VIDA AND I RETURNED FROM LUNCH AHEAD OF LEO AND Mitch.
“I do hope those two aren’t drinking their lunch,” Vida said, removing her hat and scrutinizing the damp roses. “You never can tell with someone like Leo, who’s had a problem with alcohol. For all we know, Mitch is a secret drinker. They’re the worst.”
“Leo’s attempting to straighten Mitch out on how small towns operate,” I said, flipping through the not-so-urgent phone messages Amanda had left for me. “Mitch is still adapting.”
“It’s a pity Brenda couldn’t have managed to do that. Imagine being in Pittsburgh with all those steel mills.”
“I don’t think they have them anymore,” I said, and retreated into my office, wondering if Milo had gotten back from Everett. I’d been at my desk for only five minutes when Vida rushed into my office.
“My niece Marje called to tell me Patti Marsh is in the ER. She claims to have fallen down her front steps. I don’t believe it. Do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I admitted. “It seems that half the town is accident-prone lately. You think Patti was shoved by Blackwell?”
Vida sank into a visitor’s chair, removed her glasses, and began rubbing her eyes in that gesture of frustration that made me wince. “Ooooh … I’d say so,” she said, at last mercifully folding her hands, “but Jack’s been on his best behavior since being named a county commissioner.”
“You believe the so-called attempts on his life are real?”
Vida put her glasses back on. “I don’t know. You must admit that Milo will doubt his word.”
“Neither Jack nor Milo has any proof.”
“Is Milo waiting to find Jack’s corpse on his doorstep?”
I thought that would probably suit the sheriff just fine, but ignored the remark. “How badly was Patti hurt?”
“I don’t know yet. Doc was having X-rays taken. She might’ve broken some ribs. Marje will let me know.”
“Maybe Patti was drunk,” I said. “She likes her liquor. Speaking of which, here come Leo and Mitch. They look sober to me.”
“You can’t tell by looking,” Vida murmured. “I’ll see for myself.”
I watched Vida approach Leo, who was going to his desk. Mitch had already sat down. My phone rang, distracting me from whatever was about to happen in the newsroom.
At first I couldn’t hear the caller except that it was a female voice. “I’m sorry,” I said, “can you speak up? We may have a poor connection.”
A pause followed. If I hadn’t heard voices in the background, I would’ve thought the person had hung up.
“It’s me,” Lori Cobb said, still hushed but audible. “Mrs. Sellers is here. She tried to take Tanya to Sheriff Dodge’s house, but she doesn’t have a key. Could Mrs. Sellers drop Tanya off at your house? She has to get back to Bellevue.”
I hesitated. “No,” I finally said. “I can’t take the responsibility. Mrs. Sellers and her daughter have friends here. Why can’t Tanya stay with one of them until the sheriff gets back from Everett?”
“I guess I’ll ask her. Sorry to bother you.” Lori hung up.
I felt like an evil stepmother—a role it seemed like I was assuming. I hardly knew Tanya. When I’d hosted her for dinner, she’d been pleasant, if quiet. It was the first time I’d seen her in years. But my real concern was that I didn’t want Tanya alone at my house. If anything happened, I’d be responsible, and I couldn’t leave work to hold her hand. Surely Tricia could leave Tanya with a friend or wait to go back to Bellevue.
Leo and Mitch passed muster. Vida finished her advice letters and announced she’d call on Clarence Munn while she had some spare time. Still feeling guilty about Tanya, I called Lori to ask if Milo had returned.
“No,” she virtually whispered. “Mrs. Sellers asked Bill Blatt for a master key to get into the house, but Bill couldn’t do that without the boss’s permission. They’re going to try getting in through a window.”
“Oh, swell,” I groaned. “Let me know when the sheriff gets back.”
Lori promised she would and rang off. Maybe it wasn’t the last thing I needed, but it was the next thing that happened when Holly Gross stormed into the newsroom. She went straight to Leo, maybe because he’d shown her kindness earlier. If I’d had any sense, I would have closed the door and pretended I didn’t know what was happening. But instead I ventured into the newsroom.
“Come on, Walsh, you know frigging well where that old hag is,” Holly screeched. “I can tell when a guy’s lying to me. I’ll find her if I have to tear this town apart!”
Leo offered Holly a cigarette. She hesitated, but finally snatched the whole pack from him. “Well?” she said. “Gimme a light.”
