by Mary Daheim
Twenty minutes passed before I saw Doc Dewey behind the window of the doors that led into the emergency area. I got up, careful not to trip over the whirling dervish who apparently was still awaiting the ministrations of Dr. Katz. Crossing the small room, I rapped softly on the glass. Doc turned, giving me a quizzical look.
“What is it, girlie?” he asked, opening the door a couple of inches. “You sick?”
I explained that I was performing in my professional capacity. “Reid Hampton’s famous. It’s a news story. What happened?”
Doc expelled a gruff little breath. “Reid Hampton, Ray Marsh, what a crock! Give me five minutes, we’ll catch a cup of coffee.” He nudged the door shut.
It was actually ten minutes before Doc Dewey shuffled into the vending machine area that served as the hospital cafeteria. I noticed that his hand shook as he carried his paper cup over to the table where I was sitting. Crock or not, his experience with Reid/Ray had seemingly unnerved him.
“Slight concussion,” said Doc, easing himself into an orange vinyl chair. “He’ll have to stay overnight, but he should be all right. It’s a good thing that Tabor fellow’s got a swing like a bear with a crosscut saw.”
“He really attacked Reid?” I realized I shouldn’t be incredulous; movie people were known to be excitable. Still, I hated relying on clichés.
Doc drank his coffee as if he were parched. “Seems like it, all right. Reid—oh, hell, I’m going to call him Ray, I brought the kid into the world over forty years ago—said there was a row. Heather Bardeen was doing something upstairs outside their rooms and heard all the commotion, so she called her dad, who called the sheriff. I didn’t ask Ray a lot of questions, because he has to keep quiet.” Doc shook his head, the sparse white hairs looking limp. “Damned fools, all of ’em. What’s this world coming to, Emma?” He looked at me as if I should know.
“Frankly, it’s a miracle Matt didn’t do some serious damage,” I noted. “Reid—or Ray, if you will—is in terrific shape, but so’s Matt and he’s several years younger. They must have been going at it a while before the sheriff’s deputies got there.”
“Oh, yeah?” Doc eyed me inquisitively. “What are you trying to say, girlie?”
I considered. It wasn’t advisable to toss irrational answers back at Doc. His shrewd blue eyes demanded judicious thinking. “I mean that if Matt really wanted to brain Reid, he could have done it. Or if they were going at it tooth and toenail, they’d both be here in the hospital.”
Doc nodded once. “Good point. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” He polished off his coffee and stood up, lifting himself out of the chair by hanging onto the table. “I’d better go see if Katz needs any more help. If not, I’ll go home and watch some golf. The Red Sox won again—what do you think about that?”
I thought that was fine. On the way out we talked of Fenway Park, of the Green Monster, of Boggs and Clark and Clemens. “No relation to Carl or Samuel,” remarked Doc as we passed through the now-empty waiting room. “Roger, I mean. At least that I know of. Carl and Samuel spelled it different from each other, but they were related all the same. Did you know that?”
I said I did. “Speaking of Roger, do you really think Vida’s grandson needs medication, or just a good swift kick?”
For a fleeting instant, Doc looked appalled, then he broke into a grin. “If it were me, I’d prescribe the medication for his parents. Tranquilizers, heavy-duty. But I can’t argue with Gerry. It wouldn’t be right. My son knows what he’s doing. And nowadays, you can’t tell a parent to give their kid a good licking. That’s child abuse.”
I glanced over at the reception desk. Ruth Sharp, R.N., appeared absorbed in charts, but I doubted it. She struck me as a world-class eavesdropper. I lowered my voice:
“Was Cody Graff a child abuser?”
Doc’s body gave off a tiny tremor, but his blue eyes were steadfast “Yes.”
I couldn’t suppress a little gasp. The confirmation of my private beliefs came as a shock. Even when you fear the worst, you still hope for the best. “Did you know it at the time?” My voice was barely audible.
