by Mary Daheim
I leaned against him and looked up into those intense hazel eyes. “No. No. Marrying you was the smartest thing I ever did that I never thought I’d ever do.”
Milo looked faintly perplexed. “That almost makes sense. But I’ll take it.”
“Me too,” I murmured, and let him carry me into the bedroom.
Chapter 19
Only about two inches of snow had fallen during the night, but the temperature had dropped into the upper twenties. My winter tires seemed to be doing their job, especially since several other vehicles had already left their marks. I pulled in next to Leo’s Camry. It was strange not to see Vida’s big Buick in front of the office. Stranger still to think that I’d probably never see it again if it really had been totaled.
Alison hadn’t yet arrived, but Leo and Liza were at their desks. I told them they’d done a good job filling in for Vida.
Leo was fondling his empty coffee mug. “Did she have a radio in her room last night?” he asked.
“I didn’t see one when I was there,” I said. “But she might’ve insisted that someone bring one so she could make sure her image wasn’t being tarnished. Maybe Ted exchanged Amy for a radio to please his mother-in-law.”
“Not a bad idea,” Leo remarked, then glanced at Liza. “Vida’s daughters are like tabby cats compared to their lionhearted mother.”
The coffee urn’s red light went on at the same time Alison arrived. She stopped in the doorway to the newsroom and held up her injured left hand in greeting. “It’s better,” she announced, though she spoke in a rather doleful manner. I figured our receptionist had been hoping for a relapse—and another visit with Jan Kadar.
Kip, who apparently had ESP when it involved the coffee urn, came in from the back shop. “Guess what?” he said to me. “We’re going to a dude ranch this summer in Montana. It was my wife’s idea. She’s always been nuts about horses.”
“That’s great, Kip,” I said with enthusiasm. The MacDuffs had never ventured far from the state of Washington except for ski trips to Idaho. With two boys and the rather modest salary I paid him, exotic travel plans had been nonexistent. But the mention of Montana reminded me that I should try to call J. L. Erskine in Hardin again to inquire about his relative Piper. That would be my first task as soon as I filled my coffee mug. At that moment I realized that Mitch Laskey hadn’t yet arrived. Instead of heading for my office, I went into the reception area to ask Alison if she’d heard anything from Mitch.
“I just got off the phone with him,” Alison said, looking subdued. “Mitch will be late, if he can make it at all. Mrs. Laskey had a meltdown. Today’s their son’s birthday and she’s distraught because he’s in prison.”
“I suppose she is,” I allowed. “Brenda’s very emotional.” I didn’t add that ever since Mitch started working for me over a year ago, I’d gotten the impression that his wife had been unstable even before Troy had gone to jail.
Alison nodded. “Mitch is sad sometimes, too. How old is his son?”
I tried to remember. “Twenty-five, twenty-six?”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“He did,” I replied, noting that my receptionist’s eyes lit up. “But they’d broken up long before he was arrested for dealing drugs. He was also using.”
“Drugs.” Alison frowned. “If…Troy, right?” She paused so I could acknowledge his name. “He must be clean now. Being in jail, I mean.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “Addicts find ways of getting drugs even when they’re behind bars.”
“Has Mitch mentioned if his son still does drugs?”
“No. Talking about Troy is very painful for him. I never bring up the subject unless he does it first.”
Alison fingered her chin. “Troy only has his parents here, so he must be lonely. I’m trying to come up with some New Year’s resolutions, but so far I’ve only made two—not using Lori’s hair conditioner and calling my parents in Everett twice a week unless I drive over there to visit them. Maybe I could visit Troy so he has someone else to keep him from being lonely.” She stared at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.
“Well…” I couldn’t decide if that was the best or the worst idea I’d heard lately. “You should talk to Mitch about that.”
“I think I will.” Alison smiled. “Maybe I’ll just happen to leave for lunch when he does.”
