gather my thoughts.

“Okay,” Mavis said, “you’re not dead, Ms. Lord. You must be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” I replied. “I’m Mrs. Dodge.”

I had to hold the phone away from my ear to avoid being deafened by Mavis’s shriek. “You’re mad, all right,” she finally declared. “Mad as a hatter. Emma, I can’t believe it.”

“You’d better. I’m happy, happy, happy.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘congratulations’?”

She sighed loudly. “I … what am I missing here? You always made Dodge sound like some hick whose only talent was explaining the infield fly rule.”

“I guess I never told you the part about what he was doing when he explained it. Would you like to hear it now or should I just purr?”

“Oh, no!” She sighed again. “Do you want to make me jealous?”

“Someday when we both get very drunk I’ll tell you. I’m not mad. But here’s something you
can
understand. It’s going on five and I’ve got to write an editorial before I go home to make dinner for my husband. I may get off a letter to you this weekend—if I have time.” I made a purring sound just to annoy her.

Mavis hung up on me. Three minutes later, an email from her showed up. “I think I just figured out how to cheer up the Resident Grump. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Congratulations—to me.”