by Mary Daheim
I patted Mitch’s arm. “You did fine. Roy’s in the right hands.”
Mitch didn’t act convinced. “Maybe.”
We reached the waiting room. Dr. Sung was talking to Milo, who had his back to me. Roy was lying unconscious by the fish tank with a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. Marje, disheveled and upset, was huddled in a chair next to Amer Wasco, the local cobbler. A broken lamp was on the floor near an upended century plant. Two chairs lay on their sides and magazines were scattered everywhere. I gingerly stepped around the dirt scattered by the fallen planter and went over to ask Marje if there was anything I could do for her.
Before I could open my mouth, Carla Steinmetz Talliaferro came out of the exam room area holding her five-year-old son, Omar, by the hand. “Emma,” she said, “are you sick or is this a story?”
“Carla,” I said to my former reporter, “you decide. Aren’t you still advising the student newspaper at the college?”
Carla started to answer, but Milo had turned around. He took one look at me, started to say something I figured wasn’t fit for Omar’s ears, and turned away again. If exasperation had feet, I would have felt it walking right up from my toes to my nose.
“I’m on winter break,” Carla said, surveying the damage. “What happened? I heard a ruckus, but Omar wouldn’t put his clothes on, so I had to wait. He’s got a sore throat, but not strep. This place is a mess.” She lost her hold on Omar, who scurried over to where Roy was lying.
“Is he dead?” Omar asked hopefully.
Carla studied Roy’s inert form. “I think he’s napping, sweetheart. Which is what you’ll do when we get home.” She turned back to me. “That’s Mr. Everson from the post office. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s … sick,” I said. “Have you met …” I turned around to introduce Mitch, but he wasn’t in sight. “Where he’d go?”
“The man you were with?” Carla asked, tossing her long black hair. “He must’ve gone back down the hall. Isn’t he my replacement?”
“Thrice removed,” I said. “He’s good.” He hasn’t yet made a single horrendous typo like some of yours. If you wrote a story about the people in this waiting room, they’d turn out to be Amer Wacko, Marje Blott, and Dr. Dung. “Watch out, Carla. Omar’s getting under the blanket with Roy.”
“Oh.” She went over to take her son’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. We’re going home. Nice to see you, Emma.”
Mother and child got to the door. “It’s locked,” Carla said.
“Use the back way,” I urged her. “That’s how I came in.”
“Okay.” Taking Omar’s hand, Carla maneuvered through the wreckage and carnage with the same lack of awareness she’d often shown to any newsworthy action going on right before her eyes.
She had no sooner trailed off down the hall than a buzzer sounded. “Ambulance,” Dr. Sung said. “I’ll get the door. Hi, Emma.” He left Roy to let the medics in.
The sheriff was leaning against the pillar by the office area. His regulation high-crowned hat made him close to six-ten. The foot and half difference in height between us might have intimidated me if I didn’t know him so well. I noticed the glint in his eyes had changed to amusement. And I’d never been able to stay mad at him for long.
We both had to get out of the way for the gurney that Del Amundson and Tony Lynch were bringing through the door. The sheriff backed into the office area. I sat down in the only remaining waiting room chair that hadn’t been turned upside down.
“How are you doing, Marje?” I asked.
“My back,” she said. “I wrenched it when Roy shoved me. He’s crazy! That’s not like him.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s a shock.”
“Nice man,” Amer said. “Good man.” The cobbler was Finnish, having come to this country after World War II with his wife, DeeDee. They’d met in a DP camp and married before emigrating. Amer retained a faint accent. “One time, not long ago, Mr. Roy found boots he thought belonged to his mama. He brought them to me, asking how old they were. I say a year, no more. He asked was I sure. I told him, yes, very little sign of wear, though scuffed. He was not happy about that. They were men’s boots. What was he thinking?”
“How long ago was that?” I inquired.
“Oh—in the summer. Late June, early July.”
“Did he keep them?”
Amer shrugged his rounded shoulders. “He took the boots with him. Maybe he hoped I was wrong. But I was not.”
