by Daheim, Mary
“I’m stunned. And I told you I’m almost average,” I added.
Milo ignored the comment as he took the turn to the ski lodge. “Let’s just hope she’s not getting it on with Gould when we show up. That could be embarrassing. It’s still kind of unbelievable.”
“Have you been to her townhouse?” I asked.
“Nope. Why would I?”
We ate in the coffee shop, having already had our preprandial beverages. We both ordered the steak sandwiches. By seven-fifteen, we were on our way to Kay’s townhouse on Second Hill. To our surprise, Vida’s Buick was parked out front.
“What’s she doing here?” Milo muttered.
“Don’t ask me. I’m merely her boss.”
My husband sighed. “Hell. Let’s do it. At least we won’t be walking in on a three-way with Vida, Gould, and Kay.”
“Don’t say things like that,” I scolded. “I’ve got a vivid imagination and it just scared me.”
After we got out of the Yukon, Milo hit the buzzer while I admired Kay’s small garden plot of asters and various kinds of daisies. I don’t think either of us was really surprised when Vida opened the door.
“My, my!” she exclaimed with her toothy grin. “I was just leaving. Good night, Kay,” she called over her shoulder. “Clam,” Vida whispered as she stalked past us. “Honestly!” Kay was smiling, albeit not convincingly. “Suddenly I’m very popular. I can’t think why. Or did I make a hash of my statement?”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Milo replied, parking himself on the sleek dark green sofa. I joined him. “Mullins says that painting from the dump site belongs to you. Where did you get it?”
Kay sat down in the matching armchair. “You mean originally?”
“Right.”
Kay was no longer smiling. “It was a gift from a friend. Years ago, actually. He was an amateur painter. Dwight told me about some teenagers who found it at the dump site. It sounded familiar. I asked to see it when I was at headquarters earlier this evening. To my astonishment, it was the one that had gone missing somewhere in between my moves over the years. A minor miracle, really.”
I felt Milo lean back and realized I was supposed to speak. “Who painted it?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“His name was Bob Jenkins,” Kay replied and uttered a small laugh. “I suppose it still is. I lost touch with him thirty years ago. That was after I moved to Seattle. He lived in the University District. Typical grad student.”
“I knew a Bob Jenkins when I was at the UDub,” I said. It was true, though he wasn’t a student, but had been a high school friend of Ben’s. “What did he look like?”
Kay gazed up at the ceiling. “He was a little over average height, dark hair, kind of long, majoring in…fine arts, I think. Very much into Buddhism back then. In fact, he got me interested in the subject, including haiku poetry. Does that ring a bell?”
“No,” I replied. “The Bob Jenkins I knew was short, redheaded, and had no interest in the arts. It’s not an uncommon name. Did you have it framed?”
She nodded. “I took it to one of those U-Frame It places.”
“Will you hang up the painting?” I asked.
“Oh…I don’t know.” Her eyes darted around the room. The only art Kay had on the walls was a couple of retro posters of Paris. “I’ll see. I suppose the only value is sentimental. Not that I had a thing for Bob, but I did like him. He was very soulful, in his way.”
Milo got to his feet. “Thanks, Kay. Just in case, don’t toss the picture. It should’ve been in the evidence room, though I can’t see how it ties in to the dead man.”
Kay and I had also stood. She looked faintly alarmed as she turned to the sheriff. “I gather you know who he is.”
“We think so,” he replied. “We’re trying to track down relatives. Mullins is working on that this evening.”
“Oh,” I said at the door, “I didn’t get a chance to ask Vida why she was here. Is she doing an article on you?”
Kay smiled diffidently. “She’s helping your Mr. Laskey with his stories on different ethnic groups. Apparently my cousin Simon didn’t offer much information about our side of the family. Typical of him, of course. He doesn’t approve of so-called defectors. Not that he often takes the trouble to attend Greek Orthodox services out of town.”
“I suppose he’d have to go to Seattle to do that,” I said, despite not liking to defend Simon under any circumstances.
