by Mary Daheim
“Yes,” I said, shaking hands. “I had to turn the interview over to Mitch Laskey at the last minute.”
Dr. Woo nodded. “Mr. Laskey did a fine job.” He looked at Vida. “It must be hectic running a newspaper, even in a small town, Mrs. Runkel.”
“We’re online,” Vida said, “so we must keep up to the minute.”
For the umpteenth time, I endured an outsider’s assumption that Vida was the boss. It was natural, given her long tenure and take-charge air, which extended not just to the Advocate but to all of Alpine. I was seeking a tactful way to correct Dr. Woo’s impression when I spotted Milo leaning in the doorway.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I must talk to the sheriff.”
I virtually shoved Milo back into the corridor. “Lucky you,” I murmured. “You missed Blackwell’s speech and Ed’s tour guide spiel.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here.” The sheriff grabbed my arm and led me down the hall. “Where’s an empty office?”
“Milo! We can’t—”
“We aren’t. I guess the offices are in the atrium.” He grimaced. “Nobody’s around. I got the autopsy report. Eriks wasn’t fried by lightning, which is a DC current. It was an AC charge, jabbed in his chest near his heart.”
“ ‘Jabbed’?” I echoed, not sure of what Milo meant.
He took off his hat and rubbed his head. “It’s crazy. Whatever electrocuted him left a definite pattern on his skin, but the M.E. said the burn marks on Eriks’s clothes didn’t match the ones on his body. That sounds like somebody killed him. Damned weird, isn’t it?”
“That,” I gasped, “is shocking!”
Milo’s expression was wry. “I realize you couldn’t stand the guy, but did you have to say that?”
“Oh!” I put a hand over my mouth.
He chuckled. “I know you weren’t trying to be funny. Or were you?”
“No! It’s gruesome. Who’d do that even to a jackass like Wayne? It had to be premeditated, right?”
Milo grimaced. “You know I won’t speculate.”
“I wish you talked in your sleep.”
“You do.”
I was aghast. “What do I say?”
“Just half-assed stuff that doesn’t make sense. Kind of like you do when you’re awake.”
“Milo!” I made as if to punch him, but he held up a big hand.
“That’s ‘Sheriff’ to you, Ms. Lord. Here comes Bronsky and his flock of curiosity seekers. If you want my official statement, check in later. I won’t give it to Fleetwood first.” He turned around and loped away.
I had no choice but to follow him, though he’d disappeared by the time I made up my mind. I managed to reach the atrium, where Vida was talking to a pretty, fortyish auburn-haired woman I recognized as Jennifer Hood, R.N., head of the medical short-term rehab unit.
“Emma, dear,” Vida said loudly, “come meet Ms. Hood. She was so disappointed that you had to cancel your interview with her.”
Jennifer didn’t look disappointed when she smiled and shook my hand. “Mr. Laskey was an excellent substitute. I see he’s taking pictures today. Which of you is writing the main story?”
“I am. As the Advocate’s editor and publisher,” I added, “I feel obligated to cover such a big event.”
“That’s very good of you,” Jennifer said. “We’re excited about being part of the town. Such a big turnout! I know we’re going to enjoy getting acquainted with everyone in this community.”
“My, yes!” Vida enthused. “Alpiners are such down-to-earth folks. We’re all so …” She stopped, her gray eyes veering off to her left. “There’s my dear grandson, Roger, one of your fine volunteers. I’ll introduce you.” She rushed off after Roger, who had the bovine Ainsley in tow.
Short of faking an aneurysm, I would do anything to avoid an encounter with Roger. “I have to head back to the office,” I said to Jennifer. “Perhaps we can get together sometime soon.”
“I’m going outside,” she said. “It’s nice this afternoon and I’d like some fresh air. Medical rehab’s in a separate building with a connecting corridor,” she continued, moving quickly to the entrance, “but I find mountain air invigorating.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Vida seemed to be having difficulty talking Roger into meeting Jennifer. Maybe he already had, which was why she was making a quick exit. Once we were under the porte cochere, I cast tact aside. “Have you already met Mrs. Runkel’s grandson?”
