SHORTLY AFTER FIVE, KIP AND I WERE THE ONLY ONES LEFT IN the office. He was still in the back shop, where he’d spend the evening finishing his part of the job. Unless he ran into problems or there was late-breaking news, my on-site responsibilities were complete. But I would stay by the phone until he put the paper to bed around eleven.
I was gathering up my belongings when Jennifer Hood stepped into the newsroom. “Ms. Lord?” she called, seeing me standing by my desk. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure,” I said. “Come in. And please call me Emma.”
She gave me a tentative smile as I offered her a visitor’s chair. “I’m not sure I should be doing this,” she said. “I feel awkward, but I need your advice. I know we just met, but you seem very levelheaded.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to hide my surprise. “What’s wrong?”
Jennifer brushed at her curly auburn hair. “I had the radio on when I left work just now. The news on the local station mentioned that a woman from Alpine was reported missing. Tiffany something. I didn’t catch the full name. Do you know about this?”
I nodded. “Yes. She’s the daughter of the PUD man who was killed near RestHaven last week.”
Jennifer gasped. “No! Really?”
“I’m afraid so.” Briefly I explained Tiffany’s background, including Tim Rafferty’s tragic death. I kept my tone neutral, the same way I reported straight news in the Advocate.
“That poor woman must be half crazed,” Jennifer said. “No wonder she came to RestHaven this afternoon.”
I couldn’t conceal my shock. “You mean she asked for help?”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer admitted. “She went to see Kay Burns. I assumed at the time that she had some sort of P.R. business. But I saw her go into Kay’s office and overheard just enough before the door was closed to know who she was. Of course she fit the description on the news except for the hair color, and Kay called her by name.”
My brain was going around in circles. Kay, who had been married to Jack Blackwell. Tiffany, who had moved in with him. Was that all they had in common? I certainly didn’t know. And why wasn’t Tiffany spotted in town? “What color was Tiffany’s hair?” I asked.
“Black.”
“Tiffany’s fair-haired,” I said. “She must be wearing a wig, or perhaps she dyed her hair. You have to report this to the sheriff. Shall I call for you?”
Jennifer seemed conflicted, fingering the edge of my desk as if she were playing the piano. “Will it get her in trouble?”
“She may be in trouble already.” I picked up the phone. “I have to do this, but if you want to remain anonymous, that’s fine.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t give my name,” she said. “It is a new job. I don’t want to jeopardize my position.”
To my relief, Milo answered. “Don’t nag,” he barked. “I’m going to the damned deli as soon as I finish up here.”
“Never mind that,” I said, hoping Jennifer couldn’t hear him. “I’ve got a Tiffany sighting from this afternoon at RestHaven.”
“No shit. This better not be Averill Fairbanks seeing her land a spaceship in the Italian garden. Is that where Ed ate spaghetti?”
“No, Sheriff,” I said, hoping he’d catch on that I wasn’t free to tell him to shut the hell up.
“Where and when?” Milo asked, now very much the lawman.
I scribbled “What time?” on a piece of paper and pushed it at my visitor, then said into the phone, “In one of the RestHaven offices.”
Jennifer wrote down “3:15.” I scrawled another note: “ID Kay?”
I gave Milo the time, but Jennifer was shaking her head. The sheriff didn’t like vague answers. “Whose office?” he asked sharply.
“I can’t say,” I said.
“You will,” Milo said, sounding more like his old laconic self. “I gather the person who reported this is with you now.”
“Yes.”
“Have you got a gun to your head?”
“No, of course not.”
“I’ll grill you at home. If I don’t see you in half an hour, I’ll put out an APB on you.” He hung up on me. Again.
Jennifer looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. But I hope you understand the position I’m in.”
“Journalists are used to this sort of thing—‘an anonymous source.’ It’s a start. I don’t suppose you saw a Rover parked outside?”
“I didn’t go outside. It was raining, so I took the covered walkway between the buildings. Even if I had gone the other way, I might not have noticed it. At the time, the incident didn’t seem important.”
“Of course. I really appreciate your coming forward. But I have to ask, why me? You could’ve gone straight to the sheriff.”
Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t know the sheriff, but I know you. Being from Dunsmuir, I’m familiar with small towns. You have to feel your way when it comes to trusting people. I instinctively felt you could be discreet. Small-town newspaper editors have to be, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do,” I said as we both stood up. “Though I assure you, Sheriff Dodge is very trustworthy.”
She smiled. “He wouldn’t be picking up dinner if he wasn’t.”
I laughed. “He’s also kind of loud.”
Her smile faded. “All the same, I hope you can keep me out of this.”
“Don’t worry,” I said as we walked out of my office together. I wasn’t about to make a promise I couldn’t keep.
Milo arrived home fifteen minutes later than he’d indicated on the phone. “Your ice is probably melting,” I said, nodding at the fridge.
He wrapped an arm around my neck and kissed me. “I got waylaid by Jake O’Toole at the Grocery Basket. He’s filing a complaint tomorrow about shoplifters. There’s an epidemic, according to him. Not kids, he figures. The big-ticket item is wine.”
“Why not kids, if they’re broke and under age?”
“Because the thieves only steal the good stuff. Kids don’t know the difference. Where do you want me to put the fried chicken?”
“Leave it on the counter. Go change. I’ll rescue your drink. I’m making potato salad because you wanted it the other night.”
“Good,” he said, swatting my rear before leaving the kitchen.
Ten minutes later he returned as I was setting the oven to heat the chicken. It took me another five minutes before I finished explaining about Dwight and Jack’s ex-wife, Jennifer, and Tiffany. By that time we’d migrated to our usual places in the living room, drinks in hand.
“If I’d known about Kay,” Milo said, looking faintly remorseful, “I wouldn’t have been so rough on Gould. Nobody knows better than I do what a pain an ex can be. Still, that’s no excuse for his going after Bill Blatt. Damn, I wish people could leave their private lives at home.”
“I could say the same about Mitch. But we all do. You were a real beast after we broke up. So was I. It’s a wonder my staff didn’t mutiny.”
Milo looked surprised. “You were? I didn’t think you cared.”
“I didn’t think so, either,” I admitted ruefully. “But obviously I did. That’s how I ended up on sleeping pills and Paxil.”
Milo grinned at me. “God, Emma, didn’t that tell you something?”
“No. I was still in my ‘dopey phase,’ as you call it. I blamed it on menopause, and maybe it was, but I couldn’t get along without you.”
“Same here. I tried to avoid you, but with our jobs being so close, it was tough. Maybe you should’ve worn a disguise.” Milo sipped his drink. “Why’s Tiff skulking around in a black wig? Why was she seeing Kay? They have one thing in common—Blackwell. If Kay’s P.R., she knew he was speaking at the opening.”
I nodded. “But nobody else has seen Tiffany?”
“No. It doesn’t mean they haven’t or that she didn’t leave town for a day or two. This Jennifer didn’t say Tiff had the kid with her, right?”
“I imagine she’d have mentioned it.”
“I guess I’ll have to tell Blackwell,” Milo said. “I don’t like doing that. If he can find Tiff, he might beat the crap out of her. He used to do that with Patti Marsh. Not that she ever had the guts to file a complaint.”
“I saw the bruises. She always lied about how she got them.”
“Classic case of abuse. I wonder if Patti’s seen Tiffany.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Tiffany moved in with Jack a week ago. How did she get disillusioned so fast? He gave her money to buy clothes from Francine Wells. It makes no sense.”
“Maybe,” Milo suggested, “he didn’t give her the money. She might have swiped it from him. That could’ve started a row and she walked.”
I nodded halfheartedly. “Tiff’s not the quick-thinking type. You figure she’s making the rounds of Blackwell’s ex-squeezes?”
“Could be.” Milo drummed his fingers on the arm of the easy chair. “I’ll talk to Patti tomorrow. She’s a lousy liar.”
“Good idea,” I said, standing up. “Maybe by that time my usual font of all knowledge will be back to work.”
“Vida can’t stay away forever. Rosemary’s pissed,” Milo said, following me into the kitchen to top off our drinks. “She figures the Hibberts are pulling a fast one.”
“I hope not, but I’m worried,” I said, putting the chicken into the oven before turning to Milo. “Should I report the Tiffany sighting in the paper? I don’t want to set off Blackwell if they’ve had a big fight.”
