by Mary Daheim
He gave me a helpless look. “What do you think? It’s after three. Why not give us the rest of the day off? I’ve finished my workload.”
I threw up my hands. “Go ahead. I should leave early, too, with Ben and Adam coming to dinner. In fact, why don’t you two join us? I’m making lasagna and I always have enough for a small regiment.”
He gave Vida little hug. “What do you say about that, Duchess? We’ve never gone on a date before. Isn’t it about time?”
Vida was now down to sniffles. “I’m an old fool,” she muttered, moving out of Leo’s arms. “You’re right. It is a difficult time of year.”
Leo nodded. “We’re supposed to be merry even if we aren’t. That’s rough.” He put a hand on Vida’s back, steering her into the newsroom. “I’ll drive your Buick, then we’ll go to Emma’s …”
I didn’t hear the rest. Alison buzzed me on the intercom. “Rita wants you to call her ASAP.” She dropped her voice. “Is everything okay or is this just a bad dream?”
“Yes. No. Don’t worry. I’ll call Rita.”
I was still rattled and couldn’t remember the chamber’s number, so I had to look it up. Rita answered on the first ring. “Finally!” she exclaimed in her usual hostile manner toward me. “You’re lucky I don’t pull the chamber’s ad wishing every S.O.B. in Alpine Happy New Year!”
Leaning back in my chair, I wondered how much more abuse I could take in one day. “The same to you, Rita,” I said. “How can I help?”
“By getting my brother’s medal back to me,” she snapped. “Jack won’t give it up. When did he get so pious?”
“Hold it,” I said. “Who told you about the medal?”
“Who do you think? It wouldn’t be that brute of a sheriff you’re banging. It was Jack.”
I gritted my teeth. Do not react to any remarks about Milo, no matter how vile. “Why did Jack do that?”
Rita heaved a big sigh. “Long before I married my loser ex and Jack married Nina, we were a couple. We were together when I gave Gus the medal for his confirmation back in ’84. Jack told me some BS about not finding it with Gus’s body. He wouldn’t show it to me, insisting it was part of another investigation. Jack’s showing off. It had to be in the cave where the Krogstads found Gus. He never took it off.”
I considered my response carefully. “I hate to say so, Rita, but you’re mistaken. Jack found that medal in someone else’s possession. I know, because I was there when he handed it over to the sheriff.”
“Wow,” Rita said, “Dodge lets Jack in when he’s doing you? The sheriff acts like he’s all business, but isn’t that pushing it? So to speak?”
Do not threaten to kill Rita even if you have to put your fist in your mouth. “I can’t comment further,” I said stiltedly, “but it was in public.”
“So? That doesn’t seem to stop you and the sheriff.”
Count to ten. Count to a hundred. Count yourself out. “Rita,” I said, “this conversation has deteriorated. If Jack says he can’t give you the medal, he can’t. It has nothing to do with me. Unless,” I added, going for the jugular, “you were going to ask if I’d intercede with the sheriff to get it for you. If so, forget it.” I hung up.
But the call from Rita bothered me. Not because of the crude references, but because she’d raised a point about the medal I hadn’t considered. Why had Jack kept the medal? What other investigation was he alluding to besides how Gus had died? Was the sheriff’s office a step ahead of me in wondering why Troy had such a thing in his possession? For all his flippancy, Mullins was a practicing Catholic. Unlike Milo, Jack would understand the medal’s significance. He’d also be sympathetic to Rita’s request—he would have honored it if he felt he could.
I was angry with myself for getting into a row with Mitch on the phone. I’d botched finding out when Troy made his first escape. Maybe Vida was right—I wasn’t focused. But Mitch shouldn’t have asked me to omit the story about his son’s recapture. I wondered if he’d suppressed news on the Detroit Free Press. Nothing personal, maybe, but at the request of higher-ups or influential outsiders. I had a right to be mad at him. This was small-town Alpine, not the Motor City.
I wasn’t sure where my thoughts were leading. I remembered nothing about Troy’s earlier escape. Had it been in the log while Scott was still my reporter? Or had it happened after I’d hired the hapless Curtis Mayne? Curtis had been careless to the extreme. I wouldn’t put it past him to have omitted an item in the log, especially during his first weeks on the job in early June.