Jennifer looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure he’s a fine young man, but he seems a bit slow at catching on. Does he have ADD?”
“Roger is many things,” I said, “but give him some time. He has trouble staying focused. Mrs. Runkel thinks the world of him.”
Jennifer nodded. “He volunteered, and that’s an encouraging sign.” She sighed. “I was raised in a small town not unlike Alpine—Dunsmuir, near Mount Shasta. Maybe you know it—you go through it on I-5.”
“I do. I always thought it was quite charming.”
Jennifer nodded. “Yes. It was once a thriving railroad hub. But it got stuck in a time warp eighty years ago. That wasn’t all bad. Dunsmuir was made a California historical town. A lot of tourists still visit, and like Alpine, there are plenty of outdoor activities. But social life is limited.”
“You mean when it comes to eligible men?”
“Or the wrong kind,” she said grimly. “It was weird when that poor workman died next to this property. Medical rehab is closer to the road and it was raining hard, so I didn’t see him, but I noticed smoke by the van. I thought it was odd, but figured the wet weather would douse whatever was burning. Do you know if that had anything to do with the accident?”
The word “fried” came back to haunt me. But I had no idea if the smoke might have come from Wayne or something else. “No,” I said. “How soon was that before you heard the sirens?”
Jennifer considered. “Five minutes at least.”
“The sheriff will make a formal announcement later this afternoon. You might want to check our website.”
“I will.” She smiled. “I must dash. Our first two patients are arriving soon. Keep in touch, Ms. Lord.”
“Make that Emma,” I called after her.
I heard a familiar laugh not far behind me. “Wooing sources, I see,” Spencer Fleetwood said. “Jealous?”
I turned around to face Mr. Radio. “Then you admit you have a special contact here?”
Spence shook his head. “I thought we dropped that subject.”
“You brought it up.”
“Alas, I did.” He sighed. “If anybody should be jealous, it ought to be me. I’m not sleeping with the sheriff.”
“You know damned well that Milo never tells me anything until he’s ready to go public. He never has and he never will.”
“The man has incredible willpower, I’ll give him that.”
“The man is a stubborn—if disciplined—mule.”
“Not quite the word I’d have chosen.” Spence pointed down to the road. “Obviously, Dodge suspects the possibility of foul play. Have you spoken yet with the Widow Eriks?”
“No. Have you?”
He shook his head. “I tried to this morning, but her sister-in-law—April, isn’t it?—wouldn’t let me in. Cookie must be overcome with grief.”
“Maybe she’s just overcome. Wayne wasn’t an ideal husband.”
Spence grinned. “I forgot—Dodge arrested him for grabbing some part of you that belonged to Dodge.”
“Milo arrested Wayne because he had sufficient evidence. In case you forgot, Wayne lied in his original statement concerning Tim’s death. He also had a credible motive to kill his son-in-law.”
“The tale was much juicier on the grapevine.”
“We’re old news now,” I said. “Come on, you must have some ideas about who might want Wayne dead.”
Spence wore his most serious expression, which was fairly convincing. “An irate husband or boyfriend is my guess, the same motive that caused your favorite bear to
resent Eriks. But names?” He shook his head. “I’m not in the gossip loop. Have you asked Vida?”
“No. Right now I’m disgusted with her for acting as if Roger were still her little darling. Didn’t she learn her lesson?”
Spence steered me out of the way to allow some visitors to make their exit. “She wants to see this volunteer stunt of his as positive. She can’t let go until he lands in prison for twenty years. Her priority is keeping him close, which wouldn’t happen if he joined the military or went away to college. My latest nightmare is that she’ll invite him to be on her show to talk about his altruistic volunteer duties at RestHaven.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “I wish she’d listened to Buck.”
“Speaking of listening, I’ve got to head for the studio,” Spence said. “Have you ever tried withholding your charms to see if that’ll make Dodge open up about his investigations?”
“No.”
Spence stared at me, grinned, and shook his head. “God, Emma, you are one strange woman.” He sauntered off to his BMW.
