by Mary Daheim
I turned up the potatoes, opened a can of string beans, and started frying Milo’s steak. “Did you ever bring your work home when you were married the first time?”
My husband was topping off our drinks. “Don’t get cute. I’m not sure my kids knew I had a job. I think Mulehide told them I went fishing every day. When Bran was about six, he asked why he couldn’t go fishing with me all the time. I explained it was because I never caught anything and asked him how often I brought home a mess of fish. He said he thought I ate them before I got to the house.”
“I’d believe you,” I said as we resumed our usual places in the living room, “if I didn’t think you were fobbing me off about your visitor.”
“You got that right. I can’t tell you because it’s not official.”
“A strange woman comes to our house on unofficial business? Should I get jealous?”
“She doesn’t want my body, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Milo paused to sip from his drink. “Do I smell steak burning?”
“Oh!” I jumped off the sofa, spilling some of my drink on the rug. “Damn!” I cried, racing into the kitchen. Sure enough, I’d forgotten to lower the heat under Milo’s steak. It was only singed on one side, so all was not lost. I flipped it over, added my steak, and waited until the burner had cooled down. I returned to the living room with a rag to soak up the liquid on the rug. “Pretend I broiled one side of your steak, okay? Now tell me more about whatever you can’t tell me.”
Milo shot me a disgusted look. “You know damned well I won’t. As sheriff, I often get stuck listening to people with weird problems that aren’t necessarily related to law enforcement. You do, too. We both have the kind of jobs that make the clueless think we can advise or help them. She came, she talked, she left. Forget about it.” He paused to sip his Scotch. “Anything else about to explode in the kitchen, or can I relax?”
“Everything’s fine. Dinner should be done in seven minutes. Why did she ask for Heppner?”
“She’d called earlier in the week, and he’d answered the phone. When she found out today he wasn’t around, she came to see me.” Milo turned in the direction of the kitchen. “Are we going to eat now or wait until Vida’s show comes on?”
I looked at my watch. “It’s just after six-thirty. We’ve got time. I’ll turn my steak and mash the potatoes. Two-minute warning.” Taking my drink with me, I returned to the kitchen.
Milo was right on my heels. “Your steak’s still bleeding to death.”
“I haven’t turned it yet. Jeez, give me time! And move it, big guy. I have to dump the potato water in the sink.”
“Oh—what kind of new sink do you want? Double sink, ceramic, stainless steel, garbage disposal—the Bourgettes are asking you to pick out that stuff by the end of next week.”
“Right now a wooden washtub would suit me fine,” I retorted. “Have the Bourgettes make me a list. I can’t keep track of all this stuff.”
“I thought women got all thrilled over buying things for the house. Mulehide sure did.”
Dumping out the potato water, I glared at him. “I’m not Mulehide.”
I almost dropped the kettle when Milo put his arms around me. “Did I forget to tell you I’m damned happy you aren’t?”
Managing to set the kettle down, I leaned against him. “I’m still getting used to so much all at once. Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Everything seems to have happened so fast. Don’t you feel like that?”
His hazel eyes were intense as he looked down at me. “After waiting so many years for you to come around? No. I almost gave up on you a year ago last January, when you were still running off to be with Fisher in Seattle. But when I had the gall bladder attacks and didn’t know what they were, I saw how scared you were. Mullins told me you almost passed out when you heard I was in the hospital with chest pains. Oh, you tried to be brave when you came to see me, but you were as white as those damned hospital sheets. I can read you pretty well. I figured you cared a lot more than you admitted.”
I smiled feebly, the memory still jarring me. “I couldn’t imagine my world without you in it. But you didn’t make any serious moves.”
He shrugged. “You know how I work a case. I take my time. I wanted to make sure everything was in place.”
I was appalled. “You treated me the same way you’d solve a crime? That’s not very romantic, you big jerk.”
“You’re not very romantic. Oh, you liked to pretend when it came to Cavanaugh, but you were delusional. I told you that ten years ago.”