Leo broke my musings. “Vida and I are off. What time is dinner?”
“Sevenish.” I looked beyond him into the newsroom, where my House & Home editor was putting on her coat. “She’s okay?”
“She’s tough,” Leo replied, lowering his voice. “In fact, we’re each going to drive our own cars. It’s Roger, isn’t it?”
“Who else?” I said glumly. “She’s having trouble coping with the realization that she had a hand in how he’s turned out.”
“Understandable,” Leo said. “Hell, any scrapes my kids got into were probably my fault. See you this evening. Can I bring anything?”
“Just your newly found piety,” I said. “The priests will love you.”
Leo made a face. “Let’s not get carried away.” He made another face. “Sorry, Emma, I didn’t mean …”
“Skip it or I’ll start rumors about you and Vida.”
“That might be fun,” Leo said before leaving my office. He called to Vida, “Hey, Duchess, want to stop at Mugs Ahoy for a couple of tall cool ones?”
“Really, Leo, you are a wretched person. Why am I letting you come home with me?”
“Because I’ve never met your canary,” Leo replied. “What’s the bird’s name? Beefcake?”
“Leo! Of course not. It’s Cupcake, as you know perfectly …”
Their voices followed them out of the newsroom. I stared at my monitor. The same two paragraphs about Gus stared back. I had to finish the story. I called the sheriff’s office. Bill Blatt answered.
“The boss man’s not here,” he informed me. “We got a pair of belligerent out-of-towners at the ski lodge who got into a fight over a fender bender. Dodge and Mullins went up there to straighten them out. Is there anything I can do?”
I asked if he’d talked to his aunt recently about the Patricelli story.
“I did,” he replied, “but I couldn’t tell her when the funeral would be since we don’t know when the remains will be released by SnoCo.”
“I mean the case itself,” I said. “I have to finish the story for the paper and I’m stuck. Can I say foul play hasn’t been ruled out?”
“Gosh,” Bill said, “I can’t be quoted on that. Ask the boss. He should be back here by four, four-fifteen.”
“Did you find out from Pete or anybody else in the family exactly when Gus disappeared?”
“Not yet. I guess his disappearance was never reported. Do you want me to check the log?”
I started to say no, since Jack had kept that bit of vital information to himself. But I switched gears. “Don’t bother doing that, but could you take a look back into May or early June to see if there’s anything on Troy Laskey’s first escape?”
“Troy … oh, you mean Mitch’s son? I can check for you. Wouldn’t you have had it in the paper?”
“Do you remember Curtis Mayne?”
“Who?” Bill seemed to be having a case of the dumbs, not that I could blame him. Curtis’s tenure with the Advocate had been brief. I preferred forgetting him, too.
“That reporter I hired last June,” I said.
“Oh, that guy,” Bill said, and chuckled. “Man, he was a piece of work. Hold on. In fact, can I call you back? It may take me a while.”
“Sure. Just try to get back to me before four-thirty, okay?”
“Will do,” Bill promised, and hung up.
The phone rang just as I’d put it back in place. “Oh, Emma,” Shirley Bronsky exclaimed, “what
did you do to Ed? He’s a mess!”
This was not news. “Did he break something besides my chair?”
“Ed almost had a stroke,” Shirley replied, her voice quivering. “His blood pressure is out of sight. What did you say that set him off?”
“Nothing,” I asserted. “He was red in the face and breathing hard when he came to my office. That’s one of the reasons Leo called for help. Do you know where he’d gone before he arrived here?”
“Leo!” Shirley cried. “He’s not half the man Ed is!”
That was unarguable. Not even a third, given Ed’s girth. “Please calm down,” I said sharply. “Ed was upset after he heard that Myron Cobb is taking his father’s place. It set him off before he got here.”
“How dare Myron!” Shirley cried. “He has no qualifications!”
I didn’t want to argue with Shirley. “Never mind. How is Ed?”
“He has to stay overnight so Doc Dewey can make sure he hasn’t had a stroke,” Shirley replied glumly. “It’s a good thing we’ve got medical coverage through the schools since I began substitute teaching.”
