by Daheim, Mary
“Please try again later,” the voice said.
“Why?” I asked. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes. Call back this evening. Have a pleasant afternoon.” The hang-up seemed to echo in my ear.
I started for the backyard, where Milo had headed as soon as we got home. But my husband was now stalking into the kitchen, the cell at his ear, and a thunderous expression on his face. “Have you seen their car?” he growled at whoever was on the other end. “I’m not sure what year, damnit. Hold on.” He turned to me as I paused by the sink. “You got any idea how old that Subaru the kids were driving might be?”
“I didn’t remember it was a Subaru,” I admitted. “What’s wrong?”
He gave an impatient shake of his head. “I’m guessing a 1994,” he informed his caller. “You’ve got the license number. Maybe they camped out. Ask Mrs. Van Doren if they had any gear. And make damned sure the other parents besides her are on board with this. I got the impression a couple of them may’ve split up…. Right. Keep me posted.” He clicked off and stuffed the cell into his shirt pocket. “That was Sam Heppner. As you have deduced, my little sleuth, the Sultan kids have gone missing.”
I waited for Milo to grab a beer out of the fridge before following him back outside. “You mean they didn’t come home last night?”
“That’s right. Josie’s mother called the SnoCo sheriff’s office and they told her to call us. I don’t think Mrs. Van Doren knows we’re in a different county. Her brain may be in a different world.”
“Has Sam been looking for them?” I asked.
“Only in town,” Milo replied, sitting down in the patio chair. “I told him to pull in Doe early if he needs her. She’s got those Muckleshoot instincts for finding things—and people. It’ll mean overtime for her, but I’m betting those kids went off on a logging road and got stuck. Or lost. Sam’s already alerted the park rangers.”
“The kids must have cell phones,” I pointed out.
“They do, but they aren’t answering. The dumb asses probably forgot to charge them.” Milo popped the top on his Budweiser. “Maybe they’ll find Vida. What’s for lunch?”
“Whatever you can fix,” I replied. “I’m not eating. This weather ruins my appetite.”
Milo shot me a look of mock dismay. “You’ll get so small I won’t be able to find you in the dark.”
“Dubious.” My response was halfhearted. “I’m worried about Ren. She isn’t able to talk on the phone.”
“Not your problem,” my husband said. “You can’t take on everybody else’s troubles. You don’t really know the woman.”
I scowled at Milo. “You went to see her.”
He folded his arms and sighed. “So I did. But that’s because she thought someone was trying to kill her.”
“Can you guarantee someone isn’t?”
“Hell, I can’t guarantee somebody isn’t trying to kill me.” He took my hand. “I don’t want to see you worrying about people all the time, okay? You want to get wrinkles?”
“I’ve already got turkey neck,” I said.
“You don’t look like a turkey to me.” He squeezed my hand. Gently. “You look like a cute little baby chick—”
The sheriff’s cell rang. “Now what?” he muttered, dropping my hand and yanking the cell out of his pocket. “Dodge.” His long face grew increasingly annoyed as he listened to whoever was on the other end. Then his shoulders slumped. “Okay, Sam, I’ll take over.”
I heard sirens in the distance. “What?” I asked as Milo clicked off and stood up.
“Doe’s in Seattle at some family gathering,” he replied. “Gould’s on the desk, Fong worked the night shift, and I forgot Blatt had a vacation day and took Tanya over to Lake Chelan. They like it over there, but I’ll bet it’s at least ninety degrees. There’s a big wreck out by the road into Alpine Falls, so I’ve got to help look for those dumb-shit kids. Betsy O’Toole spotted the lurker outside their house and got a vague description of the guy. If he shows up here, don’t offer him one of my Budweisers. And stay put, okay? I’d better change into my uniform. I’ll grab some takeout at the Burger Barn.”
Disconsolately, I watched my husband lope back into the house. It crossed my mind to ask if I could tag along, but I knew he’d say no. I sat staring at our house, still not quite used to the new addition out back. After I heard the Yukon leave the garage, I felt antsy. Somewhere nearby, fireworks were going off, probably in the cul-de-sac down the street. I hoped the dry shrubs and trees wouldn’t be set ablaze by careless Fourth of July celebrants.