He leaned across his desk and lighted the cigarette. “I told you, she’s on an assignment. Why do you want to see Mrs. Runkel?”
Holly exhaled. “You know damned well why I want to see her.” She swerved around to look at me. “So do you.” She darted a glance at Mitch for good measure. “You all do. I want my kid.”
“I’ve never seen your kid,” I said. “Why don’t you ask Roger?”
Holly deliberately blew smoke in my direction. “Because I can’t find the fat bastard, that’s why. I’ll bet he’s left town and taken Dippy with him. I went to the sheriff’s office yesterday and warned that squaw who works for him that if they didn’t find Dippy for me, I’d raise hell.”
“What squaw?” I asked.
Holly shot me a disgusted look. “The Indian who works for Dodge. Or does he call you his squaw?”
“Doe Jamison is part Muckleshoot. She’s not anybody’s squaw, she’s a deputy, and you better show her some respect. She’s your best ally right now. Leave Mrs. Runkel alone. You should be dealing with Roger. Unless,” I added, “you’re not sure if he is Dippy’s father.”
“Hey!” Holly yelled before taking the cigarette out of her mouth. It fell to the floor and bounced off one of her faux leather cowboy boots. “Watch it! You’re the one who’s shacked up with the sheriff!”
Leo stood up. I glimpsed Mitch out of the corner of my eye. He looked puzzled. I started to speak, but my ad manager beat me to it. “Take it easy, Holly. You’re all worked up. Come on, I’ll walk you to the sheriff’s office so you can talk to Deputy Jamison. You need to sort through this in a way that doesn’t involve pissing off a lot of blameless people. Unless,” he added, pausing as he started to put his jacket on, “you’d rather just raise hell and never see your kid again.”
As was her way, Holly lost steam in the face of rational behavior. “Okay, Walsh,” she said, retrieving the cigarette before it burned a hole in the floor. “I almost forgot you’re one of the good guys. There are damned few around here. Let’s hit it.”
Mitch and I watched as they exited the newsroom. I didn’t hear anything out of Amanda and guessed she’d retreated to the back shop with Kip. My reporter spoke first. “Is she nuts or just messed up?”
I sat down by Mitch’s desk. “Both. Leo’s right. We don’t know anything about Holly’s kid. Roger’s the only one who can sort this out.”
“I’ve never met him,” Mitch said. “I remember the trailer park mess, though. Roger was lucky to get off so cheap. Troy didn’t.”
“The situations were different. Roger provided solid information about the drug dealers and the trucker connection. From what you told me, Troy was operating on his own.”
Mitch nodded faintly. “Holly shouldn’t spread rumors about you and Dodge. That’s bad for your reputation. I saw way too much of that hand-in-glove back-door stuff between the press and law enforcement in Detroit. I never went for that. It violated my ethics.”
Mitch had a copy of the Advocate on his desk. I picked it up and turned to page three. “Read this,” I said, pointing to the engagements.
“Good God!” Mitch stared at me. “Why didn’t you say so?”
I made a helpless gesture. “Milo and I’ve been close since I moved here. He wanted to marry me ten years ago. I said no because of Tom Cavanaugh. You know that sad story. Except for a fling with Rolf Fisher from the AP, there never has been any other man in my life except Milo. We’ve always loved each other. I was just slow figuring it all out.”
Mitch hung his head. “You must hate me.”
“No. I did wonder why you never realized we were a couple. We got engaged just after Christmas, while you were gone. I had Vida hold back the announcement until all the snoops stopped pestering us. Milo and I both needed time to recover.”
Mitch was staring into space. “I should’ve guessed. No wonder Leo told me I should pull back on investigating Dodge. I thought maybe he and the sheriff were fishing buddies or something.”
“Leo doesn’t fish,” I said. “In fact, it took him a long time to realize that Milo is very good at what he does. The sheriff prefers that people don’t notice how he works. He’s very closemouthed when he’s investigating a homicide case. I had to learn that the hard way, too.”
Amanda appeared in the doorway. “Thank goodness Holly is gone. Did you throw her out?”
“Leo escorted her,” I said.
“Dodge is on hold for you,” she informed me.
“Okay,” I told her, then patted Mitch’s shoulder. “Don’t be upset. I’m glad you finally know I am shacked up with the sheriff.” I hurried to my phone.
