The Alpine Xanadu (7 page)

“I thought you didn’t want to listen to him.”

“I don’t. But why is he cancelling? Has he got the flu? Or …”

The sheriff never liked to speculate, which I realized was what
he was doing before he caught himself. Downing the rest of his drink, he handed me the glass. “Just a short shot. I’m calling Doc.”

To my annoyance—even if I understood the reason—Milo went out into the carport to make his call.
Boundaries, Emma
, I lectured myself.
You have his heart and his body, but you don’t have his badge and his job
. I started putting the crab and the salad on the kitchen table.

When Milo came back inside, he didn’t look pleased. “That flu thing’s no joke. Doc’s up to his ears. Why the hell can’t those high-roller doctors up at RestHaven pitch in?”

“Woo and Farrell are the only M.D.’s,” I said, sitting down.

Milo ripped a crab claw into pieces. “What about the shrinks? Psychiatrists have medical degrees.”

“True. And Jennifer Hood is an R.N. with a master’s. It’d be a goodwill gesture on their part to volunteer when things get rough.”

“They already are,” Milo said. “Doc and Sung have been trying to get somebody up here for a year. Nobody wants to be a G.P. The money’s not there. Gerry and Elvis can’t pay big salaries. I can’t, either. I could use two more deputies. The county’s grown since the college opened. Not a lot, but enough to stretch services across the board.”

“Hey,” I said, kicking him gently under the table, “nobody knows that better than I do. Don’t you ever read my editorials?”

Milo feigned indignation. “Sure. Usually. Sometimes.” He nodded toward the stove. “Smoke’s coming out of your oven. Again.”

“The bread!” I cried, jumping up.

“Is it toast yet?” Milo asked over his shoulder.

“No. The bread’s fine. It’s just some … grease.”

“Emma.” The hazel eyes conveyed a reprimand.

“Okay, so I haven’t turned on the oven since you were here. My appetite’s been off.” I switched subjects. “Why did you go to the courthouse today? Or is it some SkyCo state secret?”

Milo looked pained. “It won’t be in a day or so. Holly Gross is getting out of jail.”

I gasped, almost choking on a radish from the salad. “No!”

“Yes.” He turned in his chair. “Where’s the potato salad? You usually have that with crab.”

“I’m weaning you away from grease since your gallbladder surgery. It helps keep off the ten pounds you lost after the Bellevue siege.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No. It hardly showed, but it’s better for you to stay leaner. Now tell me about Holly before I take away your melted butter for the crab.”

“You lost weight, too,” Milo said. “You’ll get so skinny that I’ll have to shake the sheets to find you.”

“I only lost six pounds. Come on, Dodge, let’s hear it.”

He chewed on some bread before answering. “She filed an appeal. That is, her attorney did. Our new judge, Diane Proxmire, is allowing her to post bond until the appeal can be heard, which can take at least two years. I met with Proxmire and Rosemary Bourgette today. As the prosecuting attorney, Rosie will make the announcement tomorrow or Monday. I hoped you wouldn’t ask.” He took another big bite of bread.

“Vida will pitch a five-star fit,” I said—and caught my breath. “Or does she already know?”

“Who always knows everything?” Milo said glumly. “When Roger was involved in that trailer park mess, Vida was a witness—a muddled one—to Holly shooting another customer. Second-degree manslaughter may not hold up on appeal if a jury decides it was self-defense.”

I was still shocked. “Holly could get her kids back, including the one she had by Roger. No wonder Vida’s been testy lately. Roger’s parents have taken in that baby as their own.”

“Let’s hope they haven’t bonded with … what’s the kid’s name?”

“When Vida mentions him—and she rarely does, being embarrassed—she calls him Diddy. I think he must be going on two.”

“ ‘Duddy’ would fit Roger’s kid better,” Milo remarked.

I cleaned out another crab leg and went back in time to October, when Roger had been busted for some DUIs. His relationship with the town hooker had resulted in Vida finally admitting her grandson wasn’t the paragon of virtue that she’d claimed. The kid had been a spoiled brat from the time I met him, when he was nine. Milo had gone easy on Roger after he gave valuable information about a drug-running operation. Holly had played a minor role with the local dealer and had killed him while they were holding Vida hostage. The chaos and cramped quarters inside Holly’s trailer had hampered even Vida’s remarkable powers of observation. She’d also lost one of her favorite hats in the melee.

