by Mary Daheim
“If they are,” I replied, “nobody’s reported seeing them. They weren’t at the O’Neill house, which is about to fall down. Maybe it has by now with all the snow we’ve gotten.”
Mitch looked thoughtful. “I should check that out. It’s off Disappointment Avenue, right? Don’t you think it’d make a good photo?”
I considered the idea. “Go ahead. It depends on how it looks. The county may’ve condemned the property. You can ask at the courthouse. But beware of squatters. It’s been vacant for a while, and a bum or two from the trains may be staying there.”
“I’m from Detroit, Emma,” Mitch said with an ironic expression. “There’s not much I haven’t seen in the way of squalor. But I’m glad to hear that things are looking up back there these days.”
As always, Mitch’s gloom lifted temporarily when he faced a challenge. Meanwhile, I brooded about the Danforth obituary. Vida still hadn’t shown up. I began to worry that she’d overdone things and had a relapse. But my deeper concern was how she’d react to seeing the obit that included Waldo as a survivor. Whatever effect the name had had on her, it was deeply disturbing. Shortly before noon, I decided to call Vida and ask if she was coming to the office, but just as I was about to pick up the phone, Alison showed up to tell me that Vida had called while I was talking to Mitch.
“Mrs. Runkel won’t stop by today,” Alison said. “She’s nursing her daughter back to health. Is Amy some kind of wuss?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I think all three of her daughters are on the wussy side. I only know Amy, but while they resemble Vida physically, they lack what their mother would call gumption.”
“I get it,” Alison said with a wistful smile. “I often wonder if I’d’ve turned out differently if my birth mother had raised me. She sounded kind of overwhelming, too. I was much better off with my adoptive parents. They were great people. They still are. Oh—I didn’t get a chance earlier to tell you Jan and I hung out together yesterday with a couple of his buds from Anacortes. He wasn’t on call for a change. I thought he might be because of it being a weekend and the weather was sort of iffy.”
“That sounds like you two really get along. Guys are sometimes reluctant to introduce a new girl to their friends.”
“They were both cool,” Alison said. “They’re fishermen and spend the summer up in Alaska. The rest of the year they work on keeping up their boats. Or should I say ships?”
“That depends on the size of the craft,” I said. “It’s dangerous work. There’s a memorial in Seattle at the fishing boat docks in Ballard to all of the fishermen and crabbers who’ve been lost at sea.”
Alison looked aghast. “Really? That’s awful!”
My phone rang again. With Alison in my cubbyhole, I had to take the call. She scooted off as I picked up the receiver.
“What’s with the woman who croaked in the hospital?” Janet Driggers demanded. “She dies here, but nobody notifies Al? I assume you got the obit. ’Fess up, Ms. Publisher.”
I counterattacked. “I assume you’re talking about Mrs. Danforth. So how do you know about it if someone from the family hasn’t contacted you or Al?”
“I have my ways,” Janet said slyly. “Oh, crap, Al found out from Nell Blatt, who called to thank Al for the fine job he did on her in-law, Melva Pierce. Trust me, it wasn’t easy for Al, given that Melva didn’t look that good even when she was younger. I guess Nell knew the Danforths a zillion years ago. It’s a wonder she remembered. Her memory went down the drain a long time ago.”
I decided not to mention that Vida had been in the same hospital room when Julia Danforth died. The last thing I wanted was to make any connection between the two women. Janet couldn’t be trusted to keep anything to herself. If any of the older folks remembered the Danforths, by the time the gossip mill finished grinding, someone might start a rumor that Vida had done in Waldo’s wife.
“Sorry you missed out on the job,” I said.
“No big deal,” Janet assured me. “There’s always a next time, especially in the winter. Business picks up. Al’s got his eye on several old coots who are on shaky ground. Got to go. It’s quiet around here now, so maybe Al and I can have a quickie in the curtained family mourning room.”
On that relatively mild if semi-explicit note, Janet rang off.