“Where the hell were you?” Milo asked. “In the can?”
“Never mind. Has Holly arrived?”
“Yeah, with Leo. I’m barricaded in my office. Never mind that. Doe can handle it. I got the autopsy report. It’s what I thought. Pay attention and write this down. It’s s-u-x-a-m-e-t-h-o-n-i-u-m. Call it ‘sux’ for short. It’s a relatively new poison that can be missed if you’re not looking for it.”
“Wayne was poisoned?”
“You got it. Keep it to yourself for now. The full report won’t be in until tomorrow. I’m telling you because if I don’t spell it a few times, I won’t be able to say it out loud. Besides, you’re cuter than Fleetwood.”
“How in the world did you get on to that?”
“Because the electrocution thing didn’t make sense. You know I don’t like things that don’t fit. I’d seen something on TV about this stuff and it made me wonder. It’s administered where it can’t be noticed—like a mole. Eriks had one on his left shoulder. Now think about that and come up with one of your weird ideas about whodunit.”
“What’s going on with Tanya?”
I heard Milo sigh. “I don’t know what the hell to do, but I’ve got to do it now. I can’t abandon her. We’ll talk later.” He hung up.
I couldn’t pass the poisoning news on to Mitch until it was official. I hoped that would be by the time he checked the Thursday log. I asked him to call the clinic to see if Patti Marsh had been hospitalized.
“Who exactly is she?” my reporter asked.
I sighed. “Blackwell’s longtime squeeze. I suspect he beat her up just for the hell of it. Tiffany’s not around to take his abuse. If, in fact, he doled some out to her just to show he isn’t playing favorites.”
Mitch frowned. “You don’t like Blackwell, either, do you?”
“No, and it’s not because of Milo. I’ve always been wary of that guy. He may run a respectable mill, but he’s way too oily for my taste.”
“Okay.” Mitch shrugged. “I’ll withhold judgment for now.”
“That’s fine. But check on Patti. She’s kind of pathetic.”
Half an hour later, Vida returned from RestHaven with Rosalie Reed in tow. “Dr. Reed and I have had a most pleasant visit,” she said as the two women stood in my office. “She’s on her way to a dental appointment with Dr. Starr and thought she’d come by to say hello.”
I was on guard. The visit struck me as suspect. But I offered Dr. Reed a chair. Vida beamed at us before heading to her desk.
Rosalie seemed composed, but her eyes darted this way and that before she spoke. “I hope I’m not intruding. Mrs. Runkel was so kind to offer to let me see how a small-town newspaper operates. I’m still adapting to life away from an urban environment. She insisted that Wednesdays are a downtime after your weekly publication.”
“Kip MacDuff, my back-shop manager, can give you the tour,” I said. I couldn’t remember anyone except the sixth-grade class from Alpine Elementary coming to see what went on at the Advocate. Most of them had been bored and fidgety, except for a couple of boys who asked how Kip had gotten an autographed baseball from Ken Griffey Jr. “Was somebody in your family involved in newspaper work?”
“My uncle was a reporter for the Spokesman-Review,” Rosalie replied. “He covered business and agriculture in the Spokane area.”
“Oh. The Inland Empire beat,” I noted.
“A very important beat on that side of the mountains,” Rosalie said. “It must be exciting … no, that’s a regrettable word.” She grimaced. “I should say a break in routine to have a puzzling death to write about. I haven’t had time to see today’s edition, but I had to answer some questions the sheriff posed. Fascinating, in a way.”
“The questions? Or the answers?”
She laughed—sort of. “It was like a film or TV. ‘Where were you …?’ ‘Droll’ describes it better. Not that I let any amusement show. The sheriff seems rather stern. I thought it prudent not to be flippant.”
I nodded. “Dodge goes by the book.”
“Yes. I found him rather interesting. Very macho, if you like that type. But not the sort of macho who flaunts it. Then again, it’s hard to categorize people at a first meeting.”
I was wondering where this conversation was going. It had certainly strayed from putting out a weekly newspaper. “I’m sure you answered his questions satisfactorily,” I said.