We made our farewells and left. Starting back down Second Hill, we passed the Dithers sisters’ horse pasture. I noticed they’d painted their barn purple. I should phone that in for Vida’s “Scene.”
“Kay’s lying,” Milo said as we turned on to Disappointment Avenue. “But I’m not sure what she’s lying about.”
“Why would she lie?”
“How the hell do I know?” He glanced at me, slowing for the zigzag across Spark Plug Road on to Fir Street by the high school. “I suppose you’re wondering if Laurentis is Bob Jenkins.”
“I am,” I admitted. “I wonder if we could check through the UDub. We might be able to prove if he isn’t, but not if he is.”
“I think that almost makes sense. Maybe we’ve been together long enough that I’m figuring out how to understand whatever language you sometimes speak that sounds a lot like English.”
“You always were kind of slow on the uptake,” I said.
“Deliberate,” Milo murmured. “I like that better. I remember when you thought I was dumb.”
“I never thought that! But sometimes it took you a long time to…deliberate over stuff.”
My husband chuckled. “I kind of liked seeing you squirm around while I deliberated over what you asked me. You never could sit still for very long. It was like watching a kitten try to catch a bug.”
“Jackass,” I muttered as we pulled into the garage. “Will you check with Mullins to see if he found out anything about Conley’s family?”
“Maybe I should, just to see if he’s awake,” Milo replied after we’d gravitated to the patio.
As it turned out, Jack hadn’t had much luck. There were lots of Aaron Conleys, along with variations of the last name. “No mention of one who had a band,” my husband informed me. “The only time his name came up was in the Advocate when I busted him for bum checks.”
“The Oregonian or the Statesman Journal in Salem should have references,” I said, “but probably only listings of where Aaron’s band was playing. Those items wouldn’t be archived. Have Jack check for Aaron and Crystal’s marriage license in Salem, Marion County.”
Milo held out a big hand. “See? You’re trying to tell me how to do my job. You still think I’m dumb.”
“I do not! We talked about this before. Now you’re the one who’s not paying attention to things I tell you.”
The sheriff stood up. “I can do it myself. I’ll go get my laptop.”
I smiled as I watched him amble off to his den. Maybe it was because the sun was going down and I was cooling off. Or because Vida was not only back in town, but being herself again. It could be marriage to Milo. Whatever the reason, I felt much better. I’d called Kip and everything was going smoothly in the back shop. That was always good news. I’d considered checking in with Vida about her visit to Kay, but I could catch up on that in the morning.
I was still musing when Milo returned. “It’s getting dark earlier,” he murmured. “We should put in some patio lights. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“Because you’re dumb?”
“That must be it.” He peered at the laptop. “What year?”
“What…oh, when Crystal and Aaron got married. Let me think. Mid-nineties. It wasn’t long before she moved here in…ninety-eight?”
“That sounds right,” Milo agreed. “I’ll try ninety-four.”
“Her last name would’ve been Ramsey, not Bird.”
Milo looked at me. “That’s right—she was married to Dean Ramsey first. Could he and Conley have been more differ
ent? I’m surprised she didn’t keep her maiden name. I thought she was an All-World Feminist.”
“Not back then. That came later.”
“No luck…I’ll go back…ah! Crystal Ramsey and—” He stared at the screen. “Wesley Ellerbee. What the hell…?”
“Wesley Ellerbee?” I repeated. “No!”
“See for yourself,” he said, handing me the laptop as his cell rang.
I was incredulous. But the disturbed look on my husband’s face alarmed me as he talked to his deputy. “That’s not good. I’d better go see her. You sit tight, Jack.”
“What?” I asked, almost letting the laptop slip out of my grasp.
“It’s Rosemary. The boyfriend’s causing a problem. I’m out of here.”
“Not without me,” I said, clutching the laptop and following Milo. “Rosemary’s my friend.”
“Damnit…” Milo sighed. “Fine, just don’t get in the way. Lose the laptop and lock up the house. I’ll be in the driveway.”
I wouldn’t put it past my husband to ditch me and take off. But he was waiting in the drive when I flew out of the house. To my surprise, he didn’t turn left on Fir to head for Parc Pines, but to the right.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “Rosemary’s in the other direction.”