I nodded. The medics were rolling Roy out the door. As soon as they disappeared, Mitch entered carrying a camera.
“Hey,” Milo barked, “what are you doing, Laskey?”
“My job, Sheriff,” Mitch replied. “Just like you.”
“No pictures,” Milo said, looming over my reporter. “I don’t think Doc Dewey and Dr. Sung would like that.”
“They would for insurance purposes,” Mitch said. “Ask Dr. Sung.”
“Screw that,” Milo said. “Will you use the pictures in the paper?”
Mitch glanced at me. “Ask the boss. I just work for her.”
I got out of the chair. “Maybe the sheriff’s right. I mean …” Wavering, I wasn’t sure whose side I was on. “Somebody should take pictures for the insurance. Where’s Dr. Sung?”
“He went with the patient,” Mitch said irritably.
I turned to Marje. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Marje said miserably. “I need a pain pill.”
Mitch shot Milo an irate look before stalking out of the clinic.
Milo glared at me. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”
“No, you wouldn’t give me a ride, so I had to walk in rain and snow and wind and …” I winced, aware that I’d raised my voice.
“Great,” Milo muttered. “If you get pneumonia, I’ll have to …” He turned away. “Skip it.”
I took two quick steps closer to the sheriff—and tripped over the century plant. I fell, hitting my knee on the ceramic pot and grazing my arm on an overturned chair.
“Oh, good God!” Milo cried. “You are the clumsiest …” He knelt down beside me. “Are you hurt?”
I did hurt, but I was mostly stunned. And even more humiliated. “No,” I said in a ragged voice.
“I think your eyes are crossed,” the sheriff said. “Do you want me to lift you up or did you break something?”
“No! I mean, I didn’t break anything.” I made a feeble attempt to pull myself into a sitting position, but failed. My feet were entangled in something I couldn’t see but guessed was the lamp cord.
“Amer,” Milo said, “can you free Ms. Lord at your end? I’ll get the rest of her.”
Amer grunted as he bent over. The only thing I was thankful for was that Mitch hadn’t been here for my latest disaster. Once Amer unwound the cord from my feet and ankles, Milo picked me up with his usual almost effortless ease. He’d had enough practice.
“Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you out to the loading dock.”
“That sounds right,” I mumbled. “Where are you sending me?”
“Good question,” he said. “Anybody at your house?”
“I don’t know,” I said, realizing we were on the sidewalk. Sky Thai and Cascades Health Store were across the street. “Can you put me in your car so we don’t look like Superman rescuing Lois Lane?”
“That’s what it feels like. Oh, hell. I don’t give a rat’s ass what people think.” To prove it, he bent down to kiss me. Hard. And long.
“Oh, Milo.” I pressed my face against his chest. “I do love you.”
“Took you long enough to figure it out. Hang on while I load you.”
Moments later I was in the passenger seat and he was behind the wheel. “You didn’t say if anybody was at your house,” he said. “Well?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated. “Adam’s visiting shut-ins with Ben.”
Milo tried not to laugh. “That’s … nice. Then we’ll go to my place.”
/> “Don’t you have to work?”
He pulled out onto Pine. “I am working. I’m helping an injured citizen who can’t stand on her own two feet. Honest to God, Emma, you’re the klutziest human being I’ve ever met.”
I hung my head. “I know.”
“I’m not complaining,” he insisted. “I just don’t see how you’ve survived without killing yourself. Have you ever broken anything?”
“Um … I fell in the gutter by the Oregonian and broke a bone in my foot and broke my thumb tripping over Adam’s Star Wars spaceship.”
“You’re damned lucky.”
We were going past Vida’s Presbyterian church on one side of the street and the Tall Timber Motel on the other. “Why were you so abrupt when I was in your office earlier?”
Milo shot me a wry glance. “God, you’re dim. I’ve hardly seen you in weeks, and now I can barely keep from jumping you in the middle of headquarters. Why do you think I offered to close my door last night? A good thing you nixed it. I need my employees to respect me.”