She shrugged. “Frankly, I couldn’t account for my time to the minute. There was the storm, a first for me in the mountains. I’ve lived in the Seattle area long enough to experience bad weather, but one feels more insulated in an urban setting. There’s something raw about storms in primitive surroundings. Our psych ward patients became quite agitated. Oh!” She suddenly clapped a hand to her cheek. “I just realized where I was—with a patient who was disoriented by the thunder. It reminded him of combat in the first Gulf War. How could I forget that? Should I tell the sheriff? I can’t reveal the patient’s name, but … Dodge, isn’t it?” She saw me nod. “He wouldn’t need to know that, would he?”
“I can’t speak for the sheriff, but if you had to identify the person, the sheriff wouldn’t have Spencer Fleetwood broadcast it over KSKY.”
Rosalie’s pale face turned slightly pink. “No, of course not. That is, the sheriff wouldn’t do that.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, it’s going on three. I don’t want to be late for my dental appointment. Then I have to make rounds. How late is the sheriff’s office open?”
“Dodge is usually there until at least five,” I said.
Rosalie stood up. “I can’t believe how the afternoon has flown. Thanks so much for your time. I must take the tour another day. We should have dinner together soon.”
I murmured an appropriate response but didn’t get up. Rosalie Reed might be a fine psychiatrist, but she was a lousy actress. Her role as a forgetful shrink hadn’t played well with me. It was the first thing I said when Vida entered my office a few minutes after my visitor had left.
“I wondered,” Vida said, sitting down. “She accosted me as I was getting out of my car. It was as if she’d been lurking by the cleaners. She knew I’d been to see Clarence Munn.”
“How was Clarence?” I asked.
Vida frowned. “He rambled. Oh, he talked about his mill, but he mentioned so much else. Logging was still the mainstay in SkyCo then. I was in my teens when Clarence came here. He was young, mid-twenties, but his father owned a mill near Forks on the Olympic Peninsula and one by Port Townsend. Clarence wanted to strike out on his own. It was right after World War Two and Clarence had just gotten out of the Coast Guard.” She paused. “Dear me, I’m rattling along, just like Clarence.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Even after all these years, I don’t know as much as I should about Alpine’s history.”
“I wasn’t born until just after Carl Clemans closed the original mill,” Vida continued. “Mr. Clemans was an exemplary owner. He ran his business like a gentleman. But some of the owners who followed him in later years were of another sort. So were many of the loggers and mill workers. The Great Depression, you know. Men desperate for work, and not always able to bring their families with them—if they had families. I was a child in those days, but I heard some wild and woolly tales.”
I could imagine a pint-sized version of Vida, a cowgirl hat or a sombrero on her head, listening at keyholes and outside open windows, soaking up every bit of information that came her way. It was more than likely that she retained all of it to the present day. “I assume you’re referring to liquor and women and maybe other vices?”
Vida grimaced. “Yes. The worst, however, were the accidents. There was carelessness and a lack of safety precautions. The workers were often risk takers, but the timber industry has always attracted the bold and the reckless. That’s what Clarence alluded to. Even after the war, some of the vices remained—not in the town, but around the edges.”
“Would this have been while Eeeny Moroni was sheriff?”
“Eeeny—the old fool—wasn’t sheriff until the fifties, though he’d worked as a deputy after he got out of the army. He erased some of the corruption, which was how he kept getting reelected for thirty-odd years. But according to Clarence, Eeeny turned a blind eye to some illicit doings and was on the take. Has Milo mentioned anything like that to you?”
“Never,” I replied. “Up until Eeeny got into trouble a year or so after I came to town, Milo always had nothing but respect for his predecessor.”
Vida nodded. “I was never taken with Eeeny—he was so full of himself—but I didn’t think he was a crook. Clarence feels otherwise. He insists Eeeny took money to ignore a brothel on First Hill. Neeny Doukas, Eeeny’s close friend, was involved, too. There may’ve been gambling at the old Alpine Hotel, and not everything that went on at the ski lodge was above reproach. That would’ve been after my father-in-law passed away, of course. Rufus Runkel wouldn’t have put up with such shenanigans. He virtually saved the town by promoting the new skiing fad early on.”
“How was all this resolved? I’ve never heard anything about it.”
“The curtailment of logging put an end to it. I suppose that’s why Milo never knew about it. He didn’t start at the sheriff’s office until after he returned from Vietnam and finished his criminal justice degree.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Somehow it seems so long ago. Is there any point in dredging up all this for an article?”
