by Mary Daheim
“That’s work?” I said—and giggled.
Later that night as Milo was reading in bed and I was doing a crossword puzzle, he closed his book and turned to look at me. “I forget—where did Holly go after she collected her two kids from the foster parents in Sultan?”
“Centralia or Chehalis,” I said. “I get them mixed up, because they’re so close together off I-5. That’s where Holly’s sister lives.”
“Right, Centralia.” He chuckled. “I’ve stopped there a few times when I’ve been fishing the Cowlitz and the Toutle Rivers. They’ve got a hotel that used to be a brothel. The rooms are named after prominent citizens. One was for Floyd Duell, who was the mill superintendent here around 1920. I remember Grandpa Dodge talking about him.”
“You went there because you thought it was still a brothel?”
Milo made a face at me. “I stayed overnight. It was a three-day trip. They’ve got a bar and a restaurant, too.”
“We could go there on the honeymoon we’ve never had.”
Milo set Tony Hillerman on the nightstand. “Too soon. The summer steelhead run won’t be in for a while. You going to be all night figuring out what a three-letter word for a barking domestic animal is?”
I glared at him. “Are you timing me?”
“No, but I think I’ll start.”
I sighed in annoyance, put the crossword aside, and turned out the light. “Satisfied, you big jerk?”
“Yeah,” he said, putting his arms around me. “How about you?”
I snuggled up closer. “I’m in my safe place. How could I not be?”
“Just doing my job, keeping you in protective custody. Good night, little Emma.”
“Goodnight, Sheriff.”
We both slept in the next morning. The Bourgettes didn’t work on the weekends, and with any luck, neither Milo nor I would have to, either. Except, of course, that we probably couldn’t stop thinking about the current homicide investigation.
Around ten o’clock, I was sufficiently awake to make coherent sounds. My husband had been up a half hour ahead of me and had just come inside from surveying the area where the carport had once stood.
“You’d better start picking out appliances and whatever else we’re going to need. You want to pay Lloyd Campbell a visit or go online?”
“I got dizzy looking at bathroom stuff online a while ago,” I replied as I loaded the dishwasher. “It’d be easier to go to Lloyd’s store. Do you want to come with me?”
Milo winced. “You have a hell of a time making up your mind. I don’t think I could stand the aggravation. I’ll do some fishing research. Trout season’s coming up. I could use some new gear.”
“Go for it. You have money to spend.”
“Compared to what you’re going to put out for new appliances?”
“Well … no. But … never mind. Maybe I’m not as awake as I thought I was.” I offered Milo a feeble smile. “Should I actually order the stuff?”
Milo frowned. “Gosh, Emma, that’s probably the only way it can get here to be installed.” He reached into his back pocket. “Use this,” he said, pulling out a credit card.
I was a bit tentative taking the plastic from him. “I feel like a kept woman.”
“You are. I’m keeping you. You’re kind of undersized, but I won’t throw you back.” He kissed the top of my head before heading to the front door. “I’m going to check out my fishing stuff at my place. If you need me, call. Lloyd might have a nervous breakdown while you’re trying to make decisions. And don’t go cheap. Quality lasts longer.”
I made a growling noise in my throat, but I didn’t think Milo heard me. Just as well. But it seemed strange not to be frugal. Unless, of course, it came to my wardrobe. I had an image to keep up, after all. Or so I told myself.
Half an hour later, I was ready to head for the appliance store. The phone rang just as I grabbed my purse.
“I’m at headquarters,” Milo said. “Bill’s car was parked in the driveway, so I didn’t bother them. I figure they spent the night there. Anyway, I decided to come here and start processing Dobles’s Porsche. Gould’s helping me. Go for stainless steel in the kitchen.”
“Why can’t …” I realized my husband had already hung up. I headed along Fir to Alpine Appliance, which had expanded in the past couple of years to fill the block between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Lloyd’s son, Shane, was on duty.
“Hey,” he said, greeting me as I came inside, “I hear you and the sheriff are remodeling. How’s it coming?”