Mitch returned a little after eleven. “So I went up to the O’Neill house,” he said, sitting down in one of the visitor chairs and handing me three photos. “The place is almost literally falling down. I couldn’t get around to the back because everything was overgrown. Too bad we didn’t get these shots in October for Halloween. It may collapse before October rolls around again.”
“We could save them.” I studied the black-and-white pictures. One was of the front and the other two had been taken on either side of the house. The roof was severely damaged. “The inside must be full of mold. The county should condemn it as a health hazard.” I peered more closely, noticing a white blob in one of the windows. “Is that mold or a hole in the window?”
Mitch studied the picture. “That’s odd. I didn’t notice it at the time. I was too focused on the house itself. Frankly, I didn’t want to spend any more time there than it took to snap off those shots. I remember what you told me about the O’Neills being massacred by the Hartquists. That was where it happened, right?”
I nodded. “It was an ambush. The two families had a long-standing feud. The Hartquists brought the bodies to the meat locker.” Even after seven years, the memory of the O’Neill corpses still sickened me. “It probably is mold. Let’s not dwell on what that house looks like inside. I was actually inside shortly after the O’Neills were killed. Back then, it wasn’t as bad as you might imagine.”
“I’ll try not to,” Mitch said. “But I’ve probably seen worse in Detroit’s inner city.”
I didn’t doubt him. Mitch went back to his desk while I pondered my editorial. Given the winter weather and the recent vehicular accidents, I decided to urge all drivers in the county to be prepared, especially when they ventured onto Highway 2. Black ice was a potential killer. I shuddered when I thought how Vida had skidded on it and wrecked her Buick. She was lucky she hadn’t been killed. I wouldn’t mention her accident in print, but I would refer to the number of casualties, including the fatalities.
At ten minutes before noon, my phone rang. The woman’s strained voice sounded familiar, but I didn’t recognize it until Kay Burns identified herself. “Can you come to see me on your lunch hour?” she asked. “I have to talk to you. By the way, I’m not at RestHaven. I’m at my town house.”
“Are you sick?” It was a knee-jerk question.
“No. But I need privacy for what I have to tell you. I’m sorry to bother you, but…Do you mind coming up here? I can make sandwiches.”
“No, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Is there anything I can bring?”
Kay’s laugh was mirthless. “I’m afraid not. There’s nowhere in Alpine where you can get a set of new nerves. See you soon.” I heard a clattering noise as she disconnected. Maybe Kay had dropped the phone.
Five minutes later, I turned off the Icicle Creek Road and pulled up in front of Kay’s town house. She must have been watching for me, as the front door opened before I set foot on the stone walkway. The wind was coming down from Tonga Ridge, blowing in from the east. That could mean more snow.
But I hadn’t called on Kay to talk about the weather. My first reaction was that she’d aged since I’d last seen her just a week or two ago. I wondered if that was because of Iain Farrell. She’d always been protective of him. Maybe they really had been lovers. But I questioned her taste in men, seeing as she’d married Jack Blackwell in her younger years. I’d never blamed Kay for leaving Alpine after that disaster. Her previous union with Dwight Gould had been even briefer. Milo had said it hadn’t lasted a year.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, ushering me int
o the well-appointed living room. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her.
“I’m not,” she said, indicating that we were both going to sit on the handsome green leather sofa. I noticed an opened bottle of red wine but couldn’t see the label. Not that it mattered. I’m ignorant when it comes to any distinction beyond red and white. Kay took a quick sip before speaking again. “It’s about Iain. He’s gone.”
I was surprised. “You mean he left before his official resignation date at the end of the month?”
Kay nodded and sipped more wine. “I hadn’t seen him for a few days, but that’s not unusual. Iain’s always kept to his office during the workday. He’s not a social sort of person.”
No kidding. I thought back to my first encounter with him when RestHaven opened. He’d been rude from the start and moved on to insulting. I ended up walking out on him. That had been one of my all-time worst—and briefest—interviews.