Doc nodded slowly. “I was pretty sure. The trouble was, I didn’t know who did it. Then.”
The soft thrum of a telephone sounded in the background. I put a hand on Doc’s arm. “You mean you thought it might have been Dani?”
Doc was looking very grim. “Maybe. It wasn’t obvious who it was. If you’re going to ruin somebody’s life, you want to be damned sure you got the right one.”
Ruth Sharp was standing, leaning across the reception desk. “Dr. Dewey, a Mrs. Whipp is on her way in. She fell out of a lawn swing. Possible wrist fracture.”
Doc rolled his eyes. “The Whipps are at it again.” He adjusted his stethoscope and turned toward the emergency receiving area. “There goes the golf,” he muttered. “A good thing it bores the bejeesus out of me.” Doc disappeared behind the swinging doors.
“I had to let him go,” Milo asserted in a peevish tone. “We have to wait to see if Reid Hampton presses charges.”
I was sitting across from Milo in his little office, angling my chair to get the full benefit of the fan that was whirling at high speed on the floor. According to Milo, the quarrel had started over Reid’s refusal to take Matt with him to Seattle to meet the film lab people.
“Sounds silly,” said Milo, fingering a round blue object on his desk, “but I’ve known men to fight over dumber things.”
“Was Matt penitent?” I asked.
Milo stuck his finger through the middle of the blue object. It was smaller than a doughnut, but basically the same shape. “Actually, he was. Not at first—he was pretty belligerent. But then he simmered down and seemed worried about Hampton. I had to talk him out of going over to the hospital on his way back to the ski lodge.”
“Alone?”
Milo stared, wearing the blue object like a big ring. “Yeah, why?”
I tilted my head to one side. “If Matt is in love with somebody other than Dani, who is it? It’s got to be a woman who is here in town, because Vida and I heard them quarreling. Who?”
Milo’s hazel eyes wandered around the room. “Hell, I don’t know, Emma. There are several other women on that movie crew. Are you sure you heard two voices? Maybe he was talking on the phone.”
I reflected. “I thought we heard someone else, but I couldn’t make out who it was. Matt was doing all the shouting.”
“I’ll bet he was on the phone,” said Milo.
“Find out,” I said. “I can give you the day and the time. Have Heather check it and see if Matt was making a call then.”
“Why?” Milo was regarding me skeptically.
I had no rational answer. But unlike my exchange with Doc Dewey, I didn’t feel the need for logic with Milo. “Just do it. Don’t you believe in hunches?”
The disparaging expression on Milo’s face told me he didn’t. But I knew he’d do it anyway. I got up to leave, but paused in the doorway.
“Say, Milo, what’s that blue thing you’re fiddling with?”
Glancing down at his hand, Milo’s long mouth twitched in a dry smile. “This? It’s my pet cock. Want to play with it?”
I giggled. “No, thanks.”
Sometimes Milo wasn’t as dense as I thought he was.
I hoped Vida wouldn’t be too late getting back from Seattle. It was too hot to do yard work, or clean house, or get a head start on the next issue of The Advocate. I flopped on the sofa and read for an hour, then took a chance and called Adam. He wasn’t in, but I suddenly realized I hadn’t collected all the items on his wish list. If Curtis Graff was leaving for Ketchikan the next day, I had to get cracking. In less than an hour, the mall would be closed. At least the stores were air-conditioned. The idea should have come to me sooner.
By six P.M., I had finished my shopping, coming as close as I could to Adam’s specific desires. I stopped at the Venison Inn for dinner and was surprised to see Matt Tabor sitting alone at a window tab
le. He wore his brooding look, and a feeble attempt by two young women seeking an autograph was rejected with a surly remark. My initial instinct to say hello died aborning. Matt was obviously in no mood for company.
But I was wrong. Five minutes later, Marje Blatt came into the restaurant and walked straight to Matt’s table. He looked up and gave her a tight smile. It appeared Matt was expecting Marje.
