Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481)

by Daheim, Mary

  I complied and stood up. “I’ll get the laptop and play with that instead. Okay?”

  Milo merely nodded. I paused inside to grab a can of Pepsi. Before I got through the kitchen my husband came inside with the cell at his ear. He looked as if he were about to explode. “Yeah, I can hear it now,” he growled. “I’ll be there. Follow up on the other crisis. You got that?” He clicked off.

  “What’s happening?” I asked as I suddenly heard sirens in the distance.

  “Heppner went to Ellerbee’s house and the place was on fire. He called it in. Engines and medics have been sent from Skykomish and Alpine. I’ve got to head to the fire site.”

  “Why you?” I asked. “Why not a deputy?”

  “I had Sam alert Doe,” he replied, his hand on the door to the garage. “It’s quicker if I go to the cabin. Damn it, you’d better come with me. I’m not leaving you alone if Ellerbee’s on the loose.”

  “But he doesn’t know where I…”

  “Don’t argue. You don’t know what Ellerbee knows. Let’s go. The reason I called in Doe is because we’ve got another problem. Jack Blackwell beat the crap out of Kay Burns. She’s in the ER. Move, woman. We’re in crisis mode.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “What,” I asked, “can you do if the cabin’s burning down?”

  Milo, who was waiting for a van to get out of the way before turning onto Fir, shrugged. “Find out if anyone was inside.”

  I shuddered, remembering another fire two years earlier that had burned a local young man to a cinder. “I wonder how it started,” I said. “I hope they can contain it before it gets to the forest.”

  My husband didn’t comment. He had obviously kicked into full sheriff mode. I felt as if I might as well have been a suitcase he had on the seat next to him. It was only when his cell rang just as we were about to turn onto Highway 2 that he spoke.

  “Grab the damned thing out of my shirt and answer it, okay? I’ve got to focus on cutting into cross-state traffic.”

  I plucked the cell out of his shirt pocket. “Emma?” Sam Heppner said at the other end. “Tell Dodge that Doe’s at the fire scene. Mullins thinks it’d be better if the boss goes to headquarters. Blackwell’s raising hell.”

  I told Sam I’d convey the message.

  “Shit!” Milo bellowed. “Kay must be filing charges. That horse’s ass Blackwell can’t post bail because there’s no bondsman open.”

  I tensed as the sheriff executed a dangerous U-turn just after we’d crossed the bridge over the Skykomish River. Maybe I’d have been safer if I’d stayed home. I could’ve locked the doors and gotten out my father’s gun to defend myself against Des Ellerbee. Worse yet, I’d have to face another encounter with Black Jack. At least he wouldn’t dare vilify me in front of Milo. Unless, of course, he’d want to incite the sheriff to violence so he could sue him.

  I was still mulling when we pulled up in front of headquarters.

  “Stay put,” Milo ordered. “I don’t need any more aggravation. Neither do you.” He stalked off to his official lair.

  The SUV was parked in its usual spot in front of the entrance. My view inside was limited to what I could see through the glass in the double doors. Though there were windows that ran almost the width of the building, the bottom halves were frosted and at night the shades were drawn from the top. After a couple of minutes, I couldn’t see anything except an occasional glimpse of Jack Mullins behind the curving counter. He looked unusually somber.

  I was, as usual, curious. I decided I could see more if I got out of the Yukon to peek through the double doors. Approaching cautiously, I didn’t dare go farther than halfway under the overhang. I saw part of Blackwell, who was making incisive gestures. He was turned toward someone I presumed was Milo. There was just enough traffic to drown out the voices on the other side of the doors.

  Black Jack disappeared from view just as the Whistling Marmot let out across Front Street. Bewitched had drawn quite a crowd for a Tuesday night. Maybe the theater’s AC was part of the attraction. I moved closer to the Yukon to get out of the way to call Kip.

  “Where are you?” he asked. “Did I hear a car horn honk?”

  I explained that I was outside of the sheriff’s office, waiting to see if Blackwell was going to spend the night in jail.

  “No!” Kip exclaimed in an uncharacteristic burst of excitement. “What’d he do? Slug Dodge?”

  “Not yet,” I replied before ringing off and ducking out of sight. Fuzzy and Irene Baugh, Harvey and Darlene Adcock, and a half-dozen other people were heading my way. I didn’t want to explain why I was standing in the gutter in front of my husband’s headquarters. If I weren’t the Advocate’s editor, that tidbit might end up in Vida’s “Scene.”