But I refused to sit outside and mope. So what if I’d only read the sports section of the Times before leaving for Mass? I could finish the rest of the paper later. After securing the house, I got into the Honda and drove to RestHaven. It was exactly one o’clock. Milo probably wouldn’t be home until Doe came on duty at five.
I avoided Front Street, thinking it would be busy. But a glance to my left by the Icicle Creek Development showed that downtown was semi-deserted. I continued on to River Road, noting that the Sky seemed to have dropped another couple of inches since Friday. Some preteen children were in the river, shrieking happily as they tossed a couple of inner tubes back and forth. I heard more fireworks after I got out of the Honda and was walking under the porte cochere to RestHaven’s entrance. Inside, I blessed the AC as I moved more briskly toward the elevators. The receptionist desk was vacant, but Kay Burns was entering the rotunda from a side door that had once led to the Bronsky drawing room. It was there that Ed’s family had dined on their TV dinners at a Louis XV marble-topped table.
“Emma!” Kay exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to see how Ren Rawlings is getting along,” I said. “How come you’re working today?”
Kay’s smile didn’t reach her deep blue eyes. “I’m attending a conference in Palo Alto at the end of the month. I don’t have much spare time during the workweek to do the research I need for a panel I’ll be on. Are you working, too?”
I shook my head. “I know Ren’s all alone up here and I felt I should see her. Not to mention that this place is air conditioned.”
“Oh.” Kay frowned. “I happened to be in the psych ward a few minutes ago. You should’ve saved yourself the trip. I overheard that she’s been sedated.”
I didn’t hide my surprise. “Why? Did she get violent?”
“No, no,” Kay assured me. “Just very…distraught. Or so I gathered. Dr. Reed was afraid she’d make herself ill. Physically, that is.”
“Poor Ren.” I shrugged. “I suppose I might as well go home. Oh!” I clapped a hand to my cheek. “Is Sid Almquist here today? We should do an article about his new job.”
“I’m not sure,” Kay replied. “You might ask at the front desk. Nice to see you, Emma. I’m going home to collapse.” She headed for the double doors.
I’d wandered halfway back to the reception area but stopped, making sure Kay had left the building. As soon as she made her exit, I returned to the elevators. A minute later, I was on the second floor, turning left to Unit Six. I could hear voices, but didn’t see anyone. The door to Ren’s room was closed but unlocked. I stepped inside. Ren was under the colorful quilt, her eyes shut and her face pale. Whatever tan she might’ve had when we first met had faded. If I couldn’t see that she was breathing, I would’ve thought she was dead.
I called her name, but there was no response. She simply lay there as if she’d been drained of blood. Her slim hands were on the quilt. I carefully picked up the right one. It felt cold, almost clammy. Was that normal? I looked around for a chart but didn’t see any patient information. Despite the coziness I’d felt on my earlier visit, the room now seemed more like a tomb. There was nothing personal, not even a glass of water on the stand next to the bed. I patted her hand—an irrelevant gesture—and left.
Entering the hall, I saw Iain Farrell coming my way. His step halted as he saw me, but he kept walking. I nodded and tried to smile, assuming he’d p
ass me by. But he stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here, Ms. Lord?” he inquired with an ominous expression.
“I came to see Ren Rawlings,” I replied. “Is she all right?”
“What do you mean?” he asked as if I’d posed a conundrum.
“Physically,” I replied.
“Of course,” he responded, crossing his arms. It struck me as a defensive gesture. “Her physical health isn’t the problem.”
I wouldn’t give up. “Then what is?”
Farrell grew patronizing, a tight smile on his thin lips. “Ms. Lord—do you have a degree in mental health or behavioral sciences?”
My perverse nature came to the fore. “Yes. I majored in clinical psychology at the University of Oregon. Very helpful for a journalist in understanding human behavior.”
“The Oregon school has no such curriculum,” Farrell shot back.