“What about the drug trafficking?” I asked, suddenly realizing that Milo had eaten practically an entire crab by himself.

“Secondary to the man-two charge. The operation was shut down after Holly shot the main man.” He started in on the other crab. “We can still act on it, but Rosie advised holding off. Holly’s role was minor.”

“Vida hasn’t said a word. Maybe she’s hoping it won’t happen.”

“Could be.” Milo paused in the act of grabbing a third piece of bread. “Oh—I almost forgot. I picked up something at the courthouse. It’s in my jacket. Let me get it before it slips my mind again.”

He went into the living room. I used his absence to snatch up the last claw. “Here,” he said, returning with a single sheet of paper and handing it to me. “Knowing you, I figured you’d want to read this before you do anything about it.” He ruffled my hair before he sat down again.

My jaw dropped. “It’s a m-m-marriage license th-th-thing!”

“Right.” Milo scratched at the graying sandy hair behind his ear. “You want a ring, too?”

I was stupefied. “You kn-kn-know it’s going to t-t-take a long time to get the allumnut,” I gasped. “I mean an—”

Milo reached across the table and wiped my chin with his napkin. “Stop. You’ve got butter on your face.” He swabbed my cheek, too. “Yeah, I know that, but we should get a justice of the peace to marry us first. I’d like to call you Mrs. Dodge. While Mulehide was here I kept thinking how she trashed that title and it made me want to puke. Besides, it’ll put an end to some of her weird ideas.”

I’d regained my equilibrium. “What weird ideas?”

He leaned back in the chair. “She’s been jabbering about how great it was to have me around while Tanya was recovering, how it was like being a family, and maybe after all this time we … you get the picture.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t want to think about it. She and Jake the Snake are kaput. He’s got somebody else, maybe whoever he was banging when Mulehide filed for divorce last fall. She started in on me again last night. She knows about us—her chums here keep her informed—but she doesn’t believe it’s serious. It wasn’t on our first go-around, as you may recall.”

“I know.” I smiled feebly. “I was an idiot when I dumped you.”

Milo waved a big hand. “No, the timing was wrong. As long as Cavanaugh was still around, you wouldn’t have married anybody. It galled the hell out of me, but you’re a stubborn little twit and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.”

I looked again at the application. “There’s a waiting period, right?”

“Three days. Hey, I’m not rushing you. But sometimes you have a hell of a time making up your mind. Relax. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s to Sekiu with Doc Dewey for some Chinook fishing next week.”

I was finally able to smile. “I guess that’s not a honeymoon trip.”

“Hell, no.” Milo went back to decimating more crab. “You’d get seasick. Or so you’ve said.”

“It’s true. I did that when I had to take the ferry across the Columbia River.”

“You want an engagement ring?” he asked again.

“I gave the one I got from Don back to him thirty years ago. A wedding band’s fine. What about you?”

He shook his head. “I never wore one the first time. I was afraid a ring might get in the way if I had to use my sidearm.”

I nodded. “Are you sure it won’t bother you if I keep my maiden name for the newspaper?”

“Hell, no. It’s better that way. Mrs. Dodge calling Mr. Dodge an idiot in one of her editorials would be even weirder than Ms. Lord doing it. Never mind that everybody knows us. We have to separate our jobs—”

Milo’s cell phone rang. He stood up, glanced at the caller ID, and went into the carport. Assuming the sheriff had finished eating—and wanting to save some crab for sandwiches—I began clearing the table.

“Dare I ask who that was?” I ventured when he came back inside.

“Doc.” Milo frowned as I loaded the dishwasher. “We’re done?”

“Yes. Did Doc say anything of interest?”

He sighed. “It’s official. Eriks died from electrocution. Doc thought so, but he wanted to make sure there weren’t other injuries.”

I stared at Milo. “No chance he fell off the pole?”

“No.” He fingered his chin. “That’s why Doc looked for other signs of trauma. Nothing. Now I’m wondering if it was an accident.”

“You mean …?”

“You got it.” He grimaced. “Murder.”

A
MID A LOT OF THUMPING, THUDDING, AND CUSSING, THE
sheriff took down the double bed. I kept out of his way. It was only after he’d finished putting up the new one that I realized the sheets I’d ordered hadn’t yet been delivered.

“What do you mean, we don’t have sheets?” he bellowed. “You’ve had three weeks to get the frigging things. Is Adam sending them by dog sled from Alaska?”

