The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  Milo didn’t move. “Uh … I don’t think I can do that.”

  “What?” I shrieked. “Is it broken?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “No. But the last time we listened to Vida’s show …” He shook his head. “Do you want to drive me nuts?”

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Go ahead, turn it on in the bedroom and listen to your priests.”

  “No. I might turn on more than the radio.”

  He finally looked at me and laughed. “At least we’re on the same page. We can get the tape from Fleetwood.”

  “I know what Adam and Ben will say,” I said. “I’ve heard it before.”

  His cell rang. It was unusual for anyone in SkyCo to call during Vida’s Cupboard. The sheriff got up and wandered into the dining room. His back was turned to me, so I could catch only a few words, which didn’t mean a lot out of context.

  “You’re right,” Milo said, coming back to the sofa but not sitting down. “The guard told me Troy got that medal from a girl at Gonzaga. Malifia thought it was a kiss-off gift.”

  “Why would a Jewish girl give a Jewish guy a medal? She—Libby—had a new boyfriend, despite not having been at Gonzaga very long. Why would she have a Catholic medal?”

  “Do they hand them out to convert non-Catholics?”

  “No. Catholic schools don’t pressure students. If Martin Luther showed up as a six-foot-ten-inch forward, they’d roll out the red carpet.”

  “Sounds like Troy should’ve thrown the medal back.”

  “What about Kiefer? And Gus?”

  “Malifia said Troy and Kiefer barely knew each other. But Troy and Gus were fairly tight. The guard felt Gus was a good influence.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Troy would want to kill him.”

  “Prison does strange things to people. When I was an MP in Nam, I realized how a few weeks in the stockade changed some guys’ attitudes.”

  Milo rarely talked much about his tour of duty. I knew only that he’d been barely out of high school when he was drafted. “Did you become an MP because you knew you eventually wanted a career in law enforcement?”

  “Hell, I didn’t know what I wanted, but I figured there was less of a chance getting my butt shot off as an MP. I suppose I got an idea that stopping bad guys from doing bad stuff was a good thing to do. The one thing I did know back then was that I’d never be a logger—not much future in it, and I liked keeping my appendages. Logging’s brutal.”

  I smiled. “It was a great choice. You’re good at what you do.”

  Milo shot me an ironic glance. “Oh, yeah? Then how come I have to stash you here? A hotshot cop would’ve caught the bad guy by now.”

  “A hotshot journalist would’ve figured it out before the cop did.” I stood up. “I’ll clean your kitchen. I think better doing brainless jobs.”

  “If you say so. I’ll watch a half-assed bowl game.” He ambled over to his easy chair. “This Bowl Championship Series thing is bullshit.”

  I left the sheriff to his football. An hour later, I’d cleared off the counters and stacked everything on a shelf. I was about to start on the fridge when Milo entered the kitchen.

  “Where’s my stuff?” he asked in shock.

  “On that shelf. I didn’t throw anything out.”

  He studied what I’d moved. “Okay. It’s all there. Mulehide tossed everything except my wallet.”

  His phone rang again. I headed for the bathroom. When I got back, Milo was in his easy chair. “Nina made Jack listen to Vida’s show. Then they had to discuss it. Nina likes discussions. When Jack called Davin, he was with Roger at Mugs Ahoy. The music was so loud the kid couldn’t hear. It’d be just my luck for Roger to get wasted and run over somebody. I don’t have enough deputies to bust the fat bastard.”

  “Will Davin call Jack later?”

  “He’d better.” Milo looked worried. “If this stuff about the girl and the medal is true, then I have to scratch Troy off as a murder suspect.”

  “Can the autopsy prove it was foul play?”

  “Not necessarily. I have to go with my gut feeling. Troy didn’t drop that camera.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s after ten. You’ve been up since five. Get some kip before you pass out.”

  I felt awkward. “Is the bed off limits?”

  “Not for you.”

  “Oh, Milo, that’s dumb. You can’t sleep on your own sofa.”

  “I can’t count how often I did that when I was married. The newer one’s longer.” He nodded at me. “Scoot. I still have work to do.”