Milo gave me a wry look. “You’re asking me for newspaper advice?”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “Maybe I do sound like a wife.”
He leaned down to kiss me. “I like that. I won’t tell you what to do, but as a husband, I’d say news of the sighting could cause big trouble.”
“You’re right,” I said—and kissed him back.
There were no back-shop crises or urgent calls for the sheriff that evening. “Why,” I said to Milo after we were in bed and he’d turned off the light, “do I feel this is like the lull before the storm?”
“Are you looking for a crisis?” he asked, holding me close. “Don’t.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “We both know it’s coming. We just don’t know from which direction.”
I felt him sigh. “Right. It’s built into our jobs.” He rested his chin on the top of my head. “I wonder when I’ll get a second opinion on the Eriks autopsy. It could take days. By the way, the bones Bebe Everson found belonged to a gopher.”
“Poor Roy. What do they expect to find with Eriks?”
“If I knew, why would I need a second opinion?”
“Maybe you don’t.” I turned just enough to try to look at him. “You could be holding out on me, big guy.”
Milo didn’t say anything. I shut up and went to sleep in the sanctuary of his arms.
To my relief, Vida was at her desk when I arrived the next morning. She looked tired, an unusual state for her. But she greeted me in a pleasant fashion. “You managed without me,” she said. “I’ll do the advice letters first. Did I miss anything vital?”
“You did,” I said, pouring a mug of coffee. Amanda hadn’t yet arrived from the bakery run. “Or have you already heard about Tiff?”
“Kip informed me,” Vida said, fiddling with the silk roses of her felt sailor hat. “I’m not surprised.”
I felt smug. “But Kip doesn’t know Tiff showed up at RestHaven.”
Vida’s gray eyes widened behind her big glasses. “Well now! As a patient or seeking a job?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought Roger might have seen her there.”
“Roger took the day off. He felt a cold coming on.” She paused as Mitch made his entrance, mumbling a subdued greeting to both of us.
Vida shot me a curious glance. I shrugged. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, fists on hips.
“Oh—Kay Barton Burns is doing P.R. at RestHaven.”
It was rare that I could surprise Vida. “No!” She fingered her chin and scowled. “My, my—she’s been gone for twenty-five years. Why would she come back to Alpine after so long? It’s very smart of her—she is a native. The tug of her hometown must’ve done it. Of course Roger wouldn’t realize who she is. He was just a wee lad when she left.”
In my opinion the chunky Roger had never been wee, except in the brains department. I turned to Mitch, who was sitting down at his desk with his own coffee mug. “Fill Vida in on Kay Burns. I’ve never met her.”
Mitch didn’t look happy about the request, but he got up and went over to Vida’s desk while I headed into my cubbyhole. Maybe, I hoped, things were returning to some state of normality.
Less than an hour later, after Mitch had returned from checking the sheriff’s log, the storm Milo and I had predicted hit.
“All hell broke out,” my reporter announced, slumping into one of my visitor’s chairs. “I’d just gotten there when Jack Blackwell came roaring in about his missing girlfriend. She’d been spotted at the ski lodge last night by somebody who went to high school with her. Blackwell and Dodge almost got into it right behind the reception counter.”
“Oh, no!” I gasped. “Is … are they okay?”
Mitch nodded. “Mullins and Heppner got between them. They managed to haul Blackwell outside. Dodge was pissed because he wanted Blackwell to slug him so he could arrest the guy for assaulting an officer of the law. Didn’t I tell you the sheriff’s a prickly guy?”
“I don’t blame him,” I declared. “Dodge didn’t cause Tiffany to run off. Jack probably slugged her. Beating up women is a habit of his.”
“That’s what the sheriff said, and that’s what really set Blackwell off. He told Dodge he wasn’t one to talk about guys who shacked up with women who weren’t their wives. That really riled Dodge. I’ll bet Blackwell reports this to the other county commissioners.”
I didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Leo appeared in the doorway, apparently having overheard part of Mitch’s account.
“A dust-up at the sheriff’s?” my ad manager remarked with a puckish expression. “Laskey, it’s time for you to choose sides in this town. Stick with the good guys—Dodge is one of them. Sure, Blackwell employs a lot of people and he runs a decent operation. But his private life’s a mess. Trust me, when he leaves his mill, Jack’s a jackass.”