  I was still waiting for the passersby to move off when the sheriff strode outside. “What…?” he began, seeing me leaning against the Yukon. “Skip it. Blackwell’s locked up, so you can come inside.”

  “Is he pitching a fit?” I asked, hurrying to keep up.

  “You bet.” Milo opened the door for me. “He asked to call his attorney in Everett. Mullins let him do it. The guy wasn’t home.”

  Deputy Jack grinned at me. “You’d have liked seeing Blackwell get apoplectic. I honest-to-God thought he’d have a stroke.” The grin faded. “Oh, no! Here comes Patti Marsh.”

  Milo, who had been studying some paperwork on the counter, grabbed my arm. “You’re deputized. I’m not taking on…”

  As Patti made her entrance, the sheriff headed for his office.

  “Hey,” Patti called after the sheriff, “come back here, you big jerk! Where’s my guy?”

  Milo kept going and slammed the door behind him. Worse yet for me, the phone rang and Mullins answered it. I was stuck.

  “Hi, Patti,” I said, as if we’d run into each other at the mall. “What’s up?”

  “My dander,” Patti shot back. “Where’s Jack?”

  “Mullins?” I responded. “Right here, working the desk.”

  She stood toe-to-toe with me. I couldn’t move unless I back-flipped over the counter. “You know who I mean!” she yelled. “Where is he?”

  As usual, Patti smelled like a distillery. “He’s in a cell,” I informed her. “This may shock you, but your guy beats up women. He did it once too often with somebody who had the courage to file charges. Go home, Patti. Your Jack isn’t going anywhere until tomorrow.”

  Patti’s face sagged under heavy makeup. She looked old—and pitiful. But she had pluck. “What’re you talking about? Who filed what?”

  “Ask Mullins,” I said.

  Jack had hung up the phone, but looked at me, not Patti. “No corpse found at the fire scene. I better tell the boss.” He got to his feet and headed for Milo’s office.

  “What fire?” Patti asked, edging away from me.

  “A cabin near Baring,” I replied.

  She looked alarmed. “Was my guy there when it happened?”

  “No, Patti,” I said. “It has nothing to do with Jack.”

  “So who complained about him?”

  I glanced at the paperwork on the counter. “Here. It’s official. You can see for yourself.”

  “Let me get my cheaters,” she murmured, digging into her small sequined shoulder bag. Putting on a pair of bejeweled half-glasses, her lips moved as she read through the document. “Shit! Kay! What’s wrong with her? Jack was done with that skank thirty years ago!” She tossed the complaint at the counter. It missed, sailing over the top to land on Lori’s desk. “How can she still be causing trouble after so long? Let the past be.” She obviously didn’t expect a comment. “Can I see my guy?”

  “You’ll have to ask Jack. Mullins, I mean. Here he is.”

  Patti posed the question. “Why not?” he said to her. “No conjugal visiting, though.” He winked.

  Patti preened. “You’d be surprised at what my guy can do, you dumb mick. I call him Mr. Versatility.” She sashayed around the end of the counter and into the hallway th
at led to the cells. “Hey!” she yelled. “The door’s locked!”

  “We dumb micks aren’t allowed to have a key,” Jack called after her. “You better go home, Patti.”

  “Prick,” she muttered, almost running out the door.

  Jack sighed. “That’s one thing about Patti—she’s easily deterred.”

  I leaned on the counter. “Dare I ask what’s deterring the sheriff from going home? It’s going on ten.”

  “For one thing,” Jack replied, “there’s a jurisdictional problem about who’s in charge of the McElroy investigation—SkyCo or the Feds. For all I know, the boss won’t find out until tomorrow.”

  “Great. Any idea about Ellerbee? Do you know where he is?”

  Jack shook his head. “What’s with that guy? Is he nuts? Hey, you want to sit down? Take Lori’s chair, Emma.”

  “Thanks, I will.” I opened the swinging half-door in the counter and parked myself in Lori’s place. “Don’t ask me about Des. For all I know, he’s a privacy freak. Or a phony.”

  “Poor Rosie.” Mullins lit a cigarette. “You want one?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve already fallen off the No Smoking Wagon today. Do you know why Blackwell beat up Kay?”

