by Mary Daheim
Vida had her hands on her hips. “Then what happened?”
I made a face. “You think the sheriff would tell me this early in an investigation? We’re engaged—we don’t have a pact to administer truth serum to each other.”
“Can’t he bend a bit now that you’re going to be man and wife?”
“I give you two words—Milo Dodge. Think again.”
Vida sighed. “You’re right. Maybe my nephew Billy could be coaxed with some ice cream.”
Leo looked puzzled. “Isn’t Billy like thirty-five?”
Vida shot my ad manager a haughty look. “He still likes ice cream. Besides, he and his fiancée broke up on New Year’s Eve. Just as well. I preferred that he not take on a woman who already has a child.”
“You could’ve taken the child and Billy for ice cream,” Leo said in a serious tone.
“Hush, Leo,” Vida said, with less than her usual severity. “The outage was limited to the commercial area. Walt Hanson told Amanda they never lost power out at the fish hatchery—or at the college.”
I stood up. “Did Kip put the bare facts about Wayne online?”
“Yes,” Vida replied. “I was offering family background. As you recall, Emma, you once had a notion that Mel and Wayne were cousins. You know better by now. Oh!” She clapped a hand to her cheek. “Mitch is at Blue Sky Dairy. I wonder if Mel knows what happened to his brother?”
“He does if Mitch told him,” I said. “Were they close?”
“Well …” Vida tapped one foot. “Not very, but I don’t think there was any animosity between them.”
Leo grinned. “No typical Alpine a-feudin’ and a-fightin’?”
“Really, Leo,” Vida said in reproach, “you make us sound like hillbillies. At least we don’t go around constantly suing each other the way people do in Southern California.”
I left them to their argument, a sport they both seemed to enjoy. When the news came on at three, Spence’s only reference to RestHaven was that they hadn’t lost power. The hospital had gone dark, but they had a backup generator. He also aired a brief bit on Wayne’s demise.
Mitch returned just after the broadcast. Mel had already heard from Cookie Eriks. His wife, April, had gone to comfort her sister-in-law. Mitch said Mel seemed more angry than upset. “He thought his brother may’ve done something stupid.”
“It’s possible,” I allowed. “But it’s dangerous work, especially in bad weather. He shouldn’t have been working outside in the first place.”
“Don’t say that to the county commissioners,” Mitch warned. “Want to bet Cookie doesn’t sue?”
“She has no spunk. And bear in mind that her daughter may be sleeping with one of said county commissioners.”
“That’s … incredible.” Mitch shook his head.
I not only gave him the other two interviews, but asked if he’d check with the sheriff for any late developments regarding Wayne’s death. Mitch gave me a curious look but didn’t ask any questions. I still sensed that he hadn’t quite figured out yet what was going on between his boss and SkyCo’s sheriff.
Which, of course, was what was uppermost in my mind. I was beginning to feel that Milo and I were ill-starred lovers. Since I first realized how much I loved him back in late November, we had now gone through two long separations. If the Eriks family was hexed, maybe we were, too.
There was no further news from headquarters, so I left at five to head for the Grocery Basket. Luckily, they had fresh Dungeness crab in the seafood case, though I winced at the price: $22.99 a pound. Darryl, the seafood manager, asked if I wanted smelling salts.
Two crabs and ninety dollars later, I had dinner for the sheriff and a rising sense of anticipation in my breast. All I had to do was make a salad, put the French garlic bread in the oven, and unwrap the crabs, which Darryl had cracked and cleaned for me.
Milo showed up at 5:40, still in uniform. “Got anything on the stove?” he asked.
“No. I only have to turn on—”
That was as far as I got. With words, anyway. Obviously, we didn’t need to be turned on. Forty-five minutes later, I rolled over onto Milo’s bare chest and kissed the small scar above his right eye.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re here!” I pressed my face against his and clung to him as if my life depended on it.
“That makes two of us,” he said, one big hand caressing my back. “I had one hell of a time getting rid of Tricia and Tanya.”
I raised my head and rolled over slightly. “How did you do it?”