Mitch shrugged. “I’ve talked to him a few times. He seems okay. He doesn’t look half as intimidating as Dodge.”
“That’s because Blackwell’s shorter,” Leo said. “Emma’s known Dodge longer than I have.” He looked at me. “Has he ever scared you?”
“Aggravated, yes. Scared, never.”
Leo held up his hands. “See? Vida will say the same thing.”
“Nobody scares her. Okay,” Mitch said resignedly, standing up. “But it seems this could be the kind of thing we’re waiting for.”
“Uh …,” I began, but Leo interrupted.
“Waiting for what?” he asked, looking at Mitch and then at me.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Emma and I were discussing an investigation of how Dodge runs law enforcement. He’s been on the job for twenty years—too damned long without some transparency.”
Leo flung an arm around Mitch’s shoulders. “We need to have lunch. It’s Wednesday, a day of semi-rest. Why don’t we …”
I didn’t hear the rest of what my ad manager was saying as he led my reporter back into the newsroom. Thank God for Leo, I thought. What will I do without him if he retires and goes back to his family in California?
But I didn’t have to think about that. What I did have to do was wait a decent interval before I went to see the sheriff. Meanwhile, I pondered why Tiffany had been at the ski lodge. On a whim, I called the manager, Henry Bardeen, who was also Buck’s younger brother.
“My daughter saw her,” Henry said. “Heather was a year ahead of Tiffany in school. She didn’t recognize Tiff at first because her hair was dark, but when Heather heard she was missing, she realized it was her.”
“Who told Jack Blackwell she’d been seen?”
“Not Heather,” he replied. “The only one she told was her pal Chaz Phipps. Chaz works for Blackwell, so I suppose she told Jack.”
“Was Tiff just passing through?”
“Heather saw her in the lobby talking to a man she didn’t recognize. Maybe a guest from the gardening group or a dinner patron. Oh—here’s Bill Blatt. I bet he’ll ask the same questions you did.”
I rang off, wondering about the stranger. Henry and Heather knew all the locals, except maybe not the entire RestHaven staff. Visitors kept the ski lodge in business. It was futile to dwell on an unknown patron.
A few minutes after nine-thirty I headed out into the morning drizzle toward the sheriff’s office. Just as I was passing Parker’s Pharmacy, Donna Wickstrom crossed Front Street and stopped to wave at me.
“Guess what?” she said excitedly. “I finally heard from Craig Laurentis. He’s got a new painting. I won’t get it at the gallery for another week or so, but I thought you’d like to know he’s okay.”
Relief swept over me. There had been no word of our reclusive artist since his release from the hospital in early December after being shot by someone who thought he might be a homicide witness. “That’s great,” I said. “I’ve been worried. Why aren’t you at your day care?”
Donna smiled. “It’s tax time, so I made your truant receptionist, Ginny, sub for me. Owning two businesses makes filing complicated. Steve surrenders and tells me to farm it out to a tax expert. I hand all the financial stuff to my brother, Rick, at the bank, and my sister-in-law fills in for me at the day care. We like to keep everything in the family.”
“Sensible.” I realized a puddle was forming underfoot. The potholes were another reminder of SkyCo’s lack of funds for basic maintenance. “It’s raining harder,” I said. “I’d better let you get on with your errands. Let me know when Craig’s painting arrives.”
Donna promised she would and hurried on her way. I moved quickly along the half block to the sheriff’s office. Milo’s Yukon was in its usual spot, so I figured he was in. Bracing myself for the usual glower from Heppner and the familiar leer from Mullins, I made my entrance.
“Wow!” Jack exclaimed. “I’ll bet you’re worried that your favorite stud might be in a bad mood. Are you armed?”
“Watch your mouth, Jack,” I retorted. “I’m not armed, but I’m dangerous. His door’s closed. Is he beating up an innocent bystander?”
Jack laughed, but Sam scowled. “You better not pester him with some dumb questions about your remodeling. Save that for after hours.”
“Don’t I always?” I retorted. “Stick it, Sam. I’m not in a good mood.”