  Jack shrugged. “No, but Dodge wonders if it didn’t start with the RestHaven mess. He’ll probably clue you in when he gets out of here.”

  “Surely you jest,” I muttered.

  He laughed. “I know the boss well enough to realize he could stonewall even you. Heck, he’s had sixteen years of practice. I’ve always gotten a kick out of how you two would go round and—” Jack shut up as Milo came out of his office.

  “Don’t even think about it,” the sheriff growled.

  Jack looked bewildered. “What, boss? I’m trying to entertain Mrs. Dodge. Or is she Ms. Lord tonight?”

  “She’s Mrs. Sleepy,” Milo replied. He took my arm and hoisted me out of the chair. “I’m taking the Little Woman home. Don’t screw off, Mullins. We’ve got a possible creep on the loose.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m all over it,” Jack replied.

  “You’re full of it,” the sheriff muttered as we made our exit.

  “If you ever call me the Little—” I began.

  “Stop. I said that to keep you from one of your chatty farewells. How did you get rid of Patti Marsh?”

  “Mullins did that,” I said. “Give him credit. He’s no dope. Now please tell me why Blackwell beat up poor Kay and how is she?”

  “Doc patched her up and sent her home a few minutes ago,” Milo answered, driving up Third Street. “Jennifer Hood was coming to spend the night with her. Not only is Jennifer a nurse, but I guess Kay and Jennifer are friends off the job. Maybe they bonded because both of them were dumb enough to marry Blackwell. I suppose I should’ve alerted Gould, but I was afraid he’d show up at headquarters and shoot Black Jack. I’d rather not be around when Dwight finds out what’s happened.”

  “Gee,” I said, “I got who, what, where, and when, but no why. Well?”

  My husband grimaced. “That’s because I’m not sure. The only thing Kay and Blackwell agree on is not saying what started the row.”

  “That’s weird,” I murmured. “Maybe I’ll go see Kay tomorrow. It’s Wednesday, so I’ll have some free time.”

  “Kay might not want company,” Milo said, pulling into the garage. “She’s going to look kind of gruesome. Besides, it’s Gould’s turn to be on patrol tomorrow. I’d be surprised if he didn’t park his cruiser at her place to make sure Blackwell doesn’t show up. The SOB will post bail first thing, even if he has to have Patti do it for him.”

  “I hope he gets out before you go to work,” I said after we were inside the house.

  “Dubious. I don’t think he can get bail before nine.” Milo hooked an arm around my neck. “Promise you won’t do anything dumb tomorrow?”

  I looked up at him with wide eyes. “Visiting Kay is dumb?”

  “It could be.” The hazel eyes were solemn. “I worry about you. The only time I know you’re safe is when you’re with me.”

  I leaned my head against his chest. “I always feel safe with you. I always have.”

  “You must have felt safe with Cavanaugh.”

  “Safe?” I looked up at my husband again. “How could I feel safe with Tom when I never knew if he’d be there when I woke up?”

  “Good point. If I’m not there, you know I’ve gone fishing.”

  I smiled. My mind went back in time to over a decade when I’d compared Tom’s and Milo’s virtues. I’d given the sheriff an edge for being dependable. But even then I’d shortchanged him—and myself.

  —

  To my relief, Vida was still back to normal in the morning. Naturally, she was agog about what had happened the previous evening. Just as naturally, her pipelines to Marje and Bill Blatt, Eleanor Jessup, and whoever she’d pumped on her Presbyterian Telephone Tree had kept her virtually up to speed.

  “If you intend to call on Kay Burns,” she said with one eye on Leo, who was filling the pastry tray, “I may go with you. She was going to find a picture with her grandchildren in Leavenworth.”

  “Sure,” I replied. “If Blackwell shows up, you can hit him with your hat. What’s it made of? I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Cork,” Vida responded. “Meg bought it for me at a rummage sale in Fairhaven, that older section of Bellingham. Isn’t it rather ingenious? It’s supposed to resemble an eighteenth-century frigate, perhaps one of Captain Cook’s ships. Or was it Captain Vancouver?”

  “Cork floats,” I said, “so I suppose that’s apt. But isn’t it…heavy?”

  “My, no!” she exclaimed. “Cork’s light. That’s why it floats.”

  I nodded. “I don’t think I’m awake yet. I need coffee.”