I tried to pull away from Milo, but he tightened his grip. “Tom and I were going to be married,” I said stubbornly.
“It didn’t happen. I never thought it would.” He had the nerve to chuckle. “Go ahead, tell me you hate me. Again.”
I shook my head. “No. I want to find out how much I hate you after you finish your spiel about wooing me for almost an entire year.”
“I didn’t. I’m not the wooing type. Fisher was still in the picture. It didn’t help when Tom’s kids showed up later. Then Fisher took off and you fell for the rumor about Mulehide and me getting back together. When I told you it was bullshit, you looked … not just relieved, but happy. I finally decided to hell with it and stopped treating you like some dainty little porcelain doll. It worked.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Oh, Milo, that was the one thing that was missing—passion. I never realized you were afraid to let loose. But when you did, it was amazing. I couldn’t believe it!”
“Neither could I.” He laughed, too. “It’s a wonder I didn’t run the Cherokee off the road when I left that night. In fact, I wondered why I left in the first place.”
“I wondered, too. I felt so alone after you were gone. When I didn’t hear from you the next day, I thought it hadn’t meant anything to you.”
“It meant so damned much that I decked Fleetwood and Mullins for making cracks about us. I was so bowled over by the change in you that I lost my sense of humor.” He glanced at the stove. “You never turned your steak, but I think it must be done anyway.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I can eat it almost well-done.”
Milo kissed me gently. “Then let’s do it before Vida opens her damned cupboard.”
“You never told me about that ATV,” I said, hurriedly mashing the potatoes. “Did it belong to Fernandez?”
Milo sat down at the table. “We don’t have any of the test results back from Everett except that the blood from the wetlands is human.”
I handed him his dinner, but my brain was buzzing. “May I conjecture?” I said, filling my plate and sitting down.
Milo shrugged. “You often do.”
“Naturally, I’m curious why you drove to Monroe. If it had something to do with the correctional facility, it’d probably be official. I’m guessing you went to the hospital to see the guy who was critically injured in the car crash Monday.” I paused, waiting for Milo’s reaction. There wasn’t any. He kept eating and looking somewhere beyond me.
I persevered. “When I first asked about Erinel Dobles’s condition, you expressed indifference. I figure you made a seventy-mile round-trip to talk to him today. That indicates there’s more to all this than just another Highway 2 wreck.”
Milo heaved a sigh. “Those other people involved were banged up pretty bad, too. There could be charges brought and a potential lawsuit.”
“You couldn’t spare a deputy to do that?”
“Stop asking questions. You’re spoiling my appetite.”
“I already spoiled dinner. My steak tastes like a catcher’s mitt.”
“The spuds and the beans are fine. But you didn’t make gravy.”
“That’s because there wasn’t enough juice left in the steak. Jeez, I work all day. Every meal can’t be a gourmet delight.”
“Let’s go out to dinner tomorrow night. The French place?”
“Sure. Or should we wait until the kitchen’s unusable?”
“We could go twice. Hell, we could drive o
ver to Everett.”
I laughed. “Do you realize we haven’t gone anywhere out of town together since we were dating way back when?”
Milo frowned. “Hunh. Too bad you didn’t go to Monroe with me today. We could’ve stopped at Jack in the Box.”
“That sounds about right. Was Mr. Dobles able to speak to you?”
“Yeah. He’s the voice at Jack in the Box who asked for my order.”
“Milo …”
“He’s improving, listed as satisfactory. His wife arrived late Tuesday. I never reveal an interview unless it’s official—and pertinent.”
“Well,” I said, after being forced to chew my steak about twelve times before I could swallow it, “I assume you wouldn’t talk to him about paying to replace the milepost sign.”
Milo nodded absently and forked up more potatoes.