As I ate my London broil, I watched the couple surreptitiously. Could Marje be the love of Matt’s life? It didn’t seem possible. How would they know each other? He’d been in Alpine for less than two weeks. She had been engaged to Cody Graff until his death. I chewed very slowly on my buttered carrots. But if somehow they were lovers, what would be more convenient than that Cody should die? I chewed some more, turning the carrots to pap. Matt apparently had a terrible temper and wasn’t adverse to beating people up with a fireplace shovel. Marje, however, seemed of a more peaceable nature. But poison was said to be a woman’s weapon….
I tried to read the signals they gave off between them. Earnest conversation, a serious discussion, no physical contact, not so much as a smoldering glance. Their meal outlasted mine. I dawdled over my lemonade, wished I could smoke about six cigarettes, and finally left while they were still finishing their entrée.
The phone was ringing when I got in the house. I caught it just before it switched over to the answering machine. It was Milo.
“You were right, Emma. Or were you wrong?” He sounded vague. “Whatever. No call was made from Matt Tabor’s room that morning. Whoever he was talking to was with him.”
I told him about Matt and Marje. “I have to be honest, though,” I cautioned. “I didn’t see any sparks fly.”
“Hmmmm.” Milo was musing, and I could see him fingering his long chin. Or his pet cock. “Marje would have been at work that time of day, right?”
“Probably.” My hunch was teasing me. “Are you keeping an eye on Matt?”
“Not really, why?”
“I just wondered.” There was something I had to say, to tell Milo, to keep the hazily evolving idea alive in my mind. “How’s Reid?”
“I haven’t heard. What’s up, Emma? You sound antsy.”
“I am,” I admitted. “Say, where’s Curtis Graff staying? I’ve got to see him before he goes back to Alaska.”
“He was at Patti’s, but he may be at Cody’s apartment, clearing stuff out. That’s my guess. The number’s in the book.”
I found Cody Graff’s listing before Milo did and I rang off. Curtis answered on the first ring. To my surprise, he offered to come up and collect Adam’s parcels.
He arrived half an hour later, just as I felt the first breath of fresh air filter through the evergreens. Curtis was wearing a dress shirt, no tie, but tailored slacks. I couldn’t help but stare.
“You look sharp,” I said, showing him into the living room. “I don’t have the gumption to get dressed up in this kind of weather.”
He gave me a diffident smile. “I’ve got a dinner reservation in less than an hour at Café de Flore.” His eyes roamed the living room, taking in my Monet and Turner prints, the stone fireplace, the braided rug my great-grandmother had made almost a century earlier. I expected him to comment on the decor, but instead he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at me sideways. “I’m taking Dani to dinner. She could use an evening out.”
“Well!” I cleared my throat. “That’s nice, Curtis. She’s been through hell.” I collected myself and turned a level gaze on him. “Now—and a long time ago.”
To my further surprise, Curtis sat down on the sofa. “I’m getting the idea that a lot of people know the truth about what happened—a long time ago. Maybe that’s good.”
I seated myself in the armchair opposite him. “You don’t sound positive.”
“I’m not.” He was now looking away, in the direction of the tall oak cabinet that housed my alphabet soup collection of audio-visual pleasures: TV, VCR, CD player. Curtis’s gray eyes had the same restless quality as his brother’s, but there was no sign of Cody’s sulkiness. “It’s tough,” Curtis said, after a long pause, “to know when you’ve done the right thing, isn’t it? I mean, even if you’ve pondered long and hard, and you know it’s the only way, you still don’t feel easy in your mind.”
Curtis’s remarkable, if cryptic, little speech caught me off guard. “Life is very complicated,” I said, falling back on a platitude. “Are you talking about dealing with other people or making independent choices?”
For some reason, my query brought a faint smile to Curtis’s face. “Not independent. No, not at all. Let’s just say it’s about people.” He rested one leg over the other knee, careful of the crease in his slacks. “I must sound weird. Coming back to Alpine after all these years has been an unreal experience.”
