by Mary Daheim
“Was the boy badly injured?”
“That’s the worst part. The driver wasn’t speeding, but the Herald-Republic had follow-up stories, saying the injury was freakish, leaving the boy paralyzed from the waist down. Maybe I should’ve said two rosaries.”
“Did you ever find out the family’s name?”
“It was in the paper, but I don’t recall it. The dad was a lawyer from Seattle. I knew they had money—the family car was an Escalade.”
Bingo! My hunch had paid off. “Very sad,” I said somberly.
“Life’s terrible.” Matt’s sigh was audible. “And Gus—how did he end up like he did? What went wrong?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “I’ll see you at the funeral.”
On that solemn note, I hung up and rushed out to tell Vida. “Check this out with the Herald-Republic. This has to be the link between Mitch and Andrews.”
Vida studied the scrawled notes I’d made. “How clever of you to call Matt. Why didn’t I think of that? Are you going to tell Milo?”
“I’ll wait for confirmation,” I said.
She nodded—and apparently didn’t have the Yakima paper’s number on file in her computerized brain. I left as she brought up the Herald-Republic’s site on her monitor.
Energized by my coup, I spent the next few minutes trying to think up an editorial. Maybe I should beat the drums for Myron Cobb. Or not. We needed an infusion of fresh blood among the county commissioners. In the foreseeable future, the other two old duffers would either become completely incapacitated or join Alfred. I decided to urge any civic-minded—and sane—Alpiners to answer the call.
I’d written the lead when a smug Vida appeared in the doorway. “Ten-year-old Aaron Andrews, son of Charles and Olivia, Seattle.”
“Ah!” But my elation faded. “Is Andrews after revenge? It can’t be a lawsuit this far into the game. Besides, the Laskeys have no money.”
“True,” she agreed, “but at least we have a connection.”
Vida headed for the back shop. The sheriff might still be dealing with the Nelson crime fest, so I decided to wait before telling him about the Laskey-Andrews link. But when the phone rang five minutes later, the voice on the other end belonged to Milo.
“Sorry about that door,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
“Give me a break. I’m up to my ears. I’ve got news for you.”
“Skip it for now and listen up. I’m serious.”
“Hey—you’re not my keeper. Like you, I have a job to do.”
“That doesn’t mean putting yourself at risk. You never stop to consider consequences, you just do whatever pops into your head.”
“Stop annoying me. I don’t tell you how to do your job.”
“The hell you don’t. You’ve been doing it for fifteen years.”
“I’ve saved your butt a couple of times, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I haven’t done the same for you?”
“Back off. I don’t need more lectures. You’re not running my life.”
The silence at the other end was ominous. “Okay. I’ll stop. Maybe it’s not worth it after all.” He hung up.
I was crushed. Milo never did or said things lightly. I sat like a stone, numb of mind and body. Was I hexed? Was I doomed to self-destruct? Was Milo right and was I a real screwup?
I couldn’t stay in my cubbyhole. My office, the news stories—the whole damned Advocate, which had been my life’s work for fifteen years—suddenly was no comfort. I put on my jacket, got my purse, and fled through the empty newsroom. Alison was on the phone. I ran out onto the sidewalk. It was snowing harder and I’d forgotten I had no car. I trudged along Front Street in the opposite direction from Milo’s office. At Fourth, I started up the hill to St. Mildred’s rectory. The wind blew snow in my face, but I ignored it. Four blocks later, I was on Cedar, panting a bit, chilled down to my soul, and mulling what I’d say to Ben.
Mimi Barton let me in. “Is your brother expecting you?”
I shook my head. “It’s a … whim.”
Her homely, heart-shaped face was pained. “He’s busy.”
“Oh.” We were in the hall of the old frame building that was connected to the church by a covered walkway. “I can wait.”
Mimi’s hands fluttered. “The meeting just started.”
“Who’s he got in there?” I demanded. “The archbishop?”