I waited until he drove away before going to my car. Driving down to River Road, I had a whim to pull onto the verge where Wayne’s body had been found. The Sky was running high, but not yet near flood stage. Clouds flirted with the sun as they lowered over Mount Baldy. Depending on the temperature, I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
I parked twenty yards away from the pole where Wayne had been working. I knew Milo and his deputies had scoured the area, but my curiosity was piqued by Jennifer’s remark about something burning near the van. There was no sign of ash. The rain would have erased any traces. I moved to the drop-off between the verge and the riverbank, treading carefully in case the ground was undermined. The water ran fast and off-color, coursing past a half-dozen houses at the base of First Hill. Windy Mountain was now obscured at the three-thousand-foot level. We’d have more rain before sunset. Why, I asked myself, would someone try to burn anything during a downpour? Why not throw it in the river? Because, I realized, there were snags, branches, even trees where items could get hung up no matter how swift the current. I looked around the near bank, where exposed roots stuck out like grasping fingers. A candy wrapper dangled from one, a scrap of newsprint from another. I moved back to the pole, where I saw a white rag hanging on a branch above the river. The cloth was wet, perhaps from the rain. There was no path nearby, and I doubted that I could reach it. I wondered if I should mention it to Milo. He’d probably scoff. I went back to my car.
As I started down River Road, I recalled Spence’s comment about calling on Cookie Eriks. April had probably rebuffed him because he’d gone there as a newshound. I, however, had a personal relationship with the widow. After the loss of her son-in-law, I’d offered comfort. Following Wayne’s arrest, I’d consoled Cookie—and managed to scoop Spence in the process. I decided to see if I could one-up him again.
I turned into the Icicle Creek development, driving by Milo’s split-level and the Melvilles’ remodeled house, both of which were almost adjacent to the golf course. The Erikses lived several doors north, closer to the railroad tracks, where property was cheaper.
Maybe it was just the circumstances, but the house’s exterior looked bleaker than I remembered it. The cream-colored paint was faded and chipped in places, the chimney was missing a couple of bricks, the small front lawn was patchy, and the roof—which had needed replacing on my last visit—was still deteriorating. I put on my most sympathetic face before I rang the doorbell.
April Eriks came to the door after, I assumed, she’d peered through the peephole. “Emma,” she said with a wary look in her big brown eyes, “are you here to interview Cookie?”
“No,” I replied. “I wanted to offer my condolences. Cookie has been through some awful things the past couple of years. I understand how she must feel. A lot of us have had some bad luck.”
Flipping her prematurely gray hair over one ear, April stepped aside to let me pass into the small foyer. “Isn’t that the truth? You certainly had a scare a few weeks ago. Cookie’s baking scones. Let me see how soon they’ll be done. I’ll put on the teakettle.”
Indicating I should sit in a rocking chair by the empty fireplace, April went out to the kitchen. The interior looked as well maintained as I remembered it. Basically, the house was similar to Milo’s, if somewhat smaller. There was no TV in sight, so I guessed there was a family room, probably downstairs.
April and Cookie entered the living room together. Though not related by blood, both were slim, almost wraith-like women. Given that the Eriks brothers were burly, I figured they shared a penchant for waifs. I stood up to hug Cookie, something I rarely do with people I know only slightly, but I had devious motives. Journalists are born with them.
“So kind of you to stop by,” Cookie said, sitting on the leather sofa as April excused herself. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since the explosion at your house. You’re looking very well.”
“I am,” I said, surprised at Cookie’s concern, though I couldn’t say the same for her. Not only was she haggard, but she appeared older since our last meeting. Yet it was her manner that had changed most. During the crisis following Tim’s death, Cookie had seemed unhinged. I’d compared her spates of jerky speech and mannerisms to a wind-up toy. Maybe she’d been on drugs—or she was on them now. Losing a husband must be harder than losing a son-in-law. “I’m glad April’s here,” I said.
Cookie smiled. “We’ve always been more like sisters than sisters-in-law. Like the rest of us, she’s had her own trials.”
“You seem to be coping,” I remarked.
Cookie shrugged. “What can I do? Wayne shouldn’t have been working in that storm. He always said weather never stopped him.”
I heard a teakettle whistle in the distance. Cookie got up. “I must check my scones. I’ll make some tea, too.”