I glanced at my watch. It was after three-thirty. “Ed didn’t seem in any serious distress when he left here. You’ve seen him, right?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “We only have one car now. He took it with him. I’m stuck here on the river by the fish hatchery.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her tone morphed into a whine. “Do you have time to come get me so I can pick up the only Mercedes we have left and go see Ed? He parked by the courthouse.”
“We’re up against deadline. You remember what that’s like.”
“Oh … yes, Ed was so keen on getting his ads in on time. All those years of dealing with advertisers took its toll.”
The bells had tolled for me during Ed’s tenure, wondering if I could make payroll. An evil brainstorm struck me. “I’ll call the rectory. Ben and Adam rented cars. Maybe one of them can get you. How’s that?”
“Oh, you’re a darling! Ed always said you had a heart of gold.”
My heart might have been gold, but the Advocate account was dross while Ed was aboard. I told Shirley I’d do my best and rang off.
Mimi Barton answered the phone at St. Mildred’s. “Hi,” I said, “this is Emma. Is one of your temporary priests available or are they both shooting pool at the Icicle Creek Tavern?”
“Father Ben is with the Patricellis,” Mimi replied, in hushed tones befitting a devout spinster speaking about a bereaved family. “I believe Father Adam is with them, too. This is not a good time, Ms. Lord.”
Feeling chastised, I agreed. “Okay. I was inquiring on behalf of another parishioner who’s in the hospital. Never mind.”
“Wait,” Mimi said, a bit more life in her voice. “Who is it?”
“Ed Bronsky,” I replied. “I thought Adam might’ve told you.”
“No. They’ve been busy. It’s wonderful to have two priests here.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “Ed will be hospitalized overnight, in case one of your gypsy priests would like to see him. The doctors thought it might be a stroke. Shirley has no car. Thanks, Mimi. Bye-bye.”
I felt a tinge of guilt after hanging up, but knew she’d relay the message. If the Bronskys hadn’t been so foolish spending their money on monstrosities like Casa de Bronska and matching fur coats and faux-antique furniture, they wouldn’t be in such a mess.
Kip was in my doorway. “How much is still coming?” he asked.
“The Gus story,” I said. “I’m waiting on Bill Blatt.”
“How many inches?”
“Four, five. Pete didn’t give me Gus’s photo. Do we have one?”
Kip made a face. “Not unless it was on a Wanted poster. Gus never married or got engaged. How old is he? We might have a high school photo in the Bucker annuals.”
“Mid-thirties,” I said, “so figure circa 1986?”
“I’ll check. I could scan it. Anything else?”
“Oh, damn! Did Vida turn in something about the Nelson kids who stole the Christmas presents last week from the houses in The Pines?”
Kip nodded. “She zapped it to me before she left with Leo. What was up with that?”
“Vida had a minor meltdown. Leo played Good Samaritan.”
Kip grimaced. “Roger?”
“Who else?”
“That kid’s a train wreck,” Kip said. “Any word from Ginny?”
“No. Oh—there’s a dustup at the ski lodge parking lot between some out-of-towners. Dodge and Mullins were checking it out. I’ll ask Bill about that. He’s supposed to call me on something else anyway.”
“Let me know.” Kip went off to perform his assorted tasks.
I added some fluff to Gus’s story, hoping he’d done something in high school besides dozing off in class. I omitted his work history, but noted he’d lived outside of Alpine for a while. I felt guilty tiptoeing around the Patricelli family honor, but at least I wasn’t deep-sixing the story as Mitch had insisted I should do with his son’s misadventures.
Kip reappeared. “Got it,” he said, clutching a Bucker annual. “Class of ’87, played baseball, sang in the choir, favorite hobby was photography, nickname was Sug.”
“Thanks,” I said just as the phone rang.
“Hi,” Bill said, sounding frazzled. “I found the log, June 10, APB put out for Troy Laskey. No follow-up.”
“Damn Curtis! Okay. Troy was recaptured within a couple of days near Sultan. You wouldn’t have that, since it didn’t happen in SnoCo.”
“Right. Got to go. All hell’s breaking loose.” Bill hung up.