“You could’ve sent a deputy to cite him for vehicular negligence or whatever, but you went in person.” I paused to watch my husband’s reaction, but again there wasn’t any. “That tells me you had other questions for him.” I fingered my chin. “Now, what could they have been?”
The sheriff shrugged and ate some green beans.
“I doubt he knows where Sam is,” I continued after washing down another bite of rubber steak with the last of my drink, “so you had a more pressing matter that took you to Monroe. Maybe it has something to do with the murder investigation you claim to know so little about.”
Milo stood up. “That’s it. I know how to make you be quiet.” He pulled my chair away from the table and carried me out of the kitchen.
I stopped talking.
“Good grief!” I cried half an hour later. “We missed Vida’s show!”
Milo stretched and yawned. “Why do you care? You have to listen to her all day at work.”
“But,” I protested, sitting up and pulling the sheet over my breasts, “it’s almost illegal to miss her program. You should arrest us. Or at least make us pay a fine.”
Milo laughed. “Relax. Want to snuggle?”
“No. Yes.” I curled up next to him. “It’s cozy in here, even if we don’t have walls.”
“How come you feel so soft?” he murmured. “You ought to be toughened up from walking into walls and furniture and Public Utility District poles.”
“I’ve never walked into a PUD pole.”
“You sure? I could’ve sworn I saw you …” The phone rang in the distance. “To hell with it. Whoever it is will call back.”
“Is it your cell?”
“No. My cell’s in my shirt pocket on the floor.”
“It might be Adam. He called from Nome today.”
“He can’t call again?”
I moved my head to look at Milo. “He is my son. Really, I should check. He might be getting ready to go back to the village, where I can’t talk to him without a bunch of interference and delays.”
“He’d leave at night?”
“It’s two hours earlier there. Come on, big guy, let go of me.”
Milo relented. I grabbed my robe and hurried into the living room. The message light was on my phone. I picked up the receiver and dialed to retrieve the call.
“Really, Emma,” Vida said, “you must be as overcome as I am by my program. I could not believe how frank Ms. Craig was. Principal Freeman must be exploding at her indiscretion. When you’ve recovered, do call me back. Spencer, naturally, is agog.”
Gathering my robe more closely around me, I realized it was chilly in the living room. Wondering what on earth Helena Craig had said over the airways, I hesitated before dialing Vida’s number. How could I fake commiseration if I didn’t know what she was talking about? I considered calling Leo or one of my other staffers, but I didn’t want them to know I hadn’t heard “Vida’s Cupboard.” Before I could marshal my thoughts, Milo had gotten dressed and come into the living room.
“Well?” he asked, heading for the easy chair.
“It was Vida. Apparently her show was a shocker.”
“It must’ve been if she called here.” He sat down and picked up the latest Sports Illustrated.
“I’ll have to call her back, but what should I say?”
“Tell her the White Sox look good this year. Cards should do pretty well, too.”
“You’re no help.” I picked up the receiver and went into the kitchen to return Vida’s call. I decided that the best defense was a good offense. “Should I be mad because you broke news on KSKY?” I asked before she could say more than hello.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, sounding exasperated. “The reason I started by asking how she worked with potential dropouts was because I felt we’d be on safe ground. But when she went off about how so many parents don’t care if their children do well in school, I couldn’t help but press her. Do you think I was out of line?”
“Of course not,” I replied. “Helping kids stay in school is the parent or guardian’s responsibility.”
“Certainly. I hope my dismay didn’t show over the air. Spencer assured me I kept my aplomb, but it wasn’t easy.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” I asserted, wondering what the heck Vida was talking about. “Why was Helena so … candid?”
“For obvious reasons. She worries about students. Or former students, that is. Allowing them to drop out without official recognition could be illegal. When I asked if Principal Freeman had reported this to the school board, she hedged. Don’t you agree?”
“It’s hard for me to say.” At least that was true. “You must’ve noticed her body language, right?”