“By beating Tricia at her own game. I started by saying that maybe I shouldn’t have spent the money to send her and Tanya to Hawaii. Seeing all those happy couples on the beach might’ve caused a setback for Tanya. Maybe it was my fault for not thinking it through.”
“Devious,” I murmured, unaccustomed to Milo playing games. “It was her idea.”
“You don’t know Tricia,” Milo said after kissing the top of my head. “She’s never been wrong in her life. Her latest crazy idea was to put Tanya in RestHaven. I told her that was really smart. Then I mentioned that the shrink Tanya had been seeing in Bellevue couldn’t be much good or she wouldn’t have tried to kill herself. I knew damned well that Tricia had handpicked the guy. Of course she started defending Strudelblob or whatever his name is, and she decided he was still the one to save Tanya. They took off after Sung signed the release papers.”
I grinned at Milo. “You don’t feel kind of guilty?”
“For what? I didn’t do anything to create this whole mess. Last night Tricia and I searched her room to see if Tanya had any more pills. She didn’t. In fact, there were no pills at all. The Celexa came from a bottle that had been for a med prescribed by the Bellevue shrink. Tricia knew it’d just been refilled, so Tanya must’ve gotten the Valium somewhere else. Maybe it backfired on her or she took both.”
“But,” I said, “shouldn’t she be closely supervised? Do you trust Tricia to do that?”
“I talked to Bran today. My son’s got more sense than Tricia and Tanya put together, though where he got it from, I’ll never know.”
I poked the sheriff in the chest. “How about from you, big guy? Even Vida admits you’re the only Dodge who has good sense.”
Milo made a face. “Maybe. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not sure I was totally fair with Tricia, but she was the one who walked. Or ran, given that she was so hot for Jake the Snake. Too bad she couldn’t see that while snakes might shed their skin, they don’t change their habits.”
“You did well with the situation. I’m unused to you being crafty.”
I felt him shrug. “I have to go that route with perps sometimes. Make them feel we’re wrong for busting them in the first place.”
I rolled over onto my back. “Hungry?”
“Not anymore,” Milo said, running his hand from my thigh to my chin. “But I wouldn’t mind eating some dinner. Maybe I’ll try putting the new bed together later on. Should we store your old one at my place, or are you still thinking about putting it in Adam’s old room?”
“I don’t know,” I hedged, reluctantly getting out of bed and wondering where my clothes had ended up between the front door and the bedroom. “The twin in that bedroom is small, my son is not, but that room’s crowded. Adam has most of his worldly goods stored in there. He has no extra space in his village rectory.”
“Maybe I can get together with Scott Melville over the weekend about putting on the addition,” Milo said. He yawned and stretched before getting to his feet. “And don’t argue. We can afford it.”
“I can’t,” I said. “Those crabs will keep me broke until I pay myself out of what’s left for my staff at the end of the month.”
“Damn it, Emma, don’t worry about it. I’m going to sell my house.”
“That may not happen right away. Besides, you told me you had to do some basic maintenance. And cleanup,” I added archly as I put on my good bathrobe. Even Milo had finally despaired over the ratty blue o
ne I’d worn for most of my years in Alpine. Maybe that was because one of the sleeves fell off.
“Tricia thought the house looked pretty good, considering,” Milo said, now out of bed and getting dressed.
“No thanks to you,” I shot back. “You turned me into a household drudge while I was in your so-called protective custody. The only thing I refused to do was wash your damned windows.”
“Hey, I fed you,” he said, taking out a plaid shirt from the closet where he’d already stashed some of his clothes.
“I cooked,” I reminded him, seeing the clock on my bedside table. “Oh! It’s almost seven! I’ll make drinks while you turn on Vida’s show.”
I’d poured Milo’s Scotch and was reaching for my Canadian Club when the sheriff ambled out to the living room and turned on the radio. Spence’s recorded intro was just concluding. Vida began with an apology.
“Dear friends and neighbors, I know some of you expected me to host my nephew, Ross Blatt, the owner of Alpine Appliance & Repair, but alas, poor Ross came down with the flu this afternoon. Instead, I have another nephew, Ross’s brother, Ronnie Blatt, one of our fine volunteer firefighters when he’s not working his UPS job. Tell me, Ronnie, what’s the most unusual parcel you’ve ever delivered on your route?”