“Far enough that I have to order new appliances,” I replied, not sounding very excited over the prospect. “I made a list.”
Shane’s fair skin seemed to glow as he studied the items, which also included the new plumbing fixtures. “This is quite a redo, huh? Are you going to Sky Blue Bath for this other stuff?”
“Eventually,” I said. “Ever since Lee Amundson took it over, they’ve expanded quite a bit.”
Shane nodded. “They’ve got more space, too, after moving to the old used-car lot on River Road. Okay,” he went on, taking a ballpoint pen out of his pocket and clicking it a few times in what I hoped wasn’t a mental calculation of the amount I was about to spend. “Let’s start with refrigerators. They take up the most room. You want side-by-side or top or bottom freezing compartments?”
“I haven’t thought much about it,” I confessed. “Maybe side-by-side? It might be easier to get at things I bury behind each other.”
Shane led me to a half dozen stainless steel models. “Speaking of burying, what happened to that guy who was in the wreck last Monday? That looked pretty bad. And a Porsche! That’s really awful.”
“He’s improving,” I said. “You drove by after it happened?”
“I sort of saw how it happened,” Shane said, opening one of the fridge’s doors. “Maybe I’m nuts, but I could have sworn that poor guy was forced off the road. Now, this is average size, so you might …”
“Forced?” I interrupted. “You mean … what?”
“I was coming back from making a delivery in Skykomish,” Shane replied, petting the stainless steel as if it were the family dog. “The Porsche was ahead of me. You know just before that little curve on 2 after the ranger station?” He saw me nod. “A black sedan passed me going way too fast and cut in between my van and the Porsche. By the time I caught up, the sedan was gone and all three cars were still sort of going every which way. I was the one who called in the wreck.”
“Did you stop?”
“Sure. But I was kind of shaken up, and a couple of other cars were already stopped coming from the other direction. Then one of the deputies pulled onto the highway—Sam Heppner—motioned for me to turn into town. I guess I was partially blocking the right-hand lane.”
“Did Sam have you fill out a report?”
Shane shook his head. “I didn’t actually see the collision, so all I could say was that the sedan was going really fast. Too many people who don’t live around here do that all the time. I figured if Heppner wanted to find out if I did see anything, he’d have asked me later.”
“Right,” I murmured, wondering why Sam hadn’t contacted Shane. “Is this on sale?”
“No, but the bigger one next to it is. Marked down two hundred bucks.” He grinned at me. “Didn’t you read our ad?”
“That’s Leo’s job,” I replied. “Frankly, I didn’t know I’d be buying appliances this weekend. I’ll take it.” After looking at only two models, I was already kind of dizzy. Or maybe it was Shane’s account of the wreck that had set me off.
“Have you decided on a range or a cooktop and maybe built-in double ovens?” he asked, leading the way to another part of the store.
“I’ve always had a range,” I said.
“Have you got the dimensions of your new kitchen?”
“No.” I grimaced. “It’s about twice the size of the one I have now.” That was a guess, of course. “Maybe a bit bigger,” I added lamely.
Shane ran a hand through his fair hair. “Well, cooktops are so easy to wipe up. Self-cleaning double ovens, of course. Stainless?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take them.”
“You’ll … which ones?”
“Whatever you think is the best deal. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, as you’ve probably noticed.”
“Gosh, it usually takes customers a long time to make up their minds.” He grinned at me again. “I recommend the Whirlpool ones. They’re on sale now, too.”
“Fine. Now I need a built-in dishwasher. Are those Whirlpools on sale, too?”
“No, but the Maytags are.”
“Okay. What about washers and dryers?”
“We’re back to Whirlpool if you want the sale price.”
“I do.”
“Color?”
“Ah … do they come in stainless?”
“Sure.”
“On sale, right?”
“You got it.”
I sure do, I thought, and wondered if Shane had smelling salts on hand. “I don’t know how soon they should be delivered,” I said. “Probably not for another week or two.”
“That’s okay. I have to order the dishwasher and the washer and dryer. We sold out yesterday. The sale, you know.”