Just as she went out to the kitchen, Tiffany wandered into the room carrying a small child. “Oh, hi,” she said vaguely. “Ashley just woke up. You want to hold her while I get some juice?”
I could hardly refuse. “Will I scare her?”
Tiffany shrugged. “She doesn’t mind strangers. We’re taking off soon anyway.” She handed over Ashley before exiting the living room.
Ashley stuck a finger in her mouth and regarded me with big blue eyes. Sure enough, she didn’t seem to care that I was a mere visitor. At a little over a year, she was a cute, plump little creature, more intrigued with looking over my shoulder out the window than with me.
Tiffany returned, glass in hand, but didn’t offer to retrieve Ashley. “How come you’re here?” she asked, slouching in an armchair and flipping limp strands of blond hair over her shoulder. In her faded jeans and shabby bouclé sweater, she didn’t look like a kept woman.
“I wanted to tell your mom how sorry I am about your dad,” I said.
“Oh. Right. Mom’s okay. Aunt April’s solid.”
“And you?” I asked as Ashley turned to look at Tiffany.
“Me?” The query seemed to surprise her. “I’m fine.” She glanced at a wall clock set in a metal frame of grape clusters and leaves. “Gee, it’s after three. I should get going.” Tiffany drank some juice, set the glass down, and got up. “I’ll change Ashley first.”
I handed over the child and watched them disappear into the hallway. The doorbell rang. April rushed out of the kitchen to answer it. I heard her faintly from the entryway, but the moment the second voice spoke, I held my head.
“Come into the living room,” April said. “Emma’s here, Sheriff.”
“So she is,” Milo said, looking as if he’d like to stuff me up the chimney. “Hello, Emma.”
“Hi,” I said with a fixed smile as he loomed over me.
“I’ll tell Cookie you’re here,” April said, scurrying to the kitchen.
“Beat it,” Milo murmured to me. “I’m delivering the bad news.”
“But—”
Milo grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.
“I mean it. This is official—and ugly—business. Go home, clean the damned oven.”
I left the sheriff to make excuses for my hasty exit, but I only drove as far as the development entrance. If Milo’s announcement was official, I wanted to hear it before Fleetwood did. Ten minutes later, it started to rain and I was still waiting. Milo didn’t like tea and I’d never seen him eat a scone. What was worse, I realized I was hungry. I’d skipped lunch because of my late breakfast. I wondered what the RestHaven staff had served at the reception following Ed’s tour. Visions of salmon sandwiches were dancing in my head when I saw the Yukon coming toward me. In a fit of pique, I turned the ignition key and blocked the sheriff’s exit.
“God damn it, Emma,” Milo roared as he got out of the SUV, “why’d you pull a stupid stunt like that?”
I’d rolled down my window. “Because I want to know what you told Cookie and I want to hear it before Spence does. Well?”
The sheriff heaved an exasperated sigh. “Follow me to my office. No—lead me there, you ornery little pain in the ass.”
I smiled sweetly. “Okay.” After giving my future husband an obscene gesture, I rolled up the window and pulled back onto the Icicle Creek Road. I was sorely tempted to take Milo’s reserved parking place just to see how he’d react. But this was business, both mine and his, so I parked two spaces down, next to Jack Mullins’s pickup.
“Mullins is back from security duty at RestHaven,” Milo said as I joined him on the sidewalk. “He better not be screwing off.”
Jack looked up from whatever he was doing at the reception counter. “Hey, it’s my favorite pair of—”
“Shut the hell up, Mullins,” Milo growled. “Are you AWOL or are they finished with the big bash at RestHaven?”
“Just got here,” Jack replied, patting down his red hair, which had a tendency to stick up in various places. “All’s quiet on the nut shop front.”
“Where’s Doe?” the sheriff asked.
“She was officially off duty,” Jack said. “I’m about to go on patrol.”
“No, you’re not,” Milo countered. “Heppner’s on patrol. You’re staying here so I can go home after I put together the statement about Eriks. Ms. Lord and Fleetwood have a need to know.” He turned to me. “Stay here until I’m finished.”