Vida’s gray eyes sparked as she stared at me. “If what Clarence has told me is true, the answer is yes. Oh, Eeeny died in prison several years ago, and Neeny is in a nursing home. But it’s the third person who was involved that the public needs to know about.” She took a deep breath. “You haven’t asked the obvious question, Emma.”
I stared right back, puzzled. “Which is?”
“Why didn’t the press expose this corruption?” She sat up straight again. “The answer is because the person running the whole sorry show was Marius Vandeventer.”
I gaped at Vida. “Marius was a crook?”
She nodded. “He was if I can believe Clarence. I never guessed, not even when I worked for him. That’s why I wonder if Clarence is fanciful. But he insisted it’s true. He is, after all, a fellow Presbyterian.”
“No wonder Marius was anxious to get out of town,” I murmured. “Oddly enough, Milo and I were just talking about my predecessor. But I still have to ask what good it would do. Marius is dead, too.”
“You’d prefer that Clarence tell his story to someone else? He and Marius were very close, almost like father and son.”
“I have to think on it,” I said. “There are descendants to consider, and one of them is a lawyer—Simon Doukas. I don’t want to get sued, especially by that guy. He was the first one in town to call me a whore.”
“Hypocrite,” Vida murmured. “Wasn’t he having an affair with Heather Bardeen at the time?”
“Yes. She’s young enough to be his daughter. At least Heather finally settled into married life.”
“Losing her mother so young sent Heather briefly off the rails,” Vida remarked absently. “Buck is very fond of his niece.” She stood up. “I assume I didn’t miss anything here while I was at RestHaven.”
“Well …” There was no point in evasion. Bill Blatt would tell his aunt about Holly Gross’s demands. “We had a visitor. Holly came back looking for you. Leo took her to talk to Doe Jamison.”
Vida’s eyes were liked gooseberries behind her big glasses. “And?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know anything else. We suggested Holly talk to Roger. Maybe that’s what she’s doing now.”
“No, she isn’t,” Vida declared. “Roger is in Bellingham with Meg. He’s rethinking the resumption of his college education and wanted to spend some time on the Western Washington University campus. His old chum Davin Rhodes is still there, finishing his degree.”
“That’s … good,” I said.
“Yes. He’s still considering a career in theater.”
Of the absurd, I thought. But I smiled as Vida returned to the newsroom. Roger, I assumed, was probably sacked out at Meg’s house—with Diddy or Dippy or whatever the poor tyke was called.
Leo didn’t return until after four. Vida grilled him about Holly’s visit to the sheriff’s office, but Leo insisted he’d left immediately. I felt his flight was the better part of valor. I did wonder if Roger had taken a paternity test. I also wondered if he cared enough to bother.
Mitch had gotten word of Patti Marsh’s condition. She had two broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and multiple bruises. Vida was miffed. “What’s wrong with Marje Blatt? She usually keeps her aunt informed. Did Patti accuse Jack of beating her?”
“No mention of anybody,” Mitch said. “Patti stuck to her story.”
“She might be telling the truth,” I said. “The sprained ankle could indicate she fell. Had she been drinking?”
Mitch looked taken aback. “I didn’t ask. That seems like an intrusive question. I thought you wanted to know about her injuries.”
“I did, but—”
Vida interrupted me. “See here, Mitch, this isn’t Detroit—thank goodness. This is Alpine, and we take an interest in each other. Some might call it being nosy, but that’s not so. There are people we may not like or admire, but we are interested in their well-being. Have you no curiosity about your fellow human beings?”
“Only as background for a story,” Mitch replied. “Otherwise, it’s irrelevant. And nosy.”
Vida rose from her chair, her eyes impaling Mitch across the room. “You’ve been here a very short time. You don’t understand small-town ways. Cities are anonymous and impersonal. My own daughter Beth admits that after almost twenty years in Tacoma she doesn’t know half the people on her block. What does that say about a sense of community? I may despise Patti’s lifestyle, but if she sought my help, I’d be willing to offer it. And I’d be able to help her because I know her.”
Mitch finally managed to avert his gaze. “Fine. I’m a city guy. The private lives of people I covered wouldn’t be just a drawback—I’d lose objectivity. Besides, city dwellers are jammed into their neighborhoods, crowded on their streets. They need their privacy. I’m trying to adapt, but I’ll be damned if I’ll pry into somebody’s personal life unless it’s pertinent to the story I’m covering. Patti’s not a story, she’s an accident victim.”