“Oh,” I said meekly. “I guess … um … after so many years of being able to … to spend time together without … I mean, most of the time …”
“Stop. You left your brain in the potted plant.” He took a right onto the Icicle Creek Road. “I warn you, I haven’t been home enough lately to clean the place.”
“You don’t do much of that even when you are home,” I said.
“Maybe that’s because it hasn’t felt like home for a long time.” He took a quick left into the Icicle Creek development where he lived in the split-level house he’d shared with Mulehide and their three children. “I always feel more at home at your place.”
I squeezed his arm. “You always look more at home, too.”
He brushed my lips with his forefinger. “Come on, let’s go inside before I do you right here. Can you walk or should I carry you?”
“No. I can walk. I think.”
“Just to make sure, wait for me to get around to your side.”
I was wobbly when I stepped onto the driveway, but remained upright. “I should be at work,” I murmured, suddenly remembering I owned a newspaper.
Milo opened the front door. “Why?”
I went inside, focused on the split-level entranceway. It’d been years since I’d been at his house. “What?” I forgot what I’d said.
“Never mind.” The sheriff kicked the door shut and gathered me up in his arms. We didn’t speak again—at least not in coherent words—for a long, long time.
It was almost dark when I rolled over to put my chin on Milo’s bare chest. “What time is it? You’re the one with the new watch.”
He lifted his arm to peer at the Timex with its leather strap. “I can’t read the damned thing. Check the clock, or did we bust that, too?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, aware that I was stiff, though unsure whether it was from falling down in the clinic or falling into bed with Milo. “Oh, no! It’s five to four!”
“No shit. You got a date?”
“No. Yes, I’m having dinner with Adam and Marisa Foxx—and Ben, except I forgot to ask him.”
He pulled me back down on the bed. “Cancel,” he said.
“I can’t. You know that.”
Milo sighed. “Right. When are we having that talk about your brother? It’s not one of those dumb ‘share your feelings’ things, is it?”
“No. Ben doesn’t do that. But it can wait.”
“So can he.” Milo rolled over, half covering me with his body.
“Milo … you haven’t said you loved me, except once, years ago.”
He traced my profile with his finger. “Wasn’t once enough? I never stopped. If I ever do, I’ll let you know.”
I wrapped my arms around him and forgot all about Ben.
SIX
MILO DROVE ME BACK TO THE ADVOCATE AT TEN TO FIVE. HE WAS going to check in at his office, too. As I was about to get out of the car, I said I couldn’t believe that neither of us had gotten a phone call while we were in bed. “That seems odd,” I said.
“Does it?”
I caught that amused glint in his eyes again. “What did you do?”
“I shoved both our cell phones in the freezer. Don’t worry, I put yours in your purse. It’ll thaw. Be careful—look where you’re going.”
Alison gasped when I came through the door. For an awful moment, I wondered if I’d put my crew-neck sweater on backward.
“Emma! Where’ve you been? Kip and I’ve been trying to reach you. Your car’s still parked outside, so we knew you were around …”
I held up my hand as Kip came down the hall from the back shop. “I’ve been tending to a few things. I’ve got company, you know.”
Alison nodded. “Your brother called twice, and Adam’s worried.”
“My God,” I said, “what could happen to me in the middle of town?”
Kip also looked relieved. “We were about to call the sheriff.”
Great. I suddenly felt panicky, wondering if Ben or Adam had done just that. “You’re all crazy,” I said, attempting a quick exit.
It was Kip who stopped me. “Emma, wait. Mitch’s son was found.”
I gaped at him. “Where?”
“By the library in Skykomish,” Kip said. “He’d hitchhiked that far. Maybe Troy was trying to come see his folks.”
The news snapped me back into the real world. “Who found him?”
“The librarian,” Alison replied. “Troy had passed out by the book drop. He’s really sick.”
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, leaning against the doorjamb. “Poor Mitch. Poor Brenda. Is he in custody?”
“Gould and Mullins brought him back here less than an hour ago,” Kip said. “Mitch took off like a shot. We haven’t heard anything since.”