I was torn. My initial reaction was negative, but the more I thought about it, Alison’s plan might be a good one. Not just for her but also for the Laskeys, including Troy. “Go for it,” I said, and went back into the newsroom, where I filled my coffee mug before going into my cubbyhole.
I immediately pulled up the phone number for J. L. Erskine. Montana was an hour ahead of us, which meant it was going on nine-thirty in the small farming town of Hardin. Maybe Erskine would be out in the fields. Or would he? If we had snow, maybe they did, too. I dialed the number—and got the same message. Apparently J. L. spent a lot of his time away from the phone. Or maybe he was out of town. But I decided to leave a message: “Emma Lord calling from Alpine, Washington, regarding the personals ad you put in our newspaper.” I left the number for the Advocate but didn’t identify myself as the editor and publisher. Maybe Erskine would think I’d found Piper.
Shortly after nine, Mitch called. “Emma,” he said, and the heaviness in his voice sounded like a doomsday intonation. “I may not be in until this afternoon. I’m afraid Brenda isn’t well. Alison probably told you about…” His voice broke.
“She did,” I said in a sympathetic tone. “I’m so sorry for both of you. Had you planned to visit Troy today?”
Mitch cleared his throat before he answered. “We thought we’d go see Troy tomorrow, but now…I’ll try to get an appointment today with Doc Dewey or Dr. Sung. Brenda may need a change of medications.”
I’d never known what kind of meds Brenda was on. “That sounds like a good idea. Do whatever you have to, but keep me posted, okay?”
“I will.” His voice had a tremor. “I hate taking time off, but…”
“Never mind,” I interrupted. “Family comes first. Good luck, Mitch.”
“Thanks, Emma.” It sounded as if he fumbled the phone before disconnecting.
I went to his desk, checking to see that he hadn’t forgotten any appointments. His daily planner showed only reminders of ongoing story ideas. After refilling my coffee mug, I called Julie Canby at the hospital.
“Mrs. Runkel may be discharged around noon,” Julie told me. “She seems fairly chipper. Her daughter was discharged yesterday in the noon hour.” She lowered her voice. “Mrs. Hibbert didn’t want to leave, but Dr. Sung insisted. She was taking up space for a patient who needed a bed. We’re still overloaded.”
“Who’s taking her home?”
“I suppose Mr. Hibbert,” Julie replied. “I assume he can take his lunch hour to collect his mother-in-law.”
“If he can’t, I’ll do it,” I said. “Let me know if Ted flunks the job.”
“I will. Of course, Mrs. Runkel may have to stay another day. The doctors haven’t made rounds yet. If that happens, tomorrow is Saturday and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
I agreed. “If she does stay on, I may try to see her later today.” I thanked Julie and rang off.
It suddenly dawned on me that I’d have to make Mitch’s rounds of the sheriff’s office and the courthouse. I’d gotten so caught up with Erskine and Vida that I’d put my reporter’s duties out of my mind. Grabbing my jacket, I flew through the now-empty newsroom and informed Alison I had to fill in for Mitch.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Brenda’s sick,” I replied, my hand on the doorknob. “He may show up later today. I’ll fill you in when I get back.”
Once outside, I slowed down. I didn’t want people staring at me. Entering headquarters, I was surprised to
see Milo talking to Rosemary Bourgette, the Skykomish County prosecuting attorney. My husband didn’t look pleased to see me.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded in less than loving tones.
“Filling in for Mitch,” I replied. “Naturally, I’m now curious about why our prosecutor is here.” I smiled at Rosemary, who smiled back.
Milo didn’t respond right away. “Oh, hell,” he finally said, “you might as well come into my office.” He glanced at Lori, who was on the phone, and at Doe Jamison, who was manning the front desk. “Hold my calls,” he told Doe, then led the way into his lair and closed the door behind us.
After we were seated, Milo turned to me. “Rosie’s here because Patti Marsh filed battering charges against Blackwell. But Patti has to talk to Rosie first to make the charges official. As you know, Patti’s disappeared. And no,” he continued, turning to Rosemary, “we have no idea where she went. Neither does Jack.”