  “You’ve been up almost as long as I have. What’ve you got to do?”

  “Nothing big. Just go to bed.”

  Ten minutes later, I was undressed and under the covers. If this was what married life would be like, what was the point if I was sleeping alone?

  SEVENTEEN

  I’D NEVER AWAKENED IN MILO’S BED WITHOUT HIM. I FELT DISORIENTED, but realized it was daylight. The clock we hadn’t broken said it was nine-twenty. The sheriff was standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “Just making sure you hadn’t crawled out a window,” he said.

  “What’s happening?”

  “The snow stopped during the night, but we got over a foot,” he replied. “Hungry?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m not quite awake.”

  “Okay. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s downstairs.”

  I showered and dressed, making myself semi-presentable. When I got to the kitchen, Milo was on his cell, looking disgruntled.

  “Just do it,” he said, and banged down the receiver.

  “Do what?” I asked, wondering if Milo’s home-brewed coffee was safe to drink.

  “My deputies are morons.” He stared off into space. “Hell, it’s not their fault. I’ve been playing nursemaid most of the month.”

  I felt guilty. “Why can’t I go to work so you can, too?”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. Apparently, he’d been making notes on the yellow legal-sized tablet in front of him. “In theory, I should be able to run this operation from here as well as I can from headquarters. In practice …” He shrugged. “That’s different.”

  I poured coffee into a Seahawks mug and sat down. “I don’t want you stuck being a nursemaid to me.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Damn it, Emma, I didn’t mean you.”

  I shook my head. “You meant me, too, and you’re right.” I took a sip of coffee. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. And it certainly was strong. Maybe it was the sheriff’s hired help that didn’t know how to brew coffee that didn’t taste like dishwater or sink sludge. “I’m more hampered than you are. I can’t even use my phone.”

  “I charged it,” he said, not looking at me. “It’s by the blender. Call Vida. She may run at the mouth, but she knows when to zip it. We got through the night alive, so maybe we can loosen up a bit.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I snapped. “You’re a peach.”

  “You’re a pickle.” He sighed again. “Jack didn’t hear back from Davin Rhodes. He probably got too tanked with Roger to remember the call. I talked to Pete, asking him if Gus was wearing the medal the day he took off. He couldn’t remember, and neither could Shari. Witnesses drive me nuts.” Milo lighted a cigarette before loping past me as if I were another kitchen appliance.

  Maybe I was. The floor needed a good scrubbing. I might take care of that after I ate something. But first I put bacon in a pan and forced my brain to work. Milo’s coffee helped. If I hadn’t been so upset, I might’ve climbed up the kitchen wall. Snatching my cell off the counter as if I were rescuing it from an acid bath, I called Vida. She practically screamed in my ear when she heard my voice. “You survived the night?”

  I assured her I had, but didn’t dare let on where I was.

  “You sound odd,” she said. “Is that because you spent the night with Milo?”

  I leaned against the counter. It was a good thing Vida didn’t want to kill me. At l
east not often. She could hunt me down if I sought refuge in a remote Amazon native village. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “You think I didn’t call your brother last night? Or check the sheriff’s log this morning? He’s not at work, you’re not at the rectory—where else would you be? At least whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it behind closed doors. And closed drapes, I trust.”

  I stared at the kitchen floor. “It’s not what you think,” I said. “I wonder where Milo keeps a mop. If he has one.”

  “What on earth,” Vida cried, “are you two doing with a mop?”

  “Never mind,” I said wearily, and went on to explain the sheriff’s reaction to what I’d learned from Matt Patricelli about the Laskey-Andrews connection. She was reluctantly impressed by the sheriff’s insight.

  “You must have a good effect on him,” she said grudgingly. “He usually has no imagination.”

  “That’s unfair,” I declared. “Milo speculates and thinks about possibilities, but on the job, he keeps all that to himself.”

  “He’s very good at keeping it there,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “What comes to my mind is quite dreadful. I think the boy has died. Recently, too. Do you have your laptop with you?”