Kay sipped more wine before continuing. “When I mentioned Iain to Dr. Woo this morning, he told me that Iain had left his practice at RestHaven last Wednesday and apparently left town the next day. Dr. Woo is very discreet, so he gave me no details. I waited until Friday to call Iain, but his phone had been disconnected. I found out this morning that he’d paid his rent at Clemans Manor through the end of the month but gave immediate notice.” She paused to refill her glass. “I’m worried about him. He’s a lone wolf, but over time we’d established a budding friendship. At least,” she went on with a sad little smile, “I thought we had.”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “he had a family problem. Did he still have relatives back in the Midwest?”
“If so, he never mentioned them.” Kay frowned into her wineglass. “He did go into Seattle on rare occasions. He enjoyed chamber music concerts. But I think he went alone.”
“Sad,” I remarked. Something about Farrell’s official—and brief—RestHaven biography niggled at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t figure out what. “Do you think he might keep in touch with you?”
Kay shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps. We sometimes had dinner together after work, either here or at the ski lodge. Goodness,” she said, turning away, “I’m tearing up. I think I must be missing him already. Silly of me, really.”
“No, not if you liked him,” I assured her. “I still miss my former reporter Scott Chamoud and his wife, Tamara.”
“Yes, but…” Kay paused. “I’m worried about Iain. I think something terrible must have happened.” She looked me in the eye. “I’m sure Dr. Woo would never tell any of the staff why Iain left in such a rush, but you’re the press. I know you run articles about people who come here to take jobs and those who move on to somewhere else. Could you call on Dr. Woo?”
I hesitated. “I’ll send Mitch Laskey. I won’t mention your name, not even to Mitch.” That was a lie, but my reporter understood discretion when it came to news sources. “Even if you hadn’t told me, word would get out about Farrell’s departure. That’s a story in itself, as his replacement will be when the job is filled.”
Kay put her hand on my arm. “Oh, Emma, thank you! I appreciate your understanding. Are you sure I can’t make you some lunch?”
“Actually,” I said, “I’d planned to meet Milo for lunch.” Another lie, but maybe I would see if he was at the Burger Barn. “Please keep in touch, okay? Maybe we can have lunch later this week.”
Kay removed her hand, and I stood up. “I’d like that,” she said. “I thought it was so nice that you and the sheriff got married. I didn’t realize you were even dating.”
I tried not to show my surprise. But Kay had only returned to Alpine a year ago, when RestHaven opened. Apparently she wasn’t tuned in to the local gossip grapevine. “Milo and I were always good friends,” I said. That was lame, but Kay didn’t seem to notice. She had other matters on her mind.
So did I. And one of them that we now shared was Iain Farrell.
Chapter 24
There was no sign of Milo in the Burger Barn. I went to the take-out area and asked the curly-haired young man behind the counter if the sheriff had placed an order. I was informed that he had and it would be ready for pickup in about ten minutes. I told him to make it a double order but hold the cheese on mine. I’d deliver the burgers, the fries, and even the slice of cherry pie he shouldn’t have with lunch.
Lloyd Campbell was entering the restaurant. He was looking a little lost, so I called his name and asked how Jean was getting along. His expression changed to disturbed.
“Emma,” he said, and paused. “Are you eating here?”
“No, I’m doing takeout for the sheriff and me.”
Lloyd indicated a vacant booth toward the front. “Do you mind sitting for a few moments?”
I told him I didn’t because I’d just put in the order. We sat down after Lloyd appeared to check out the nearby booths. I assumed he was making sure there was no one who would want to eavesdrop.
“I know Jean came to see you a few days ago,” he said. “I also know you met Jason. He’s a fine young man. But since he came here, poor Jean has gone into what I can only call a slump. Depression might be a better word. I’ve urged her to make an appointment with Doc Dewey, but she refuses. I guess I’m telling you this because I wondered if you saw any indications of her being overly stressed.”