What now? I wondered. I buzzed Kip to tell him I was leaving for possible breaking news. On my way out, I relayed the same message to Alison. I reached the corner before I realized Bill wasn’t kidding. Jack was hauling a cuffed man out of his squad car. Milo’s Cherokee was parked, so I assumed the sheriff was inside. I cursed myself for not bringing a camera. Not that I could take decent pictures, but something was better than nothing.
“Beat it, Emma,” Jack yelled at me, shoving the perp toward the entrance to headquarters.
I stopped some twenty feet away and waited for the deputy to take his prisoner inside. I could only see unruly brown hair, a red shell jacket, and black cargo pants. As Jack disappeared, I got out my cell to call Kip. “Quick, bring a camera to the sheriff’s. We might get a perp picture. Duck inside and click. The deputies may be hostile.”
“Gotcha,” Kip said.
I strolled to the entrance, but stayed outside. There were barred windows in the double doors. I could make out Jack, still grappling with his prey, but he soon moved out of sight. I saw Bill behind the counter and half of somebody else—Doe Jamison, maybe.
Kip came running down the street, coatless, defying the cold, heavy rain, a small-town journalism hero. I opened the door and stepped aside, leaning flat against the wall under the entrance’s overhang. A volley of voices erupted inside. I tried to hear Milo’s among them, but couldn’t. Jack was cussing too loud. Kip dashed back out, grinning.
“Got a good one of Mullins,” he said, breathless. “He had the guy by the hair and was pushing him back to the interrogation room.”
“You get an extra bonus when I hand them out on Friday,” I said. “Go back to the office before you get pneumonia. I’ll take it from here.”
He didn’t need coaxing, though he slowed to a trot as he returned to the Advocate office.
When I went inside the sheriff’s headquarters, the reception area was fairly quiet. Bill was talking to Doe while Sam listened to somebody on the phone. The action had moved elsewhere. Bill was the first to notice my arrival.
“Emma! Was that Kip?”
“What? I didn’t see anybody. What’s going on?”
Sam handed the phone to Doe, joining Bill behind the counter. “Why don’t you and MacDuff stay where you belong?” he grumbled.
“We belong where there’s news,” I said calmly. “Who got busted?�
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Sam swore under his breath. “Don’t ask me. I only work here.”
Bill ran a finger under his regulation collar. “No IDs yet.”
I leaned an elbow on the counter. “Two arrests?”
Bill and Sam exchanged looks. “Maybe,” Bill finally said. “They were both cuffed. The younger guy’s got a head injury.”
Sam punched Bill’s arm. “Shut the hell up, Blatt! This isn’t your goddamned mouthy aunt!”
“Hey …,” Bill said, but stopped. “Okay. I’ll zip it.”
“All I want to know is what started the fracas,” I said. “Well?”
The deputies exchanged looks.
“No,” Bill said.
“Nope,” Sam said.
Doe was off the phone. “Oh, can it, you two!” she growled in her husky voice. “Emma’s doing her job. Why don’t you both do yours?”
Sam started to argue, but Bill grabbed him by the sleeve. “Doe’s right. Let’s finish our paperwork.”
Doe leaned on the counter and rolled her dark eyes. “Men.”
“I gather a fender bender started this. I assume it escalated.”
“It sure did. The first guy was some city dude who—”
Jack interrupted. “Anybody know where I can find an ice bag?”
Doe barely looked at Jack. “Try the fridge in the break room.”
“Oh. I forgot. I’ve got a headache. Is there more than one? The young perp needs one, too.”
“Probably,” Doe said. “If not, get ice and a towel—for you.”
Jack disappeared again.
“Sometimes,” she murmured, “I feel like I’m these jerks’ mother.”
I nodded. Doe was the youngest deputy, but despite a tough exterior, she exuded compassion and a special wisdom I attributed to her Muckleshoot ancestry. Since she was the only woman with a badge, the other deputies often gave her a bad time. But they respected her—as I did.
“Anyway,” she went on, “when the city dude left the lodge, the other guy was parking his truck next to him, and scraped the Escalade. They got into it and a fight broke out. Henry Bardeen called us. We don’t know what happened next except that they both got busted.”