“She’s at the courthouse, working late,” Milo replied. “Or so I gathered. She was kind of incoherent when she called Mullins.”
“This is creepy,” I declared. “Could Des and Wes Ellerbee be related? Is this the link to Aaron Conley?”
The sheriff turned onto Second Street. “Don’t ask questions now, okay? I’m working.”
Milo pulled in behind the courthouse, using his master key to go through the rear entrance. He punched in the button for the freight elevator, which opened immediately. It creaked and shuddered, however, as it moved from the basement to the second floor. We ended up in a section I’d never seen before, but after hurrying through what looked like a delivery area, we were out in the hall and heading past the offices of Dean Ramsey and County Clerk Eleanor Jessup, another of Vida’s shirttail relations—and a source of information.
Sam Heppner stood in the doorway to Rosemary’s cramped quarters. “She’s okay,” he said. “Just shaken up. She won’t let me call Doc.”
Milo entered the office, Sam at his heels, and me taking up the rear. Rosemary was seated at her desk, hands covering her face. Her client chair was overturned; books, papers, and a legal pad lay on the floor.
“I’m a mess!” she declared, letting her hands fall to her sides. “This is all so crazy!”
“Crazy’s not your fault,” Milo said in his laconic manner. “Take it easy. Do you want me to send out for a stiff shot of Scotch?”
Rosemary leaned her head back. “I could use it. Heppner should’ve asked you to bring some. God, but I feel like a fool!”
“Do you want to talk about it here or…?” The sheriff let the question dangle.
Rosemary sat up straight, looking as if she hadn’t noticed I was with Milo. “Emma,” she said. “Can I come to your house? I want to get out of here.”
“Sure,” I replied. “We’ve got Scotch.”
She looked at Milo. “Is that okay? Can I fill out a report later?”
“No problem,” my husband replied. “Sam, can you do your job of cleanup around here?”
Sam said he could. I sensed that the sheriff implied the office should be processed, just in case it ended up being a crime scene. It took Rosemary a minute to get herself and her belongings together. “Wouldn’t you know I have a court appearance tomorrow? That’s why I was working late.”
We bade good-bye to Sam and left the way we had come. None of us spoke on the short ride back home. But Rosemary was the first to speak after getting out of the Yukon.
“I should call my parents,” she murmured as Milo opened the side door for us. “They’ll think I’m nuts.”
I stayed in the kitchen to make the drinks, but I could overhear Rosemary telling Milo what had happened. She’d finished preparing her judicial request, but had decided to look into Charles and Janice Ellison’s query about suing the school district for not locating their daughter, Samantha, after she went off with her boyfriend and got involved in Roger’s solicitation caper. It was a frivolous request, since Mrs. Ellison had seemed unconcerned at the time. But while Rosemary was reading through their complaint, Des had showed up.
“He knew I was working late,” Rosemary said as I handed her a glass of Scotch. “He glimpsed the Ellison file. Somehow, Des thought it was ‘Ellerbee,’ and accused me of checking up on him. I tried to reason with him, showed him their full names, but he just went ballistic. I honestly believed he was going to get violent. I got scared. I told him I was calling the sheriff. He just looked at me—and ran.”
Milo had his Scotch in hand and I’d sat down next to Rosemary on the sofa with my Canadian Club. “He didn’t touch you?” my husband asked in a calm, quiet voice.
She shook her head. “But I thought he would. Did I overreact?”
“No.” Milo sipped from his drink, letting the single word sink into Rosemary’s brain. “It appears he made some violent gestures or there wouldn’t have been stuff on the floor, right?”
“Yes, he was kind of flailing away, but he kept on the other side of the desk.” Rosemary leaned her head back against the sofa. “He seemed so nice, so normal. I feel like a fool.”
Milo shrugged. “You’re not a mind reader. Did he threaten you?”
Rosemary shut her eyes. “I…I’m not sure. I mean, if I had to testify in court, I couldn’t swear to it. But I felt threatened—physically.”