Mimi was shocked. “Can’t you talk to him any time?”
“I’ll wait in the church,” I said. “Let me know when he’s free.”
She nodded, but added a caution. “It’s cold in church.”
Not as cold as it is inside of me. “I’ll be fine.” I left the rectory.
I went through the back door and knelt in the first row, staring at the crucifix above the altar. Instead of attempting to say a prayer, I kept staring. What should I say to God? Hi, I’m a mess. But you know that. Done so many dumb things. Can’t tell right from wrong. So why am I here? I can’t ask for help, because what I want is wrong. Free will—bad idea. Humans like me can’t handle it. Never mind. Sorry to bother you.
I slid out of the pew, and, turning my back on the crucifix—in oh, so many ways—I felt as if even God couldn’t help me. I left the way I’d come.
SIXTEEN
I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. HALFWAY BETWEEN THE CHURCH and the rectory, I stopped on the walkway, staring at the snow that was coming down harder. The parking lot was almost covered. It took me a moment to realize that the blue Audi next to Ben’s rental belonged to Marisa. It had to be hers—nobody else in town owned a car like that.
I made up my mind and retraced my route to Cedar Street. Damn Marisa, damn Ben, damn Milo, damn everybody. The whole world was conspiring against me. Except my son. I reached the corner of Pine and Fourth, between Leo’s apartment house and the Baptist church. Squinting through the snow, I called Adam.
“Can you rescue your mother?” I asked in a plaintive voice.
For once, there was no smart-mouthed remark from my son. He perceived my anguish. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I’ll be in front of the bank.”
“I’m at Harvey’s Hardware. Be right there.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’re so close, come up Fourth. I’m on Pine, across from the Baptist church.”
“No wonder you sound gloomy. Hang in there.” He clicked off.
Three minutes later, Adam pulled up to the curb. I was shivering, though whether from cold or nerves, I wasn’t sure.
“Mom,” he said after I’d gotten in, “are you sick?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Take me home.”
We didn’t speak until we were inside. “The crime-scene tape’s still up,” I said, struggling to get out of my jacket.
“I know. Here,” Adam said. “Let me give you a hand.”
He managed to extricate me. I collapsed on the sofa. “I blew it.”
Adam stared down at me. “Blew what?”
“Milo dumped me.”
Adam sank down next to me. “How could he? What happened?”
“He’s been hovering over me like a watchdog. I wanted him to back off. The sheriff and your uncle make me feel incompetent.”
“Uncle Ben teases you. Hasn’t he done that since you were two?”
I nodded halfheartedly. “I went to see him, but he’s with Marisa.”
Adam’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“At the rectory. Maybe he’s counseling her.”
“My God, I hope so.” Adam grew thoughtful. “I don’t like this.”
“Hey—what about your mother?”
Adam shook his head. “You’re overreacting about Dodge. That guy can’t survive without you. Have you forgotten counseling is my strong suit, not Uncle Ben’s? I do it all the time in the village.”
“Maybe you should try it on your uncle and Milo.”
He stood up. “I’m serious. You don’t know how vulnerable a priest can be in this situation—especially
if the woman’s a lawyer. I’m going to the rectory.” Before I could stop him, he grabbed his parka from the back of the easy chair and was out the door.
Great, I thought. Adam had inherited his father’s need to help everybody but Emma. I sat with my chin on my fist, thinking how fruitless it was to rely on anybody but myself. I hadn’t raised a child on my own, held down a job on a big-city daily for almost twenty years, and run my own newspaper for another fifteen because I was inept.
I went into the kitchen. It was after four. I considered making a drink, but settled for Pepsi. Back in the living room, I forced myself to focus on something besides me. I wasn’t ready to confide in Spence about the Laskey-Andrews connection, but I could tell him about my trip to the dump site with Adam.
“I’m not digging anything in the snow,” he said after I pitched him my idea. “I might catch a cold and ruin my voice.”
“That’s not your job,” I pointed out. “I wanted your reaction.”