Vida sat down. “You’re entitled to your opinion. But mind your language.” She turned to her keyboard and began typing at warp speed.
The workday finally ran down. I headed to the Grocery Basket. This week’s ad featured lamb chops on sale at seven bucks a pound. I mulled whether Milo would want two or three. He always griped that they were too small. Wincing, I asked for four. At least they were thick. I was in the produce section checking out early asparagus when a dark-haired woman I didn’t recognize called my name from two bins away.
“You don’t know me,” she said, smiling. “Betsy O’Toole told me where to find you. I’m Kay Burns.” She offered her hand. “I wanted to thank you for the fine job you people did on the RestHaven edition.”
“You’re in P.R.,” I said, returning her firm grip. “Mitch Laskey told me he’d been working with you. I hope all of you are pleased.”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk with everybody, but I’m sure they are,” Kay said. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“Go ahead. If I won’t answer it, don’t be offended.”
She smiled again. “I understand. I noticed in the paper that you’re engaged to the sheriff. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering how personal this was going to get.
“You may not know I was married briefly to Dwight Gould,” Kay said, her smile disappearing. “That was before you lived here. Anyway, I felt it would be wrong to move here and not get in touch with him. I called the sheriff’s office today, but the receptionist said Dwight wasn’t in and she wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I tried to reach him at home—he still lives out on Burl Creek Road in the house where we lived together—but he didn’t answer. Then I phoned his sister, Kay—or Kiki, as she’s called—but she … well, she doesn’t like me.” Kay paused and pursed her lips. “She wouldn’t tell me anything. Is Dwight ill?”
I wouldn’t reveal Dwight’s suspension, so I hedged. “He’s fine as far as I know. He may have gone fishing.”
Kay looked faintly incredulous. “In this weather? I’m a native. I know when the river’s too high and off-color. Not even Dwight would do that.” She paused again, this time to let a young couple with two children get by us. “This may sound silly, but I’m worried about him. Could you ask the sheriff if he’s all right?”
“Sure,” I said, “but I’ve seen Dwight recently and he seemed fine.”
Kay nodded once. “Good. But I’m still concerned. People can have health problems that aren’t caused by disease.”
“You mean … an accident?”
She avoided my gaze. “Maybe. I should finish my shopping. It was nice meeting you.” She pushed her grocery cart back toward the tomatoes.
I got home at five-thirty. It was going on six when the phone rang.
“I’m stuck,” Milo said, sounding unhappy. “I couldn’t talk Tanya out of staying here at the house, and Mulehide just took off.”
I didn’t respond right away. “Why don’t you bring her here? If you can spare a lamb chop, I can feed her. You both have to eat.”
It was his turn not to say anything for a moment. “I’ll see if she can cope with that, okay? I’ll call you back.”
I stood by the sink, hanging my head and silently cussing. I really didn’t blame Tanya. But I’d waited my entire adult life to be happy with a man I loved, and now it seemed there was one damned obstacle after another. Yes, I’d fouled up my relationship with Milo for years, but at least I’d finally come to my senses. I knew life wasn’t fair, but I felt hexed. I was fifty-two years old. Maybe this was payback for my delusions about Tom and my folly with Rolf. I thought about what Ben would tell me. He’d say it served me right—but I still didn’t deserve it. Life is random, not dictated by God.
It was ten minutes before Milo called back. “She’ll come. I had to coax her out of the bathroom. At least she didn’t have any pills.”
“Good,” I said, awash with relief. It was a small victory and eased the lingering guilt I felt for not letting Tanya take refuge at my own house. “I hope she likes asparagus.”
“See you in a bit. Tanya has to get herself together.”
“That’s fine. I haven’t started dinner.” I had a sudden thought. “Milo—why don’t you put the house up for sale now?”
There was a brief silence at the other end. “It needs work. But that’s not your weirdest idea. A For Sale sign in the front yard might be motivation.” He hung up.
It was going on seven before the sheriff and his daughter arrived. I’d put the potatoes on the stove to boil and had the lamb chops ready to go under the broiler in the oven. I’d steam the asparagus, which would take only a few minutes. I knew Tanya preferred wine, so I got out an unopened bottle of Merlot that I had on hand for my bridge club.