I fumbled in my purse, trying to find Milo’s credit card. I couldn’t. Shane waited patiently, while I searched in the recesses of my big and overloaded handbag.
“No rush,” he said kindly. “The Vardis just came in. Be right back.”
I nodded vaguely at Professor and Mrs. Vardi before stepping out of sight to dump everything in my purse on top of whichever appliance I was standing by. It might’ve been an air conditioner. Or a trash compactor. Or one of Averill Fairbanks’s spaceships. I was too rattled to know the difference. But the credit card finally surfaced, having been at the very bottom of my purse. I was putting everything back in place when Shane returned.
“The Vardis are looking at fridges, too,” Shane said. “Let me run this through for you.”
“Okay.” I staggered over to the counter. Did I have the nerve to see how much I’d spent? I steeled myself—and waited, feeling as if Doc Dewey were about to tell me if whatever condition I had was terminal.
“There you go,” Shane finally said, sliding the receipt across the counter. “You got some good deals.”
“Unh,” I uttered, my eyes widening at the total: just under five grand, tax included. My signature looked like a chicken had made it. I felt like a chicken—plucked. But it was Milo’s money, though that didn’t make me feel any better.
After getting into my car, I headed for the sheriff’s headquarters, wondering if Milo had any idea of what appliances cost these days. I sure didn’t. Or hadn’t until buying what amounted to over a month of my salary as an impoverished editor and publisher.
To my surprise, Ron Bjornson was behind the curving counter. “I thought you quit,” I blurted out.
“I did,” Ron said with his off-center smile, “but the sheriff’s short of people, so he asked me to keep an eye on things while he’s working out back with some cars.” He shrugged. “I guess Fred Engelman’s taking on my chores.”
“Yes. Now that Fred and Janie have remarried, they can use the money. Mickey Borg took everything, including the TV.”
“That guy always was a prick,” Ron said, then winced. “Sorry, Ms. Lord, for the rough language, but I saw him checking out a new Corvette the other day at Nordby Brothers. I sure hope Janie and Fred don’t see him tooling around town in a hot new Vette.”
“That’d be aggravating,” I agreed. “I’d better find Milo.”
“Awrrr …” Ron laughed in embarrassment. “I forgot—you’re Mrs. Dodge now. That’s nice. I mean, good for you guys.”
“Thanks, Ron,” I said, smiling as I went around the counter and toward the rear exit. “Say hello to Maylene for me.”
If there was one thing I could say for Ron Bjornson, he didn’t hold a grudge. His arrest as a murder suspect had occurred a few months after I’d broken up with the sheriff. To say Milo and I were not on good terms would be putting it mildly. In fact, we were both emotional disasters. The sheriff had some evidence against Ron, but he’d acted precipitously to show me up or just to show me. Neither of us had ever figured out that part. But when Ron threatened to sue the county for wrongful arrest, the sheriff offered a part-time job, which the Bjornsons desperately needed. Now that they both had full-time jobs at the college and their kids were grown, the family was in better financial shape.
I first noticed the ATV off to one side in the small impound area between the building and the railroad tracks. The Porsche wreckage briefly blocked my view of Milo and Dwight Gould. Moving closer, I saw that they were focused on a third vehicle, a midsized black Nissan sedan.
“Hi,” I said diffidently. “I’m not here to pester you, but …”
Milo, who had been kneeling to study the car’s right front tire, looked at me but didn’t stand up. “If you’ve flipped out over picking a damned stove, save it, okay?”
I ignored Dwight’s fierce glare. “I didn’t,” I declared, finding my spine. “I’ve got a witness to the Dobles accident.”
The sheriff got to his feet. “We had two witnesses. A westbound couple from Spokane stated that the Porsche was going too fast and went out of control.”
I felt smug. “How about a local?”
“Who?” Milo asked dubiously. “If it’s Crazy Eights …”
“It’s not,” I interrupted. “It’s Shane Campbell. You and your deputies apparently didn’t ask for his statement.” I glared back at Dwight just for the hell of it.