“A baby,” Ronnie said. “A ten-pound, two-ounce boy to the Vanderburts on Second Hill.”
“Good God,” Milo muttered. “That was five years ago.”
“Seven,” I said, sitting on the sofa across from where Milo had parked himself in the easy chair. “They moved not long after that.”
“It must be fascinating,” Vida went on, “to bring other bundles of joy to our listeners. Do tell us some of your other happy memories.”
“Well …” Ronnie paused. “Grace Grundle’s always excited when I deliver new cat toys for her menagerie. Averill Fairbanks was pretty pumped when I brought his new UFO-sighting glasses last month, though he complained about the cloudy weather. Oh, Coach Ridley was relieved when the new Bucker basketball uniforms arrived before the season started. Only problem was they were for girls, so he had to send them back. The high school doesn’t have a girls’ team except for P.E.”
“More’s the pity,” Vida said. “I heard the boys’ team did get theirs.”
I saw Milo holding his head and knew what was coming next.
“Right,” Ronnie replied, “but they were for fifth and sixth graders. Coach is still waiting.”
“A manufacturer’s problem,” Vida said. “Not buying locally, but that can’t always be helped. We have so many fine merchants in Alpine, and we’ll now let them tell you about their latest outstanding products.”
“Holy crap,” Milo said, shaking his head, “this is the worst bullshit Vida’s put on in months. Why doesn’t she ask Ron about his volunteer firefighting? He’s been doing that for longer than he’s worked for UPS.”
“You’re right. But if Ross cancelled, Vida didn’t have much notice.”
Milo took a quick swig of his drink before getting a pack of Marlboro Lights out of his shirt pocket. “You want one?”
“Please. You’re a bad influence, Dodge.”
“Come and get it. You can sit on my lap. That’ll make the rest of the show more tolerable.”
I obliged the sheriff, though I left my drink on the end table. The second half of Cupboard was no better than the first—except for Ronnie’s final response to Vida’s query about how much he liked his job.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Good benefits, nice people, decent hours. But I’d really like to be a full-time firefighter. The county has only two regulars because they can’t afford to pay for more help. That’s a shame, and not just for me personally.”
“That’s a … remarkable statement,” Vida said, uncharacteristically taken aback. “Thank you, Ronnie. You’ve delivered food for thought.” She signed off, followed by the sound of the cupboard door closing.
“Good for Ronnie,” Milo said, squeezing my waist. “Doc Dewey and I get tired of being the only ones who bitch about lack of funds. Frankly, it’s galling to see all that money being poured into RestHaven. Sure, they’re spreading it around now in the remodeling part, but except for a couple of dozen jobs, the staff’s made up of outsiders.”
“Maybe Dr. Woo can inform us of other ways they’ll benefit Alpine,” I suggested. “He’s up next.”
“Screw Woo,” Milo said. “You know it’ll be a bunch of bullshit. Let’s eat. I just figured out that I’m starving.”
I scooted off his lap. I’d turned on the oven when the show had started. “I’ll put the bread in. Can you wait fifteen minutes?”
Milo had gotten out of the easy chair to shut off the radio. “Why can’t we start in on the crab—” He stopped. “What the hell? That Bree Whatzername announced ten uninterrupted minutes of Golden Oldies.”
“Bree Kendall,” I said, referring to Spence’s part-time DJ. “Woo must’ve cancelled.”
Milo turned the radio off. “I don’t like that.”
“I thought you didn’t want to listen to him.”
“I don’t. But why is he cancelling? Has he got the flu? Or …”
The sheriff never liked to speculate, which I realized was what he was doing before he caught himself. Downing the rest of his drink, he handed me the glass. “Just a short shot. I’m calling Doc.”
To my annoyance—even if I understood the reason—Milo went out into the carport to make his call. Boundaries, Emma, I lectured myself. You have his heart and his body, but you don’t have his badge and his job. I started putting the crab and the salad on the kitchen table.