I stood at the front window watching Tanya come out from around the Yukon’s passenger side. She was wearing a brown hooded car coat and had her head down to avoid the heavy rain. She walked slowly, carefully, as if she thought the ground might swallow her. Milo had loped on ahead, but stopped to go back and take her arm. He looked more like a son helping his mother than a father guiding his daughter. Tanya seemed to have deteriorated since I’d seen her less than three weeks ago.
I met them at the door. Up close, she appeared more like herself. She was almost pretty, a tall, more angular version of how her mother might have looked as a young woman. Except for the sandy hair, she bore no resemblance to her father. Of the three children, only Brandon took after Milo. He wasn’t as tall or as broad as Milo, and though he had hazel eyes, they didn’t have the intensity of his father’s. The sheriff’s gaze revealed his every emotion—unless he didn’t want a witness or suspect to know what he was thinking. Even I couldn’t read him then.
Milo leaned down and brushed my lips with a quick kiss. “Tanya says she isn’t hungry. I told her you could change her mind.”
“I’ll try,” I said, smiling. “Here, Tanya, I’ll help with your coat.”
Tanya mutely submitted to my assistance. Milo took the coat and hung it next to his. “Lamb chops, right?” he said, to break the silence.
“Yes.” I turned to Tanya. “Do you like Merlot?”
She nodded—and finally spoke. “I do. Thanks.”
“Good,” I said. “Come out to the kitchen and let your dad collapse. He’s had a busy day with his trip over to Everett.”
“Is that where he went?” she asked, trailing me like a lost waif.
“He had to get an autopsy report on Wayne Eriks. Do you know the family? Their daughter, Tiffany, is about your age.”
“Tiffany Eriks.” Tanya studied the wine bottle. “Yes, I think she was in the class ahead of me. She had a brother who was a little older.”
“He was killed in a rafting accident. Maybe that happened after you moved to Bellevue.”
Tanya looked mildly surprised. “I guess so. I don’t remember it.”
I got out a wine goblet and two cocktail glasses. “The corkscrew’s in that drawer to your right. You want to do the honors?”
“Okay.” She opened the drawer but seemed to have trouble finding the corkscrew. Not that I blamed her. As Milo often pointed out, I’m not organized. I rarely use the corkscrew except when I host bridge club.
“It’s in there somewhere,” I said.
Tanya found the damned thing just as I finished pouring her father’s Scotch. To my relief, she deftly removed the cork and managed to pour the wine without spilling it—something I might not have achieved. I made my own drink and lifted my glass to her. “To better days. For all of us. I’m glad you’re here, Tanya.” To my astonishment, I meant it.
“Thanks,” she said as we clicked glasses. For a second our eyes met. A glint of tears shone in hers. I put my arm around her. Tanya leaned against me, then pulled away with what seemed like reluctance.
We moved out to the living room. Milo was in the easy chair, looking as if he’d been about to nod off. “The barmaids,” he said, stretching his long arms. “Want me to build a fire?”
“Sure,” I said, indicating that Tanya should sit on the sofa. I handed him his drink. I realized I hadn’t turned on the broiler or the stove, but it’d take that long for Milo to get the fire going and finish his drink. I sat next to Tanya in my usual spot. “Hey,” I said to Milo’s back as he stuffed newspaper into the grate, “any word from Dwight?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think he misses me.”
“Kay’s trying to find him.”
The sheriff turned to look at me over his shoulder. “The hell she is,” he said. “How do you know that?”
I explained about meeting her at the Grocery Basket. “She’s worried about him.”
Milo finished adding kindling and a couple of cedar logs before setting off the newspaper. “After twenty-five years?” he said, standing up.
“I remember Dwight,” Tanya said. “Doesn’t he look like a frog?”
“He’s no prince,” her father said, sitting down. “Why the hell is Kay worried? Something’s up.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, but she really seemed concerned.”
Milo fingered his long chin. “Money? Didn’t you say she’s got a P.R. job at RestHaven? They must pay well.”
“It was like she thought something had happened to him,” I said.
The sheriff shook his head. “Nothing ever happens to Dwight. He likes it that way.”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “she’s heard about the threats to Blackwell’s life and thinks Dwight’s finally getting even.”