I decided to skip the earlier menopausal trauma. It’d be indiscreet to acknowledge the Presbyterians’ propensity for gossip. Over the years, I’d felt that most men believed menopause was a woman’s excuse for being crabby about the aging process. I’d had my own problems. I was going through the change when Tom was killed. It took me fifteen months to recover, thanks to Paxil—and Milo.
“She was upset about Jason’s loss of his girlfriend,” I said. “Jean didn’t think they were that serious when they were dating, but maybe she misjudged their feelings.”
“Yes,” Lloyd replied, still with one eye on the café’s door. “That’s the sense we got from him. But making the trip up here seemed very important to him. Of course, Jason’s a serious type of person. But still…” He held up his hands in a helpless gesture.
“I can understand,” I responded. “My impression was that Rachel was a bit of a loner. That is, she had no family nearby. It was probably like a pilgrimage for Jason.”
Lloyd frowned. “I suppose you could look at it that way. He told us that he’d make the arrangements for Rachel’s burial. Frankly, I felt that should be left to Alameda County. In fact, I told him so, but Jason had made up his mind.”
An image of a tight-fisted, thrifty Scotsman flew through my mind’s eye. Not wanting to picture Lloyd Campbell in a kilt, I remarked that it was very generous of Jason. “He seems like a good guy.”
“He is,” Lloyd said, then brightened and waved his hand. “Here comes my lunch companion.”
Simon Doukas had entered the Burger Barn. He was down at the bottom of the list of people I wanted to see. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” I said, sliding out of the booth. “Enjoy your lunch.”
I took the long way around to get back to the take-out area. Just seeing Simon almost spoiled my appetite. But I wondered why he and Lloyd were having lunch. Of course, they could be friends. On the other hand, I’d heard that despite being retired, Simon still took on a case now and then—especially for friends. I wondered if there was a reason Lloyd Campbell might be consulting a lawyer.
* * *
—
“What’s with those new owners at the Burger Barn?” Milo demanded as he removed the top of the bun and stared at the hamburger. “They’re cheating on the amount of meat they hide under bigger buns. I should cite them for defrauding their customers.”
“Does SkyCo have a law about that?” I asked in an innocent voice.
“If we don’t, I’ll make one up,” Milo declared. “Mullin
s told me they’re going to put out new menus and add some new stuff. They damned well better not screw with their basics.”
I diverted my husband by telling about my encounter with Lloyd Campbell. Milo wasn’t impressed. “So? Maybe he and Doukas are old pals. They’re about the same age. They probably went to high school together.”
“You’re right,” I conceded. “You’re younger than they are. They would’ve been out of high school by the time you got there. Now tell me about LaVerne Nelson’s temper tantrum.”
“I wasn’t there,” Milo replied. “I locked myself in my office when I saw her truck pull up in front of headquarters.”
“You can’t blame her for wondering where her daughter-in-law is,” I said. “Did she have the little girl with her?”
“Yeah, she did.” Milo paused to scarf down some of his burger. “The poor little twerp looked woebegone. I figure she was traumatized by being left in the courthouse shelter. Some of those kids can be ornery.”
“I suppose,” I allowed. “I gather LaVerne hasn’t heard from Sofia?”
Milo shook his head. “Hell, I don’t blame her. Mickey’s on the lam, so maybe he stole another car and he’s taken Sofia out of state. Nothing new with the APB for him or for Blackwell and Patti. The weather’s against us, too. Doe says there’s more snow on the way. I tend to believe her. Those Muckleshoot instincts of hers are usually accurate. Her people have lived around here for two thousand years.” He grabbed four of my fries.
“I have some news for you,” I said. “Iain Farrell has left town.”
“So? I wasn’t planning on giving him a going-away party.”
“I think the staff might’ve.” I gave my husband a steely-eyed look. “Dr. Woo believed Farrell would be staying on until the end of the month.”
“That’s Woo’s problem,” Milo said, stealing three more of my fries. “Farrell’s another horse’s ass. But unlike Blackwell, I’ve never really had to tangle with him. He gave me some lip once, but I shut him down. What’s for dinner?”