“But her car’s gone, right?” Rosemary said to Milo.
“Right,” he agreed. “The APB hasn’t turned up any sightings so far. By the time it was issued, Patti could have headed south to her daughter in L.A. We haven’t heard back yet from the airlines.”
Rosemary nodded absently. “I suppose it’s too soon to check with credit card companies?”
“We should hear back this afternoon,” Milo replied. “De Groote’s working on that. Patti filed charges against Blackwell a year or so ago, but she dropped them. She might do the same thing again.”
“I remember that,” Rosemary said with a frown. “I told her to follow through, but she wouldn’t listen. Of course, that’s not unusual for battered women. They love the jerk no matter how badly they’re treated. It’s the worst part of my job.”
I nodded. “She should call herself Patsy instead of Patti.”
Rosemary stood up. “I may leave the office a little early. Evan and I hope to go skiing up at the pass tonight—if it’s open.”
I smiled to myself. Rosemary and Evan Singer had been seeing each other for going on a year. Maybe the romance was serious. Both Rosemary and Evan were around forty, but neither had ever married. Evan had inherited ownership of The Whistling Marmot Movie Theatre and he also worked shifts as a 911 operator. I made a mental note to include Evan’s annual film festival in the next issue of the paper.
Milo ignored the ringing of his phone and turned to Rosemary. “You probably won’t know how it is up at the summit until later this afternoon. The last report I got from the state patrol thinks we may be in for it. Hell, Rosie, you could ski right here in town if it gets that bad.”
She laughed. “We could, but Evan’s already got a college student to fill in for him at The Whistling Marmot. They’re showing Fun with Dick and Jane. I told Evan I’d pass on that one.” Rosemary turned to me. “Evan’s sub is one of Vida’s relatives, Royce Blatt. How is Vida?”
“She seems to be doing well,” I said. “In fact, she may be released today.”
“Tell her I send my wishes for a speedy recovery.” Rosemary saluted Milo and made her exit, closing the door behind her.
“You’re not leaving?” my husband asked in a tone of mild surprise.
“Well…I guess you aren’t glad to see me,” I replied.
“I would be if you knew where Patti is,” he said. “Nobody just disappears. Oh—I noticed Jason Campbell’s rental car parked by the diner when I came to work. He must’ve stayed over to visit his relatives.”
“He may’ve stayed with them. They’ve got enough bedrooms in that big house.”
“Right.” He stood up. “Now go away before I start messing with your face. I need a coffee refill.”
I got up from the chair “Brute. I know when I’m not wanted.”
“That’s the problem,” Milo said, holding his mug and walking to the door. “I always want you.” To prove it, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. I left with my spirits raised a notch.
On my way out I almost forgot to check the log. There wasn’t anything really newsworthy, though there had been several minor accidents, mostly weather-related. I made a mental note to have Kip post cautions about driving safely in snowy conditions. Not that locals needed the reminder. In the town’s early years, the residents had dealt with snow on the ground from early September to the start of June. I shuddered at the very thought.
By the time I got back to the office, I figured the doctors should have made their rounds. I called the hospital, where Jenny Bjornson answered.
“Mrs. Runkel is on the phone,” she informed me. “She wants to go home today, but Dr. Sung told her she couldn’t until tomorrow. I think she threatened to call Doc Dewey. She said he had more sense than Dr. Sung.”
“Right,” I said, “Sung’s only been here ten years. Please tell Mrs. Runkel I’ll come to see her during my lunch hour.”
After hanging up, I went into the front office to ask Alison if Mitch had received any calls that might smack of news. She said he hadn’t, just a reminder of his Monday dental appointment with Dr. Starr. I then headed for the back shop to alert Kip to post the weather advisory on our website. I was just returning to the newsroom when Alison came from the other direction to leave a note for Leo.
“It’s about that personals ad from Montana,” she explained. “A Mr. Erskine called to say we could cancel it. Apparently he found Piper.”