The sheriff turned away from me. “Finish up here, Gould. I’d better check this out. Ms. Lord isn’t always a reliable source.” He grabbed my rear as we went back inside. “Shane Campbell was on the scene? Goddamnit, nobody told me that. He wasn’t there when I showed up.”
“That’s because Sam Heppner told him to get out of the way. He was blocking traffic with his van.”
Ron acknowledged us with a nod as we went into Milo’s office. “Okay,” my husband said, sitting in his chair while I parked myself across the desk. “I take it you were doing more than buying a fridge.”
“I wasn’t. I mean, I was buying a fridge, but Shane volunteered it. He happened to be right behind Dobles until another car cut him off. It appeared to be chasing down the Porsche.”
Milo offered me a cigarette, which I accepted. He lighted both for us and handed me mine. “Go on,” he urged—and scowled. “Why are you looking so sappy?”
“I’m not used to seeing you here in your civvies. It’s kind of … um …”
He waved the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette. “Stick to business. What did Shane say he saw?”
I grew serious and related what Shane had said almost word for word, including the fact that Sam hadn’t asked him to fill out a report. “Granted,” I concluded, “he didn’t actually see the other car force the Porsche off the road, but he was fairly certain that’s what happened.”
Milo’s gaze was steady as he took a puff on his cigarette. “It probably did. That Nissan outside is the abandoned car I found on River Road yesterday. It’s got some front-end damage with red paint that matches the Porsche. It looks as if we might be talking attempted vehicular homicide.”
EIGHTEEN
I HAD A BARRAGE OF QUESTIONS FOR THE SHERIFF, BUT HE silenced me by holding up his hand. “Before you ask, that’s not the local car that was reportedly stolen from Ptarmigan Tract. We still haven’t found that one. It belongs to Rocky and Sarah Swensen’s older son, who’s away at college.”
“Do I know them?”
Milo made a face. “Rocky works for Blackwell. You’d know him and Sarah if you saw them, but skip the irrelevant questions. There’s nothing in the Nissan to show who owned it or where it came from. It’s got Washington plates, which we’re running through the system, but my hunch is that it’s stolen. The only thing besid
es finding the real owner is that whoever drove it filled up the gas tank. If we can track down where the gas was purchased, that’d help.”
“Have you checked Cal’s and Gas ’N Go?”
“Ron did that just before you got here. No luck.” Milo leaned back in the chair. “Damn. This whole mess gets more screwed up as time goes on. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Where was the abandoned car?” I asked.
“Almost to the end of River Road where it doubles back by the little bridge over Deception Creek. I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t wanted to check out a fishing hole there to see if what little snowpack we had changed the river’s course.” He took a last puff on his cigarette before putting it out in the Seahawks ashtray Tanya had given him to go with his coffee mug. “Why the hell didn’t Heppner ask for Shane’s statement? The jackass didn’t even tell me that an Alpine Appliance van had been at the scene. Maybe he really was coming down sick.”
“You thought he made that up?”
“Well …” Milo fingered his chin. “I wondered after he asked to go on leave the next day. I can’t remember Heppner ever calling in sick.”
“Maybe he was sick inside.”
My husband stared at me for a moment. “Yeah … that sounds more like it, given whatever the hell’s going on with him. Oh—did you actually buy any appliances, or did you just dither a lot?”
Grimacing, I took out the receipt and pushed it across the desk. “Here. Don’t pass out. I almost did.”
“Jesus! Five grand? What are they made of—solid gold?”
“Everything was on sale. I think.”
Milo expelled a big breath. “Inflation, I guess. I haven’t bought an appliance since … hell, I never bought an appliance. Mulehide did all that. She liked picking out stuff for the house.”
“I thought I’d have an aneurysm. I must’ve done all this in fifteen minutes. It’s a wonder I didn’t run over somebody coming here.”
The sheriff shrugged. “It’s fine. Your stuff is pretty old.”
“Some of it came with the cabin, and it was old then. The Bourgettes suggested that we could donate what we don’t want to Father Den for the women’s shelter.”