Milo scowled at me. “You’re in fantasyland.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I went out to the kitchen to start the chops and the potatoes. I overheard Milo ask Tanya if she was going to look for a job in Alpine. I couldn’t hear her answer, but by the time I returned to the living room, her father was suggesting she check out the community college. “It’s the state, so they may have some money to spare,” he said.
She shook her head. “I had enough of college life. I wouldn’t want to deal with students.”
“I suppose you could start doing stuff around the house,” Milo said after a pause. “I’m putting it up for sale soon.”
“Dad!” Tanya cried. “You can’t do that! It’s home.”
The sheriff scowled. “Not for me. It hasn’t been your home since 1985. I have to unload the place to help pay for the remodel here. Don’t get excited. The market’s slow right now due to the recession. It could take months. You and Bran and Mike still have stuff downstairs.”
Tanya looked puzzled. “You mean from when we lived here?”
Milo nodded. “Mostly toys and games, but I never threw that stuff out. I thought for a while you guys might still want it when you came here to visit.” He sounded slightly wistful.
“I guess we outgrew it,” Tanya murmured.
“Donate it to the Salvation Army,” Milo said. “They’ve got a bin in the Safeway parking lot.”
“Maybe I’ll look. I can’t push myself,” Tanya continued after a generous sip of wine. “My psychiatrist told me it takes years to get over the kind of thing I’ve been through.” She finally looked at me. “Did Dad tell you I have post-traumatic stress disorder?”
I caught Milo’s uneasy expression. If he’d mentioned PTSD to me, I’d forgotten it in the muddle that had been my own life in recent weeks. “That’s difficult to deal with,” I said. “I assume your psychiatrist has given you good advice about how to cope with it so you can move on.”
“He’s not a specialist in PTSD,” Tanya replied. “He gave me a referral to someone on the Eastside, but by the time Mom and I got back from Hawaii, the doctor had moved out of the area. That’s just as well. I wanted to move out of the area, too.”
Milo had taken a puff on his cigarette and exhaled. “I thought you told me that part of the treatment was to slowly relive the cause.”
“That’s true,” Tanya agreed, looking at her father before turning back to me. “It’s cognitive behavioral therapy, but it has to be taken very gradually and very slowly. I’m not ready yet to do that. I’m still dealing with the part that requires identifying the stress points of the trauma itself to figure out exactly which thoughts are genuine and which might be distorted or irrational.” She glanced back at Milo. “I thought you understood that.”
“Sorry, honey,” he said, putting out his cigarette. “You know I’m not up on all that shrink stuff.”
His daughter shifted uneasily on the sofa. “It’s not ‘stuff,’ Dad. It’s therapy. What would help is if you and Mom would sit in on the sessions when I finally find someone who can treat me.”
Milo took a deep drink of Scotch. “Unless they’ve got somebody at RestHaven, you won’t find anybody around here. Hell, most law enforcements have their own shrinks. SkyCo can’t afford that. In fact, we’ve never had one in the whole county until now.”
“That’s okay. I’m not ready to deal with anything more than sorting through my memories and thoughts. That could take months.”
I didn’t dare look at the sheriff. Instead, I stood up and announced I had to check on dinner. I caught most of their conversation, which somehow had switched to his other children. Brandon and Solange had been living together for a year and were considering marriage. Michelle’s partner was a surgical nurse at the Shriners Hospital for Children in Portland. I’d done a series on the facility for The Oregonian some twenty years earlier. A flood of memories overcame me as I mashed the potatoes. I wondered how I’d managed all those years, trying to juggle my job with single parenthood. Maybe I’d never had time to think about it, but it hadn’t been easy. The only other thing I heard Tanya say was that she wished her father wouldn’t smoke.
We got through dinner without any more references to Tanya’s emotional problems except for her telling us she was now on Prozac and that it would take some time before she could tell if it was helping her. Dessert was chocolate chip ice cream. We lingered briefly at the table before Milo announced a little after eight that they’d better head to his house. I noticed he didn’t say “home.”
Tanya thanked me and said she hoped she would see me again. Milo gave me another quick kiss. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I knew I’d see the reflection of my own dejected state. And then they were gone, their figures blurred by the rain. Tom’s two orphaned children had wanted no part of me. Tanya had a mother, so she didn’t need me, either. And I had no magical powers as a fairy godmother. The only way I could make myself useful was to clean up the kitchen and try to stop feeling more sorry for myself than I did for Tanya.