“He did?” I was unexpectedly startled. “Did he explain how?”
Alison shook her head. “He didn’t go into details. I suppose Piper showed up.”
“What number did he call from?”
“I’d have to check our caller ID,” Alison said.
“Let me do it.” Seeing our receptionist’s curious expression, I conjured up a lame excuse. “It’s a journalist’s hunch. I think I may know someone who came from Hardin.”
Alison shrugged. “Sure, go for it.”
We both went into the front office, where she clicked on the incoming call number. “Thanks, Alison.” I started to turn away, but stopped. “I see your wrist must be better. You only have some surgical tape on it today.”
“It is,” she said. “I stopped in at the clinic after work last night to have it checked out. Jan thought it was mending fairly fast. He told me to check back with him tomorrow. It’s Saturday, of course, but he told me he’d be available in the afternoon.”
I managed to keep a straight face. “That’s good. You don’t want to overdo it.”
“Right. Jan insists I should go easy.”
“Very smart.” I went back through the newsroom.
My phone rang about five minutes later. It was Janet Driggers’s husband, Al, calling from the funeral home. “Cubby Pierce’s widow passed away last night. Melva—Kitty was her nickname, very fond of cats—would have been a hundred this coming Tuesday.” Al’s voice was as dry and moribund as if he could see the Grim Reaper beckoning to him.
The names were vaguely familiar. I recalled only Cubby. Vida had mentioned him years ago in connection with some weird hobby he had, which I couldn’t remember except that it had something to do with chickens and whiskey. “When are the services?”
“I don’t know yet,” Al said. “Only one of the Pierces still lives in Alpine. Nell Pierce Blatt is one of Vida’s sisters-in-law. I believe her first name is actually Eleanor. She’s trying to contact other family members, but I understand they’re scattered all over the country.”
“Just let us know,” I reminded him.
“Of course.” It almost sounded as if Al had put an exclamation point on his words. But not quite. “I have a question for you, Emma.”
“Go ahead,” I urged him. “I don’t guarantee I can answer it, though.”
“I got a call this morning from Montana,” Al began as if he were reading from a book. “The man asked if we could ship the body of the poor young woman
who was killed here to a town called Hardin. I told him the body had already been sent to Oakland. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes. That’s where Rachel Douglas was from. Did the man identify himself?”
“No,” Al replied, sounding even more dismal than usual. “When I gave him the information, he hung up on me. That struck me as rather rude.”
“It was. Do you still have his number?”
“No. I was on the extension in the vault. We only have an older phone there. It belonged to my father and I keep it for sentimental reasons.”
“But,” I said, “the call would’ve come to your other phones, right?”
“Yes, yes, it would. Why do you ask?”
I hesitated, not really wanting to explain my complicated reason. “Just curious. You know what we journalists are like.”
“My, yes, always seeking the facts.” There was a faint hint of humor in Al’s voice. Or maybe he had gas. “I must ring off as I have another call. Take care, Emma.”
I tried again to phone Vida but got a busy signal. That was a good sign, though I would expect her to be able to talk from the grave. The rest of the morning was spent dealing with some minor stories Mitch would have handled if he’d been in the office. Around eleven I checked in again with the weather service. The snow was accumulating, and they were predicting up to ten inches. I decided I’d drive up to the hospital.
But first I called the sheriff. Lori put me through immediately. “Do you have anything like news for me?” I asked in my meekest fake-wife voice.
“Hell, no,” my husband growled back. “The airlines haven’t got a Patti Marsh listed on any flight to California. No Marshes of any kind.”
“Maybe you should try Montana,” I suggested, not quite as meekly. “She may’ve gone there to check out her windfall of land.”
“I wondered about that,” Milo said in his normal voice. “But I just heard that they haven’t spotted her car in the Sea-Tac underground parking.”
I looked up to see RestHaven’s PR staffer, Kay Burns, heading my way. “I’ve got a visitor. Talk to you later.” For once, I hung up on Milo.