When Milo came back inside, he didn’t look pleased. “That flu thing’s no joke. Doc’s up to his ears. Why the hell can’t those high-roller doctors up at RestHaven pitch in?”
“Woo and Farrell are the only M.D.’s,” I said, sitting down.
Milo ripped a crab claw into pieces. “What about the shrinks? Psychiatrists have medical degrees.”
“True. And Jennifer Hood is an R.N. with a master’s. It’d be a goodwill gesture on their part to volunteer when things get rough.”
“They already are,” Milo said. “Doc and Sung have been trying to get somebody up here for a year. Nobody wants to be a G.P. The money’s not there. Gerry and Elvis can’t pay big salaries. I can’t, either. I could use two more deputies. The county’s grown since the college opened. Not a lot, but enough to stretch services across the board.”
“Hey,” I said, kicking him gently under the table, “nobody knows that better than I do. Don’t you ever read my editorials?”
Milo feigned indignation. “Sure. Usually. Sometimes.” He nodded toward the stove. “Smoke’s coming out of your oven. Again.”
“The bread!” I cried, jumping up.
“Is it toast yet?” Milo asked over his shoulder.
“No. The bread’s fine. It’s just some … grease.”
“Emma.” The hazel eyes conveyed a reprimand.
“Okay, so I haven’t turned on the oven since you were here. My appetite’s been off.” I switched subjects. “Why did you go to the courthouse today? Or is it some SkyCo state secret?”
Milo looked pained. “It won’t be in a day or so. Holly Gross is getting out of jail.”
I gasped, almost choking on a radish from the salad. “No!”
“Yes.” He turned in his chair. “Where’s the potato salad? You usually have that with crab.”
“I’m weaning you away from grease since your gallbladder surgery. It helps keep off the ten pounds you lost after the Bellevue siege.”
“You think I’m fat?”
“No. It hardly showed, but it’s better for you to stay leaner. Now tell me about Holly before I take away your melted butter for the crab.”
“You lost weight, too,” Milo said. “You’ll get so skinny that I’ll have to shake the sheets to find you.”
“I only lost six pounds. Come on, Dodge, let’s hear it.”
He chewed on some bre
ad before answering. “She filed an appeal. That is, her attorney did. Our new judge, Diane Proxmire, is allowing her to post bond until the appeal can be heard, which can take at least two years. I met with Proxmire and Rosemary Bourgette today. As the prosecuting attorney, Rosie will make the announcement tomorrow or Monday. I hoped you wouldn’t ask.” He took another big bite of bread.
“Vida will pitch a five-star fit,” I said—and caught my breath. “Or does she already know?”
“Who always knows everything?” Milo said glumly. “When Roger was involved in that trailer park mess, Vida was a witness—a muddled one—to Holly shooting another customer. Second-degree manslaughter may not hold up on appeal if a jury decides it was self-defense.”
I was still shocked. “Holly could get her kids back, including the one she had by Roger. No wonder Vida’s been testy lately. Roger’s parents have taken in that baby as their own.”
“Let’s hope they haven’t bonded with … what’s the kid’s name?”
“When Vida mentions him—and she rarely does, being embarrassed—she calls him Diddy. I think he must be going on two.”
“ ‘Duddy’ would fit Roger’s kid better,” Milo remarked.
I cleaned out another crab leg and went back in time to October, when Roger had been busted for some DUIs. His relationship with the town hooker had resulted in Vida finally admitting her grandson wasn’t the paragon of virtue that she’d claimed. The kid had been a spoiled brat from the time I met him, when he was nine. Milo had gone easy on Roger after he gave valuable information about a drug-running operation. Holly had played a minor role with the local dealer and had killed him while they were holding Vida hostage. The chaos and cramped quarters inside Holly’s trailer had hampered even Vida’s remarkable powers of observation. She’d also lost one of her favorite hats in the melee.
“What about the drug trafficking?” I asked, suddenly realizing that Milo had eaten practically an entire crab by himself.
“Secondary to the man-two charge. The operation was shut down after Holly shot the main man.” He started in on the other crab. “We can still act on it, but Rosie advised holding off. Holly’s role was minor.”