  “I didn’t bring it—or my boots. Milo didn’t give me time to think.”

  She harrumphed. “I’ll check the Times obits right away.”

  I should’ve thought of that myself. “Let me know. Oh—did you take those hiking boots to Bill?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “I didn’t collect them until this morning. Roy’s home, but the medication sedates him. I dropped the boots off with Billy on my way to work. I didn’t have time last night because of my show. What did you think of it?”

  “Well … it’s hard for me to say,” I hedged. “I mean, knowing Adam and Ben as well as I do, I knew what to expect.”

  “You really should have warned me,” Vida said indignantly. “I don’t know how much you could tell over the air, but it’s a good thing Spencer was there to hit the delay button every time your brother used crude language. He’s almost as foulmouthed as Milo.”

  I was literally speechless, having to cover my own mouth to keeping from laughing out loud.

  “Emma?” Vida finally said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” I finally said. “I can’t speak for Ben. I mean, he’s human.”

  “I cannot imagine Pastor Purebeck saying such things,” she asserted. “Which is why I don’t believe he’s having an affair. He’s not …”

  “Human?” I broke in.

  “Oh, hush! I must check those obits. Do take care.”

  I rescued my bacon and made some toast. Five minutes later, I was staring again at the kitchen floor when my phone rang. The sheriff hadn’t told me I couldn’t answer it, so I did.

  “Mom,” Adam said, “where are you?”

  I hesitated, torn in several different directions, and opted for discretion. “I’m safe. Really.”

  “Uncle Ben and I’ve gone almost crazy worrying about you. When can we go back to your house? I left half my stuff there.”

  “That’s up to the sheriff,” I said. “Call him.”

  There was a pause before Adam spoke again. “Can’t you ask him?”

  “No.”

  He paused again. “This is too weird. Okay, I will.” He rang off.

  I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor when Milo reappeared. “Holy shit!” He stared at the floor. “What next, wallpaper?”

  “You tracked snow and mud … skip it. I’m waiting to hear back from Vida. She thinks something horrible happened recently to Andrews’s son and it set him off. She’s starting with Seattle obits.”

  Milo nodded grimly. “For once, I won’t argue with her. Something sure got to him.” He refilled his coffee mug and started to turn away.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Back downstairs. I work better there. You’re one hell of a distraction in a lot of ways. Why did you put on lipstick? Why didn’t you smear your face with Crisco or something? Christ, but you’re a pain in the ass.” Shaking his head, he left.

  Damn the man, he was so aggravating—but as usual, I couldn’t stay mad. I was still tackling the kitchen floor when Vida called back. “I’m amazed,” she declared. “I didn’t have to look very far. The poor child’s obit was in Sunday’s Times. Aaron Andrews, born April 14, 1992, son of Charles and Olivia Andrews of Seattle, died December 24, 2004. The funeral is today at Epiphany Church.”

  “That’s the Madrona/Denny-Blaine area,” I said.

  “Yes. Milo has a home computer, but he’s never given me his personal email,” she added, sounding affronted.

  “Uh …” I looked at the sheriff, who was back in the doorway, shaking his head in apparent dismay. “Any hint of how Aaron died?”

  “It says ‘after a long illness,’ which often means cancer. I assume not in this case. Memorials to Children’s Hospital.”

  “Nothing else of interest?”

  “No, only survivors, immediate family, very impersonal.”

  “Then you don’t need Milo’s email,” I said.

  Hearing muffled voices at her end, I assumed she had a hand over the receiver. I ignored Milo and attacked a grease stain near the stove.

  “Oh, dear!” Vida exclaimed into my ear. “Dwight just called. They got an APB for Mitch from KingCo. Does Milo know?”

  “If he does, he hasn’t—”

  The sheriff bellowed my name. “Maybe he has.” I rang off.

  He gave himself a shake. “There’s an ABP out on Mitch.”

  I nodded. “Vida just told me. She knows I’m here.”

  “She would.” The sheriff threw up his hands. “See? When I’m not on the spot, Vida knows more about my job than I do.”