Sam’s scowl turned into a full glower. “I don’t take orders from anybody except Dodge. You forgot who’s boss here?”
I glared right back. “Have I ever?”
Lori Cobb’s arrival broke the tension. “I’ve got coffee,” she announced. “Hi, Emma. We ran out this morning. Dwight was supposed to buy some, but he’s … not here.”
“So that’s what’s wrong with everybody,” I said, turning to Sam. “You take it with sugar, right? It might improve your disposition.” I opened the swinging half door in the counter and marched to Milo’s office. My knock elicited a barked response that sounded like “Yeah?” but could have been a growl from the resident bear.
“Hi,” I said, entering the sheriff’s lair and closing the door. “I heard about your confrontation. Didn’t you drink enough coffee at home?”
“A gallon wouldn’t be enough to keep me from wanting to kick Blackwell’s ass all the way to Wenatchee.”
I’d sat down in my usual place on the other side of the desk. “He’s not originally from here, is he?”
“He’s a California native, but came here from Oregon—Albany, I think.” Milo gazed at the ceiling. “That was almost thirty years ago. He had mills in Oregon and Idaho. The old Wellington & Scenic Mill was up for grabs. Two brothers from Darrington owned it, but they were in their eighties back then. The place needed updating, logging was in its decline, and Jack was willing to put money into it. Not long after that, he bought out Clarence Munn’s Bucker Logging operation and managed the two mills. Everybody thought he was a hero. Marius called him the town’s savior.”
I smiled. “From what I’ve heard about Marius Vandeventer, he called anybody who spent more than a grand around here a savior.”
“Oh, yeah,” Milo agreed. “Marius was a booster. We were surprised when he moved away after he sold the paper. I don’t think Vida’s forgiven Marius for what she called his ‘defection.’ Is he still alive?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Vida always heard from him at Christmas, but she hasn’t mentioned him lately. The Vandeventers retired to the desert. I only met him twice, and he left town before I arrived. Vida broke me in. And you’re the one who told me he’d been trying to sell the paper for a couple of years. That’s when I discovered I’d paid too much for it. I wanted to kick myself.”
“Sounds like Marius.” Milo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Funny thing about you, little Emma. You make me feel better even when I’m not feeling you.”
“Oh, Milo …” I almost simpered.
“Let’s change the subject before I … Skip it,” he said, sitting up. “Why are you here?”
“Mitch’s report unsettled me. I was worried about you.”
Milo looked askance, but proffered a cigarette. “Is the coffee on?”
I accepted the cigarette and leaned over so that Milo could light it for me. “Lori just came back. No word from SnoCo’s lab junkies?”
The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t expect to hear yet.”
“No more Tiffany sightings?”
“No. Bill phoned from the ski lodge. Tiff wasn’t staying there. She had dinner with some guy nobody recognized. No kid with her.”
We were both silent for a few moments. “I can’t think of anybody from out of town that Tiffany would know. She hardly ever left Alpine.”
Milo’s shrugged. “So where’s the kid?”
“You mean Ashley Rafferty?”
“Ashley?” Milo shrugged. “Yeah, that kid.” He was staring off into space. “Go away, Emma. I’m trying to think.”
I started to stand up, but hesitated. “About what?”
He still didn’t look at me. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
I left Milo to his thoughts. After I stopped at the bank to make a payment on my Visa card, Amanda greeted me with news of a visitor waiting in my office. “She says you’ll be surprised to see her.”
I thought of Mavis. “Is she about my age or maybe a bit older?”
“Yes,” Amanda said. “She got here just a few minutes ago. I gave her coffee. She mentioned having had quite a long drive.”
Leo was the only staffer at his desk and he was on the phone. But as I went through the newsroom, I saw the back of the woman sitting in one of my visitor’s chairs and realized it wasn’t Mavis. In fact, I didn’t recognize the dark blond middle-aged woman when she turned around.
“Emma Lord,” she said, remaining seated. “You look befuddled. I think I’ve caught you off guard.”
Somehow I managed to sit down without falling over my own feet. “You did,” I said. “Have we met? I’m not very good at remembering faces.”
“No.” My guest’s faintly ruddy face looked smug. “I thought you might have seen pictures. I’m Tricia, the first Mrs. Dodge.”