“I should think so. It would feel odd under any circumstances, but with Cody getting killed, it must almost make you sorry you came.”
“I had to come.” His face had turned very earnest; the words almost sounded desperate. “But I’ll be real glad to leave tomorrow night.”
“Curtis,” I said, hoping to strike a balance between friendly curiosity and professional interrogation, “why did you come?” I hoped my tone would imply that I had a right to know and that he had a duty to tell me.
His response came slowly. Curtis’s teeth worried his lower lip and his fingers thrummed on his knee. “I wanted to see Dani.”
“You care for her that much?”
Above the shake rooftop, I could hear the cawing of crows. A car took the corner too fast on Fir Street, causing the wheels to screech. On the other side of town, a Burlington Northern freight whistled as it slowed on its ascent into the mountains.
“Dani’s special,” Curtis said at last. “I don’t mean because she’s a movie star. She was always that way. Even when she was a kid, there was something different about her. She didn’t act different, she just was different. It’s hard to explain.”
I had an inkling of what Curtis meant: Reid Hampton had described her as luminous; but the word was too extravagant. Dani Marsh struck me as more down-to-earth. “She seems like a very decent person. Vulnerable, too, the kind you’d want to protect.”
Curtis nodded energetically. “That’s it. She’s tough in some ways, but not in others. Her mother is the other way around. I mean, Patti talks tough, but she really isn’t. Dani’s the opposite. And she’s decent, all right. You got it.” He seemed pleased with my analysis.
“I’m guessing that you weren’t pleased when Dani married your brother.”
“I sure wasn’t.” Curtis scowled at the memory. “Anybody could have told her it was a bad idea. I don’t think it took her more than two weeks to figure it out for herself.”
I was searching for another roundabout way to ask the obvious. It’s not easy for a journalist to avoid direct questions. But unlike Vida, I couldn’t be so blunt in casual conversation.
“Yet they stayed together for over a year,” I remarked, “and went ahead and had a baby.”
Curtis put both feet on the floor and stood up. “They stayed together for over a year. That’s right.” He moved in a semicircle, one hand ruffling the hair at the back of his neck.
Curtis didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “The baby’s death must have sealed the fate of that marriage,” I said. “How did Cody take it?”
Curtis gave me an odd look, part puzzled, part scornful. “He acted all broken up. He blamed Dani for going out.”
“But Cody was with the baby,” I pointed out.
Scorn vanquished puzzlement. “That’s right.” Curtis bit off the words.
“What happened that night, Curtis?” I’d finally managed to ask the direct question.
Curtis looked as if he were going to sit down again, but instead he wandered to the end of the sofa. Deep in thought, he gazed at the end table—at the telephone, answering machine, pen, notepad, and my prized Tiffany lily lamp. “Dani called the fire department. She wa
s hysterical, almost impossible to understand. I was on active status, so I answered the phone. All I could figure out was that something terrible had happened.” He was speaking dispassionately, divorcing himself from his memories. “A couple of other guys and I went out to their trailer home, ready for anything. Art Fremstad was already there. Dani was a little calmer, but still a mess. Cody was blubbering into his beer, trying to drink himself stupid. Little Scarlett was dead, probably had been for almost an hour.”
He stopped, presumably gathering courage. Curtis moved the length of the coffee table, pausing by the floor lamp with its shade of geometric stained glass. “I got sick. I threw up in their bathroom.” He hung his head. “Then Doc Dewey came. He asked Art and me a lot of questions. It dawned on me what he was getting at. But he never said anything. He just sort of looked at us, and at Dani and Cody, and said to send for Al Driggers and the hearse.”
“But you knew then that the baby’s death wasn’t natural?”
Cody’s face had darkened, his features looking sharp in the shadow cast by the lamp. “Not for sure. There were some marks on her face, but Cody said he’d tried to revive her. You don’t want to think about the other possibility.”
“No,” I breathed. “Of course not. Especially when it’s your own brother and his child.”