  “She probably does even when you are. Most people think she runs the newspaper—and she is now. Why is there an ABP on Mitch?”

  “He’s wanted for impeding an investigation,” Milo said in disgust.

  “You mean Troy’s accident?”

  “Who knows? The APB’s statewide. I’m calling Yakima to see if they know anything. Maybe Andrews is pulling some heavy-duty strings. The kid’s death must’ve unhinged him. That’s damned rough.” He took out his cell. “When did it happen?”

  “Christmas Eve,” I said.

  “Christ.” Milo had tapped in a number. “Hey, Dwight, I need Yakima County’s number.… No, but I’ve met him.… Top drawer of my filing cabinet …” Milo looked at me and mouthed, “Blind as a bat.” A moment later he jotted down the number and rang off. “I feel damned sorry for that Andrews bastard.”

  “Me too,” I agreed. “You think a vehicular homicide charge?”

  Milo rubbed the back of his head. “There’s nothing about that in the APB. How could Andrews make a case now?”

  “Because he’s out of his mind with grief,” I said.

  Milo looked thoughtful. “That I get. If Tanya had been killed and her fiancé hadn’t offed himself, I’d have done it for him.”

  I nodded. “The quality of mercy is lacking in most parents. But if Aaron died on Friday, why was Andrews here Monday and Tuesday? Shouldn’t he have been grieving and making arrangements with his family?”

  “People grieve in strange ways. A guy like Andrews gets angry and lashes out. My guess is he came to get even with Laskey. It doesn’t have to make sense. Didn’t Kip see his Escalade at Mitch’s house Monday night?”

  “Spence saw it, too. Revenge is—” My phone rang. “It’s Vida again,” I said, seeing the Advocate’s number.

  “Will that dunderhead of a sheriff let you talk to Kip?” she asked.

  “I’ll ask the dunderhead,” I said, and posed the question to Milo.

  “Hell, yes,” he roared, adding, “and tell Vida to watch her big mouth.”

  “I heard that!” she cried. “How have you not killed each other? Here’s Kip.”

  “Hey,” Kip said excitedly, “Du
rgan’s still at the ski lodge. Henry Bardeen’s arranging an interview. Turns out that Turk’s girlfriend works at the lodge and he’s hanging out with her there.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Are you going to the lodge now?”

  “Not until noon,” Kip replied. “Libby’s off until then.”

  “Libby?” I said.

  “She works in the gift shop during the afternoons and at King Olav’s in the evenings. Got to go, Leo needs some back-shop help.”

  Milo noticed the odd look on my face. “Now what?”

  “Is my mind going?” I asked bleakly.

  “You’re supposed to be getting it back. Did you eat breakfast?”

  “Yes. Call Henry Bardeen. Ask about his new hire, Libby or …” I paused, trying to recall the formal name of the waitress who’d served us at the dinner with Marisa. “Livna, I think. She’s Durgan’s girlfriend.”

  Milo’s eyes sparked. “You think she’s the one Troy was after?”

  “It sounds crazy, but Vida had something about her in ‘Scene.’ What if Troy was trying to find her instead of his parents?”

  “That’s a stretch.” But Milo shrugged. “Is Kip going to the lodge?”

  “Yes, around noon.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s ten-thirty. Tell him to get his butt up there now and talk to Henry. I’ll send Dustman to make sure Libby isn’t going anywhere.” Milo made as if to muss my hair, but stopped. “Keep thinking,” he said, heading out of the kitchen.

  When I called Kip, he was still in the back shop, but I relayed the information to Vida. “Most interesting,” she remarked.

  After reminding Vida to make certain Kip asked about the medal, I wandered to the kitchen window. The clouds had lifted and the sky had brightened, but the view was snow and more snow. Milo knew every nook and cranny of my log cabin, but I felt like a stranger in his house.

  I’d lost focus again, so I got back to cleaning the floor. After I finished, I wondered who’d chosen the much-scuffed and cracked Congoleum. If it had been Tricia, that was grounds for divorce.

  I made more toast. I was munching on it when Milo came back into the kitchen. “Stop,” I said. “Wipe your feet.”