“That’s enough.” My husband stood up. “I’m going to have Heppner try to locate him. Are you willing to bring charges?”
Rosemary made eye contact again. “Do I have to decide now?”
“No.”
She smiled faintly. “Thanks, Milo.”
“You need time to collect yourself,” he said. “I’m going to check in with Heppner.” The sheriff ambled off to the garage out of hearing range.
Rosemary gave me a bleak look. “Have you ever dated dumb?”
“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “I lived dumb for thirty years, waiting for Adam’s father to marry me. Meanwhile, I failed to notice I was really in love with that big dude with the badge. Try doing dumb for decades. You can’t top that.”
“That’s…pretty dumb,” Rosemary said, and laughed. “Didn’t I say you and Dodge were icons?”
“Icons of dumbness,” I muttered. “It would’ve helped if Milo had been a little more…aggressive, so to speak. But never mind that. The important thing is that you got enlightened tonight.”
“I’ll never hear the end of this from Terri,” Rosemary said. “Maybe I’ll spend the night with my folks. Mom and Dad will pitch a fit if they don’t find out about this before it leaks all over town.”
The sheriff came back inside and sat down again in the easy chair. “Has Des ever mentioned any family?”
“His parents,” Rosemary responded. “They still live in Montana. He has a brother there, too, and a sister who married and moved to Idaho. I don’t think his family is all that close. He’s mentioned how much he admires our clan.” She lowered her eyes. “I suppose that’s hogwash.”
“We’ll check,” Milo said without expression.
“Rosie’s staying at her folks tonight,” I put in. “I think that’s good.”
Milo nodded. “Sure. I’ve already got Heppner checking your place, but it’s pretty secure. Unless you gave Des the code to get into Parc Pines.”
“No,” she replied. “I hadn’t gotten that far with him yet.”
“Just as well,” my husband said. “Finish your drink and I’ll take you over to Dick and Mary Jane’s. You can come in tomorrow to do whatever paperwork is required.”
Rosemary gulped down the rest of her drink. “Let’s go now. If I have any more Scotch, I might pass out. I usually drink wine. You’
re a generous bartender, Emma.”
We hugged before she left. I stood in the doorway as Milo pulled out of the drive. It felt much cooler outside. I closed the front door and locked it. I had no idea if Des knew where I lived or if it would occur to him that Rosemary might be here. But this was one time when I didn’t want to take any chances.
—
“Well?” I said when Milo returned twenty minutes later. “Did you stop in to see the Bourgettes?”
“Yeah,” he replied wearily. “I thought it might help Rosie feel better if I gave Dick and Mary Jane my official version first.”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “You’re a good guy, Sheriff.”
He shrugged, putting his hands over mine. “It’s part of the job.”
“How did they take it?”
“No muss, no fuss. They’re solid people.” He leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “Let’s go outside and just sit.”
We did just that for about ten minutes, listening to the welcome wind in the evergreens and watching the sky turn from pale gold to gray as the sun slipped down over our mountain aerie. Finally, after a long silence, I asked the burning question.
“Wes and Des Ellerbee—what does that suggest?”
Milo glanced at me. “Is this a riddle?”
“No, but it can’t be a coincidence,” I said. I waited for an answer and didn’t get one. “Can it?”
“Damn, but you’re persistent,” Milo muttered. “Can’t you stash that curiosity of yours for a while and just take it easy?”
“It’s not my style,” I asserted. “You should know that by now.”
“I do. Unfortunately.” My husband sighed. “Go get the laptop and do the work. I can just sit here. Do you realize I haven’t had a real day off for over two weeks?”
Dolt that I was, I hadn’t thought about it. I put my hand on Milo’s arm. “I’m worse than Tricia. I’m only looking at things from my point of view. Maybe she wasn’t interested in your job, but that doesn’t make me any less selfish.”
He chuckled. “I’ve never been sure which is worse. But I’m used to it. You’ve been that way since I first met you. Face it, you’re a real nag when it comes to your job of reporting on my office. But I get it, okay? Now take your hand off my arm before we both do something that might give me a heart attack about now.”