“True. She seemed to stiffen. But given that funding is based on enrollment numbers, I can’t help but think that this is cheating. Granted, only five students have dropped out this year, and that doesn’t include the Johnson and Ellison girls. But it could make a difference when you consider that the high school began the year with slightly over 280 students. In the case of the Ostrom boy, he was eighteen and joined the navy, planning to finish his degree in the service. But those four girls simply left. The younger of the two Pedersen girls is only fifteen.”
The names of Ostrom and Pedersen rang only faint bells. They probably lived on the fringes, perhaps out on River Road, up Highway 187 by the old mineshafts or by Alpine Falls, west of the hatchery. While Vida rattled on, I quietly cleaned up the kitchen. But she paused, apparently expecting me to say something. Returning to the living room, I gave it my best shot. “Does Helena hold both the parents and Freeman responsible for these unofficial dropouts?”
“Surely you could tell from her tone,” Vida insisted.
“I thought maybe she added details after the broadcast.”
“She merely stated she hoped she’d given listeners something to think about. I must go. Calls are coming through on my other line. Goodness, I’d so hoped to stop off to wish Roger well on his job tomorrow. You’ll put something on the website, of course.”
“About Roger?” I said, causing Milo to look up from his reading.
“No, no. About my program, of course.” She paused briefly. “It would, of course, be nice if you mentioned Roger.”
“That’s a ‘Scene’ item. As for Ms. Craig, I’ll think how to approach posting anything. We can’t be careless if there are legal implications.”
“True,” Vida allowed. “You’re not angry with me for having such a bombshell on my program, are you? I had no idea!”
“I wish we’d had the story first,” I hedged. “Good luck with the callers.”
I rang off. Milo again looked at me. “Is Vida’s shocker that Roger got a job? That is damned surprising. Or is he working for Fleetwood?”
“No, it’s what Helena … skip it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“That’s not unusual.” He glanced at his magazine. “The Spurs look solid for the NBA play-offs. So do the Pistons and the Heat.”
“Stop distracting me. I’m going to the kitchen to call Fleetwood.”
Figuring Spence had probably taken off after Vida�
��s show, I dialed his cell instead of the station. He answered on the fourth ring, sounding less than his usual mellifluous self. “Damn,” he said, “I’m going a-wooing. Rosalie awaits at Parc Pines.”
“Tell the merry widow to sit tight and give me three minutes. What’s your reaction to Helena’s indiscreet revelations?”
“She’s lucky she isn’t fired,” he replied. “On the other hand, if the school board has any gumption—which they probably don’t—Freeman’s job may be on the line. But my money’s on him. Ms. Craig went public, so do with it what you will.”
“Can you get me a copy of the tape?”
“Sure, if you … why do you need a copy?”
“Because I want to make damned sure I get it right.”
“Can you wait until tomorrow?”
I told Spence I could. “I’ll wait to post anything online.”
He laughed. “You didn’t listen to ‘Vida’s Cupboard’? Were you letting your favorite bear maul you instead?”
“Stop. If you breathe a word to Vida, I’ll make her put you two in ‘Scene.’ At least Milo and I are married.”
“You’re a bothersome wench. Have it your way. My lips are sealed.”
“Not for long after you get to Parc Pines. Good night, Spence.”
“That was quick,” my husband remarked when I came back into the living room. “You got everything sorted out?”
“No. I’ll have to listen to the blasted tape.”
Milo put the magazine aside. “Did Fleetwood ever come on to you?”
I shook my head. “His romantic history is as weird as mine—and yours. I don’t care much for Rosalie, though you and I’ve seen her softer side. They’re both superficial on the outside, but not on the inside.”
Milo frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You’re right. But you know what I mean.”
“I don’t think you know what you mean.”
“You could be right.”
Of course, we were both wrong—about so many things that would happen in the days to come.
FOURTEEN
“MORE DROPOUTS?” THE SHERIFF BARKED AT ME OVER the phone shortly after eight-thirty Friday morning. “What the hell does that mean?”