I tried to collect my thoughts. “I have to cover this,” I said. “Damn. I wish Vida were here. She could do some of the digging. I wonder when she left Bellingham.”
“Should I try to call her?” Alison asked.
“Call her home number. If she’s driving, she won’t pick up the cell.”
“What can I do?” Kip inquired.
“You could offer the Laskeys moral support. I’d do it, but I have to stick to the official line. This is damned tricky. Do you mind?”
Kip looked dubious. “Would Mitch feel I was stomping all over his private life?”
“This isn’t only his private life,” I declared, “it’s news. It’d be unethical to cover it up. That’s why it’s better for you to handle the personal part. I should stay neutral. Have you listened to KSKY since it happened?”
“No,” Kip said, “but we can just make the hour turn. Flip the switch behind you, Alison.”
I moved all the way into the front office. Sure enough, Spencer announced the news break. Before he could say more, my cell phone rang. Swearing under my breath, I retreated to the newsroom.
“Where the hell have you been, Sluggly?” Ben demanded loudly.
“In crisis mode,” I said, figuring that the best defense was a good offense. “Have you heard about Troy Laskey?”
“What about him?” Ben asked, easing up on the volume.
“He’s been found, but he’s very ill,” I said. “Look—I can’t talk long. Did Adam tell you about his dinner with Marisa tonight?”
“He mentioned it. Why?”
“Marisa invited you, too,” I said, “but you were busy and then this mess happened, so I didn’t have a chance to tell you.” Not exactly a lie, just an omission of two hours. “Are you free?”
“Is this about Adam’s money?”
“Yes. You’d be better at that than I would, so if—”
“Hold it,” Ben broke in. “You can’t make it?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I’m stuck with Troy’s story. It’s not just a heartbreak for Mitch, it’s a conflict of interest. And Vida’s still gone.”
“Okay,” Ben said after a pause. “I’ll come off th
e bench for you. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I didn’t hear it ring,” I said. That was the truth.
“Have you juiced it recently?”
“Yes. Maybe it was a technical problem. We’re in the mountains, remember? It happens.” Semi-truth. Why couldn’t Ben shut up? “Can you let Adam know? I’m in a bind.” I glanced into the front office. Alison and Kip were talking to each other, so Spence apparently had finished the breaking news on Troy.
“Do you think you might show up later?” Ben asked.
“I’ll try. I honestly don’t know, and yakking at me doesn’t help.”
“Sorry. Later, Sluggly.” Ben clicked off.
I went back to the front office. “What did Spence say?”
“Not much,” Kip said. “He wants to do a remote at the house. He told listeners to stay tuned for breaking news.”
“That jerk!” I tried to calm down. “But I understand. It is news.”
“You already said that,” Kip reminded me.
“Yes, go to the Laskeys’ house. We have to be a presence there. Vida can take over.” I turned to Alison. “Did you get hold of her?”
“No answer. Can I help?” she asked. “I’m a fancy-free single girl.”
“Sure,” I said. “You stay here while I go to the sheriff’s office.”
“Got it,” Alison said, saluting. She was obviously enjoying the excitement, which, I supposed, was a change from teaching how to apply blush and outline lips with a pencil. “Shall I keep trying to get Vida?”
“Yes, but wait until closer to six,” I said, halfway to the door. “I don’t know who’s taking care of her canary, Cupcake, but Vida may go home first to make sure he’s covered for the night.”
My feet felt heavy as I trudged down to the sheriff’s office. I wondered what kind of reception Milo had gotten after he was confronted with the news of Troy’s recapture. If only the SnoCo or KingCo sheriff’s deputies had been called in—but despite jurisdictional differences, SkyCo’s headquarters was mere minutes from Skykomish.
The first thing I noticed was Milo’s Grand Cherokee—with Milo behind the wheel. My feet suddenly took wing. I yelled, I waved, and miraculously, he stopped halfway out onto Front Street. I went to the passenger side. He rolled down the window.