  After filling a mug and grabbing a maple bar, I summoned Mitch into my office to bring him up to speed before he left on his morning rounds. He devoured a cinnamon roll and an apple tart while I relayed the evening’s events.

  “You should’ve called me,” he said when I finished. “I feel left out.”

  “I had no idea what would happen,” I explained. “If Milo hadn’t been worried about me being home alone, I wouldn’t have been at his office. In fact, I had to wait in the SUV until Blackwell was in a cell. Besides, I don’t like calling you out and your leaving Brenda at night.”

  “As I mentioned, she’s improving,” he murmured, still apparently disappointed over missing a news opportunity. “So nobody knows where this Ellerbee has gone?”

  “Maybe he took off for California. Which reminds me,” I went on, “when you’re at the courthouse, check with Dean Ramsey for ideas about dealing with food in hot weather. That’s his department as county extension agent. Any news about Blackwell is yours. You know martial arts and I don’t.”

  Mitch frowned. “We don’t run domestic abuse items with names.”

  “This involves charges,” I said. “I’m referring to fallout. It wouldn’t surprise me if Black Jack threatens to sue the sheriff.”

  My reporter still seemed dubious. “Fine, I’ll inquire about him.” He rose from the visitor chair and left my office.

  Kip came to see me five minutes later. “I wanted to let you know I pulled the item from ‘Scene’ about Rosemary and the writer guy chasing kids at the picnic. But I ran your feature on him. Is that a problem?”

  “No,” I replied. “I wanted to spare Rosie’s feelings and use the Dithers paint job instead. My Ellerbee piece doesn’t mention her. For all I know, he is what he says he is. There are lots of odd movie types. It’s possible he’s a bit of a Hollywood prima donna.”

  “Some day Chili and I’ll have to go to Disneyland,” Kip said. “Would you believe I’ve never been south of Portland?”

  I smiled. “There’s a lot of country to see out there, Kip.”

  He looked skeptical. “It can’t be any prettier than Alpine.”

  “Well…” I paused. “Not by much,” I said. And marveled at my
own words. It seemed that marriage had curbed my big-city bias.

  Shortly after nine-thirty, Vida asked if I wanted to call on Kay. I demurred, thinking it might be too early. “She got home fairly late,” I said. “Let’s wait until eleven. Then we can have lunch.”

  “Very well,” Vida agreed, then looked thoughtful. “I could get one of my casseroles out of the freezer. I’m sure Kay would enjoy a tasty home-cooked meal.”

  “Of course.” I wanted to add that Vida’s casserole wouldn’t qualify, but didn’t. Peace at any price, I thought, as she went into the newsroom.

  Mitch called me a few minutes later. “We’ve got breaking news,” he announced in an unusually excited voice. “Apparently there’s a hostage situation at the courthouse.”

  My initial fear was for Rosemary. “In the prosecutor’s office?”

  “No,” Mitch replied. “It’s the county extension agent who’s being menaced. It looks like Ramsey’s finally making some real news for us.”

  I was stupefied. “Where are you?”

  “In front of the courthouse,” he replied. “The building’s in lockdown. Dodge went inside a few minutes ago. The emergency vehicles are manned now, but staying put out back.”

  I was stunned. “Milo went inside? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Mitch admitted. “I’d gone over to the post office to get some stamps before I went to the courthouse, and after I came out, I saw Dodge hurrying over there. That’s not his style, as you know. I sensed news, so I went back to his office. Blatt said Eleanor Jessup called to say she’d tried to see Dean Ramsey, but he couldn’t talk to her. He had someone with him who wouldn’t let him open the door.”

  “Did he say who it was?”

  “He either couldn’t or wouldn’t,” Mitch said. “That’s when Eleanor called the sheriff.”

  I was too upset to stay in my own office. “I’ll join you,” I told my reporter. “Find out if Milo’s office is in contact with their boss.”

  The newsroom was empty. Vida must have gone to fetch her casserole and Leo was on his advertising rounds. Alison was helping a man I vaguely recognized with a classified ad, so I merely waved before going outside. I wanted to run, but my feet felt like lead. Besides, I didn’t want people staring at me. At the corner of Third, I had to wait for a Sears truck to go by. As soon as it turned onto Front, I could see Mitch going into the sheriff’s office. I’d meet him there.