“The idea has merit,” he allowed, “even Marsha’s role in saving those poems. But why didn’t she tell me her suspicions?”
“Hey—don’t ask me about siblings,” I said. “Maybe she’s waiting for Myrtle to be found. She has no proof and she’s a lawyer. By the way, did you air anything on my fire aftermath?”
“I missed the hour turn at two,” he said. “Dodge was his old ornery self. How come? He was bearable for at least forty-eight hours.”
“He’s a real beast,” I muttered. “Any word from your city sources?”
“You’re off base on that hunch. Carlton Madison, builder of shoddy houses for gullible clients, and Kiefer Madison, would-be plane thief, aren’t related, not even the same race. Carlton has two daughters in college, and Kiefer is a high school dropout from Lake City with a rap sheet that includes dealing drugs. He’s doing two-to-five at Monroe.”
“Whoever Kiefer is, it’s an uncanny coincidence. His attempted plane theft was during the same time Troy was on the run. The airport employee, Rupert, said Kiefer was stealing the plane for a friend.”
“You’re thinking Troy?”
“Yes. His involvement with drugs goes back a couple of years. He and Kiefer might have had a connection before Monroe.”
“You’re reaching. Got to do a live commercial.” He rang off.
I poured more Pepsi. Adding ice, I glanced into the empty carport. I wanted the crime-scene tape gone. I wanted my car. I wanted to strangle every man I knew. And I’d start with that jackass of a sheriff.
I stomped into the living room and dialed his number.
Lori answered. “Where’s your idiot boss?” I demanded.
“Emma? Where are you?” Lori sounded agitated. “The sheriff’s looking all over town for you. Mrs. Runkel’s a wreck.”
“I’m … home,” I said.
“Thank goodness! I’ll let everybody know.” She rang off.
Stupefied, I fetched my purse from the sofa. Why hadn’t Vida or Milo called me on my cell? I groped in my purse until I found the blasted thing. In my distress, I hadn’t disconnected my ancient cell after calling Adam. Maybe I was an idiot. I tried to retrieve any messages, but got the low-battery signal. Frustrated, I threw the cell so hard it bounced off the front door. At first, I thought the impact had made the phone ring. But then it seemed to ring again. Trying to unscramble my brain, I opened the door.
“Goddamn it,” Milo yelled, “where’ve you been?” He charged across the threshold and slammed the door behind him.
“Here,” I said meekly.
He shook his head, snowflakes dropping from his jacket.
“How mad are you?” I asked.
“Damned mad,” he barked.
I winced. “Stop snarling. You were so quiet and low-key when I first met you. What happened?”
“Life,” he snapped, snatching off his hat and tossing it aside before taking me into his arms. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“What? Go home?” I said, my voice muffled against his chest.
“You’re going home with me.”
I craned my neck to look up at him. “I can’t.”
“You have to. Adam can’t stay here, either. Where is he?”
“He went to the rectory.”
“I’ll call and tell him to get his gear.”
“What’s going on?”
“First things first. Get your own stuff together.” He’d taken out his cell. “What’s the number at the rectory?”
I told him. He tapped it in. “Mimi? Dodge here. Give me Father Lord—either of them.”
I was still standing in the middle of the room. Milo made a shooing motion with his free hand. I shooed myself off to pack whatever I needed for whatever reason for whatever was going on. It made no sense. The Nelson kids were locked up. So were their parents and older brother. What kind of danger could I—and Adam—possibly be in?
Milo was standing in the bedroom doorway. “Skip the evening gowns and furs. Just take enough for two days.”
“Would you please tell me why I’m doing this?”
He drummed his fingers against the doorjamb. “I wish I knew. It’s a good thing the Nelson kids are screwups. They did a lousy job and probably made enough noise to wake up Adam.”
“How did you figure out it was them?”