“Oh yes, it does,” I asserted. “It was accredited by the American Psychological Association in 1958.” The only reason I knew that was because I’d written some articles about the psych department for the Daily Emerald, the student newspaper.
Farrell unfolded his arms and made a dismissive gesture. “Your education is of no consequence. I can’t discuss Ms. Rawlings’s condition with you because of patient confidentiality. As both a clinical psychology major and a working journalist, you surely understand.” He nimbly sidestepped me and moved on down the hall.
I had no choice except to keep going to the elevators. My feet dragged. I didn’t like leaving Ren, and not just because I felt sorry for her. I was leaving her alone—at RestHaven. She might be resting, but the facility didn’t seem like a haven. Despite the AC, it felt more like hell.
SEVENTEEN
As long as I was in the car, I decided to do some grocery shopping. Even though we’d eaten out twice during the week, I was getting low on basics. I especially needed more easy-to-cook items. The first person I saw inside the Grocery Basket was Grace Grundle, the retired schoolteacher who had reported one of the lurkings. She was in the express lane at the checkout stand, her cart loaded down with cat food and other assorted items. Six people were already in line behind her. Pretending I didn’t notice Grace, I started for the ATM, but she called my name in the same sharp manner that she’d no doubt used on three generations of Alpine students. To my dismay, she was next in line to be waited on by Kenny O’Toole, Betsy and Jake’s nephew.
I approached her. “Let me help you unload,” I offered with a smile.
“No, no,” Grace said. “I prefer doing it myself. I have a certain routine with my groceries.” She began to take out the cat-food cans one by one, placing each tin separately on the conveyor belt. “I’m so relieved to run into you, Emma,” she continued, reading each label before letting go of the can. “Has the sheriff found that man who has been terrorizing us for the past week?”
“Not yet,” I admitted. “He’s been very busy trying to identify the skeleton that was dug up at the dump site. In fact, he’s working today.”
Grace frowned. “Whoever it is has been dead for some time. Milo should be more concerned with the living. But then, he always took his time handing in his schoolwork. I do wish he’d been more eager to speak out in class. He was such a quiet boy, not at all like his brother, Clinton. Very bright, outgoing, very cheerful. He still sends me a Christmas card every year from Dallas.”
I managed to keep a straight face. “Thoughtful of him,” I murmured, noting that the long line now reached Fresh Produce. “Did you get a good look at the person who frightened you?”
Grace shook her head. “I’d taken off my glasses. He was just a blur. But his manner was very sinister. I was shaking so badly that I could barely dial the telephone.”
“I thought it was Marlowe Whipp who’d been in your garden,” I said as Grace finally emptied her cart.
“Well, perhaps it was Marlowe who trampled my poor flowers, but it certainly wasn’t him I saw prowling about earlier. Marlowe came much later. He was always late for class, too. He has no sense of time. I just talked to Betsy. She saw the same dreadful person this morning. He must be caught.” Her gaze indicated that nothing short of hanging the guy in Old Mill Park would satisfy Grace.
“I should speak to Betsy,” I said. “I’ll do it now before I shop.”
“My, yes.” She stared at Kenny, who had just informed her that the total came to thirty-one dollars and fifty-eight cents. “Goodness, but that’s quite high,” Grace said. “I might have to go to the cash machine. Would you mind rechecking those items?”
I virtually bolted off, knowing that Grace would also try to make exact change. Someday she’d cause a riot at the store. I didn’t want to be there when it happened. I also decided to skip the ATM, lest she need more money. I’d write a check instead. Heck, I’d shoplift the stuff to avoid another conversation with Grace.
I found Betsy in Canned Vegetables, replenishing the peas. She looked frazzled, more so than usual after talking to Grace.
“I didn’t think you’d be working today,” I said in greeting. “The store doesn’t seem all that busy—except for the express line.”
“Grace,” Betsy groaned, her attractive face looking more tired than usual. “She does that every time. I don’t think she can see very well.”
“She can’t ID the lurker,” I said, “but Milo heard you got something of a description.”