“Maybe I should’ve checked with Ronnie Blatt,” I said humbly. “I placed the order online from Penney’s at the end of January.”

“What year?” Milo grumbled, kicking at a screwdriver on the floor. “Damn it, I should’ve followed my instincts and gone back to the office.”

“To do what?” I inquired, still docile.

He took out a blue-and-white handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I had Sam and Doe collect Wayne’s gear from the site. I wanted Todd Wilson from the PUD to check for tampering or other safety flaws. It looked fine to me, but I wanted to be sure. Now I have to figure out how Eriks could have gotten fried.”

“How long had he been dead?” I asked, sounding less meek. “You never told me who found him.”

“Marlowe Whipp, coming back from the end of his River Road mail route. Marlowe practically needed an ambulance ride, too. He swore he blacked out for a minute.”

“He often does that on his route,” I remarked. “No doubt that’s why he drops so much mail along the way. What time was that?”

“Around one-thirty,” Milo replied. “Eriks hadn’t been dead for more than a few minutes. He was still warm when we got there. Nobody else has come forward to say they saw anything, but the weather was bad. That’s probably why Eriks wasn’t up on the pole. But it doesn’t explain why his body was on the ground and not inside the van. His PUD jacket wasn’t on quite right, either. Maybe he got hit while he was putting it on or taking it off. There’s something not quite right about any of this.”

“That does make electrocution suspicious,” I murmured. “Did you say he wasn’t wearing gloves?”

The sheriff looked pained. “Right. Eriks was the kind of macho guy who might not always wear them. I suppose there could be hot wires in the van. I’ll ask the PUD about that. It could’ve been lightning. It’d help if a witness turned up. But once you get past Ed’s old villa, there aren’t a lot of houses. Those big Bonneville cross-state power lines go right through there, and somehow they discourage home owners.”

“The river narrows about fifty yards from there, too,” I recalled. “Flooding’s another problem.”

“True.” Milo stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You didn’t put Doc’s report online, did you?”

“No. I wasn’t sure what to say at this point. You hadn’t made a formal statement, and Doc’s conclusion is … awkward.”

“Good,” Milo said, giving my rear a squeeze. “Want to try this thing out? You didn’t make dessert. I’ll settle for seeing if the springs work.”

I hesitated, but saw the gleam in his hazel eyes. Didn’t the man ever get tired? But that too-long enforced separation made me forget that I’d been shortchanged in the sleep department without Milo lying beside me. “Why not?” I said, grabbing his shirtfront. “But we’ll have to fake it with the short sheets.”

“Fake it, hell.” He unzipped my bathrobe. “With you it’s the real thing. Took long enough, though.”

“But worth it,” I sighed as we fell onto the bed. And forgot about putting on the sheets.

Morning has never been a good time for either of us. We both tend not to talk much and move like automatons. Milo left ten minutes before I did. I arrived at the
Advocate
under still cloudy but rainless skies, finding only Amanda and Kip on the premises. Leo had the bakery run, and Mitch showed up as I was stalling in the newsroom waiting for Vida. I wondered if she’d mention Holly’s release from jail or wait until Rosemary Bourgette made the official announcement.

“I hope,” I said to Mitch, “you have better luck with the RestHaven people than I did. In fact, I really messed up with Farrell.”

“Woo and Hood, right?” Mitch remarked, standing by the coffee urn as if he could will it to finish perking. “How come Woo didn’t follow Vida’s show last night?”

“I meant to call Vida,” I said, “but I got … distracted. By the way, the autopsy report’s in on Eriks. Dodge should have something to say about it. There’ll also be an announcement from the prosecutor’s office on another matter, but I’ll handle it. I don’t want to overload you.”

Mitch’s lean face was tired. “That’s okay. Work distracts my mind.”

“Yes,” I murmured, “I’ve had times like that, too.”

The coffee was done. I let Mitch fill his mug first. Leo showed up just as I was heading for my office. “Where’s the Duchess?” he asked, noting Vida’s empty chair. “She’s never late. Flu?”

“Amanda didn’t say she called in sick,” I said.

Leo shrugged. “Maybe she knows her show last night was a
dud.” He began to place bear claws, three kinds of doughnuts, and poppy seed muffins on the tray. “I agree with Ronnie’s closing statement, though.”

Mitch frowned. “Is money really that tight around here?”