“Quit dithering,” he said as I tried to figure out which slacks to take with me. “It was a no-brainer. A bunch of last week’s Advocates were stuffed under the logs. I saw those scraps in the carport and on your Honda. Kip mentioned somebody got into your dumpster last night, so Sam lifted prints off of it. They matched the ones we took of the Nelson kids after the burglaries. My first reaction was they’d set the fire as payback because they’d seen the Cherokee at your place so often and maybe they thought they could nail both of us. But I was wrong. They were hired to burn your place down.”
I gaped at Milo. “Hired? That’s absurd!”
He shrugged. “They convinced me. They’re too dumb to make it up. They were contacted by phone. Sure, they might’ve invented that. But they didn’t put two grand into a new account at the Bank of Alpine.”
“Two grand?” I tossed a pair of shoes and my hair dryer into the overnight bag. “Those kids never saw that much money in their lives.”
“Whoever it was posted their bail, too. You almost done there?”
“Yes!” I nudged Milo. “Move, big guy. I want my toothbrush.”
Two minutes later, we were driving through heavy snow. I’d rescued my cell so I could charge it at Milo’s. We drove the first few blocks in silence. The sheriff was focused on keeping the Cherokee on track. It was only when we turned onto the Icicle Creek Road that the enormity of what was happening hit me.
“My God!” I cried. “Is someone going to blow up my log house?”
“Don’t worry,” Milo said. “I’ve got Bill and Sam watching it.”
“Then why can’t I stay there?”
“Because you’re safer with me.” He turned in to the development. “I can’t not keep you with me. Hell, I’d do the same for Vida. I think.”
“Does she know where I am?”
“Better if she doesn’t. Lori will tell her you’re safe. Where were you? Why didn’t you pick up? I tried to call three times.”
“I forgot to turn off my cell after I called Adam to take me home. I have no car, you see.”
Milo pulled up in his driveway. “Don’t move. I’ll get your satchel and then you. This snow is really coming down.”
“You sound kind of cheerful about that.”
“Yeah.” He opened his door. “We could be marooned for days.”
I waited while he took the overnight bag inside. I had forgotten to bring boots. A moment later, he carried me into the house.
I buried my face against his chest. “I thought I’d lost you!”
Milo frowned at me. “Is that why you ran away from your office?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jesus.” He stroked my hair. “Jesus.” He took a
deep breath. “I never thought you …” His voice broke.
I couldn’t speak, either. We didn’t need words.
If what had gone on before in early December had unleashed our inhibitions and broken down all barriers between us, the next hour was a gentle, leisurely journey, two travelers taking time to explore every nuance of the wonders along the way. I went to sleep curled up against him. He slept, too, though he was awake when I finally opened my eyes.
“Feel better?” he asked when he saw me looking at him.
“Mmm. If I were a cat, I’d purr.”
He chuckled. “You did. Often.”
“It’s one way to not think someone wants to kill me.”
“A damned good one,” Milo murmured, nuzzling my shoulder before he lay back on the pillow. “No calls yet. And I didn’t put my cell in the freezer this time. Yours is dead anyway.”
I sat up just enough to realize I was suddenly cold. “Don’t you have any heat in this place?”
“How much more heat do you want? Hey,” he said, yanking at the blanket I’d pulled over my breasts. “Don’t cover up the view.”
I nestled down against him. “You’ve seen it often enough.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s like you with that hermit’s painting. You never get tired of looking at it.”
“You’re …” I shook my head. “Oh, Milo, why would anyone try to kill me? Isn’t that what this is about?”
“So it seems. Unless it’s Adam.”
I shuddered at the thought. “Who’d want to kill him?”
“A religious nut? Everybody must know he and Ben are in town.”
“Then why aren’t they being protected?”
“Because I don’t want to sleep with them.”
“Milo …”
He laughed. “Doe and Dustman are watching the rectory.”
“Good grief,” I said, “you’ll run out of deputies.”
“Then I’ll call in the state patrol. I mean it.”
“So we stay here and wait for something to happen?”