Betsy shrugged. “I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, but at least I got a vague idea. I was still half asleep when I saw him in the backyard around seven. He’s average height, maybe a little more, average weight, wore pants and a shirt, medium-colored hair, somewhere between thirty and fifty. How’s that for vague?”
“It’s better than a blur,” I noted. “Did he see you and run off?”
“I don’t think so,” Betsy said. “I didn’t go outside. He was wandering around by the vegetable garden next to the garage. Then something—a car, maybe—seemed to make him hurry off and go over through the Carlsons’ yard. They weren’t up yet.”
“Apparently he hasn’t tried to get into anybody’s house,” I remarked. “Nor has he done anything threatening, unless you believe Grace Grundle or Ella Hinshaw Blatt.”
Betsy gave me a tired smile. “Poor old ladies. They’re both a bit addled in different ways. But you’re right, now that I think about it. If I hadn’t known about the other prowler reports, I might’ve gone out and asked if he was lost. Jake and I wondered if it’s somebody from RestHaven. I mean, a patient who’s allowed to leave the premises?”
The idea hadn’t occurred to me. “I’ve never heard that they permit that sort of thing. But trying to get any kind of patient information out of that bunch is like pounding on a cast-iron door.”
Betsy smiled at an elderly man with a cane who was pushing a cart filled only with home health aids. “Could Milo find out?” she asked.
“I’m not sure they’d tell him,” I replied. “I’d better let you get back to work. Are you off tomorrow?”
“Are you kidding? Buzzy and Laura won’t be back until Wednesday. Which reminds me—I have to check Buzzy’s produce section. One of these days,” she said over her shoulder, “Jake and I are taking a real vacation!”
I didn’t quite believe Betsy. The only big trip they’d taken was to Europe six years ago when they decided to splurge after inheriting money from Jake and Buzzy’s sister, Ursula. They’d planned on staying for two months but had come home in three weeks. The English were snobbish, the French were rude, the Germans were gruff, and worst of all, the Irish never heard of corned beef. Or so the O’Tooles claimed. Betsy and Jake weren’t married just to each other, but to the store his father had founded after returning from serving in the navy during World War Two.
After I got home and had put all of the hundred and twenty dollars’ worth of items away, I realized I hadn’t yet seen my namesake. I called Amanda to ask if they’d mind if I stopped by. She informed me that Walt’s mother and his stepfather were a
rriving from Boise later that afternoon, but to come ahead now. I left a note for Milo, in case he came home while I was gone and thought I’d run off with the lurker.
I kept my visit fairly brief. Little Emma was a sweet-looking baby, but she had very strong lungs. Despite Amanda and Walt taking turns trying to comfort her, Emma wouldn’t shut up. Her parents were obviously frazzled. I offered to hold her, but the wee one took a look at me and howled even louder. Maybe, I suggested, she didn’t like her name. Walt said he’d tried calling her Little Mouse, but she hadn’t liked that, either. I left shortly after three-thirty, recalling the first weeks after Adam’s birth. He’d had colic and nearly driven me nuts. I’d cursed his father’s absence for almost a month. By that time I figured his loony wife had given birth to their own baby and they’d be as miserable as I was. But they’d suffered together. I was alone.
As I was leaving Parc Pines, Buck Bardeen was coming in. He’d sold his house in Sultan and moved to Alpine, apparently to be closer to Vida. We met by the mailboxes in the foyer. The tall, robust retired air force colonel smiled at me and shook my hand. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of months. He asked how Milo and I were enjoying marriage.
“We like it,” I assured him, “especially now that the disruptions of the remodel are over. We must have you and Vida to dinner.”
His smile faded. “Kind of you to offer. I haven’t seen much of her lately. Busy with family, I guess. Maybe you can talk her into an outing.”
Despite his longtime relationship with Vida, I didn’t know Buck all that well. But I had the impression he was a man of great integrity and very down to earth—even when he was flying a plane. “She’s not acting like herself these days,” I said. “I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a falling-out this past week. Has she mentioned it to you?”
The furrows in his high forehead deepened. “No. We haven’t talked for a while. Vida seems—as she would put it—on the peck.”