I WANTED TO TALK TO BEN, BUT IT WAS AFTER TEN ON THE DELTA. Probably too late, if my brother had gotten up to say Mass. I considered phoning Vida, but she would pontificate at length about Tanya’s lack of spunk, which would be worthless. And annoying.
I thought of calling Adam, but the connection was always so uncertain in his remote Alaskan village. I could email him—it was only six in St. Mary’s Igloo. But typing my woes had no appeal. It’d sound like one of the letters Vida received for her advice column.
By nine o’clock I’d tried to distract myself by cleaning out Adam’s closet. I was debating about giving away the snorkeling gear Adam had used in Hawaii when my doorbell sounded. Feeling uneasy, I asked my caller’s identity.
“Your archrival,” Spencer Fleetwood said in his mellow voice. “Is the coast clear for our weekly rendezvous?”
“You jackass,” I said, opening the door. “You must’ve noticed that the sheriff’s Yukon wasn’t parked outside.”
“I certainly did,” he said, brushing rain off his latest top-of-the-line all-weather jacket. “I wouldn’t admit to him that I’m escaping the clutches of a would-be seductress.”
“It’s not me,” I said. “Who are you talking about?”
“May I?” he asked, indicating the easy chair after removing the jacket and hanging it on the peg that Milo usually used.
I almost said no, but relented. “Go ahead. But that chair—like its owner—belongs to Dodge.”
“You needn’t remind me,” Spence said, sitting down. “I don’t suppose you’d care to offer me an adult beverage?”
“Why not? I could use one myself. What’ll it be?”
“A simple brew. Dark ale, if you have it.”
“I’ve got Henry Weinhard. Stay put. I assume you want a glass.”
“Please. I guess Dodge to be a bottle man. Do you find me effete?”
“You’re a lot of things, but not that,” I said over my shoulder as I entered the kitchen.
It didn’t take long to pour my Canadian whiskey into a clean glass and add a couple of ice cubes. I opened the Henry’s but would let Spence pour it himself. I never could get the head right on beer.
“Thank you,” Spence said, his dark eyes twinkling. “It’s a pity you aren’t the one who’s trying to seduce me. But then you never did.”
“Gosh, I can’t think why not,” I said, sitting down on the sofa. “Maybe it’s because you always annoy me so much.”
“I thought you thrived on antagonism.” He carefully poured out his beer and, of course, achieved the perfect amount of foam. “Well? Where’s your famous curiosity? And by the way, may I remark that you look like you’ve been through the mill, as Vida would say? Don’t tell me you and the beastly sheriff had a spat.”
“We did not,” I declared. “So who’s the temptress?”
Spence looked genuinely put off. “Kay Burns, RestHaven’s P.R. person. An attractive woman of a certain age, but I’m immune. I believe she has a history, though I didn’t care to ask her about it. I figured that if anyone knew about her, it’d be you.”
“Vida knows more than I do—as usual.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t driving by her house on my way home.”
“I’ll give you the short version. I never met Kay until this evening.”
“Maybe I should’ve gone to Vida’s,” Spence murmured into his glass. “Ms. Burns’s history must go back a long way.”
“It does,” I said, and proceeded to fill in Spence. “By any chance, did she ask you about husband number one, Dwight Gould?”
“I’m still reeling from the information that Gould was ever anybody’s husband,” Spence said. “It’s bad enough that she was married to Blackwell. He’s the one she dwelled on, seeming very curious about what he’s up to these days.”
“Maybe that’s because Tiffany paid Kay a call at RestHaven.”
Spence looked startled. “I thought Tiffany was missing.”
“She is. That’s what makes it interesting.”
He ran a finger down his hawk-like nose. “This becomes very complicated. Maybe Kay wasn’t lusting after my body.”
“I already heard you two were an item.”
“You did?” He grimaced. “When?”
“A few days ago. I was told Kay thought you were a real stud. Maybe I misheard and it was a real dud.”
Spence ignored my jab, which was fine. I felt a touch of remorse. He had been a comfort during the Bellevue hostage crisis and had kept me from going crazy. “Payback,” he’d called it, as I’d been there for him during a family crisis of his own. If we weren’t exactly friends, we were at least companions-in-arms.
“I think,” he said at last, “that Kay suspects Blackwell may have killed Wayne Eriks. Or so I gathered when she wasn’t rubbing my leg with hers and allowing her breasts to brush against my arm.”
“Wow. Where were you? Guzzling beer at the Icicle Creek Tavern?”
“No, I was having dinner at the Venison Inn in the bar, being alone and wanting to stay that way. She joined me. Uninvited.”
“What makes you think she’s fingering Blackwell for Eriks’s death?”
“Tiffany, of course. Wayne wasn’t happy when his daughter moved in with Jack. Then daughter runs away. Maybe Wayne threatened Blackwell first. Who knows? Tiffany didn’t take off until after her father was dead.”
The scenario was credible. “If Milo had any evidence against Blackwell, he’d haul him in. No love lost there, either. But I’ll be honest—the sheriff hasn’t mentioned Jack as a suspect.”
“Knowing Dodge, that means he has no evidence.”
“True,” I admitted.
“You don’t seem evasive,” Spence said after lighting one of his expensive black cigarettes. “Thus I gather that even in the throes of passion, Dodge doesn’t reveal how his mind is working about a case.”
“His mind is otherwise occupied,” I said.
“I’m sure it is.” Spence gazed at the ceiling. “The method of murder—if it was murder—doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“I know,” I said, but I wouldn’t reveal that Milo had discovered otherwise. I refused to get scooped in my own living room. Mr. Radio and I would have to wait for the formal announcement. But of course Spence didn’t know that was going to happen.
“Where is the sheriff?” Spence asked. “Or dare I inquire?”
“Coping with his daughter Tanya.” That was no secret on the grapevine. “She says she has PTSD.”
“Good Lord,” Spence said. “And you don’t after what you and Dodge went through?”
“Guess not,” I said, “unless it’s contagious.”
“You’re both made of sterner stuff.”
“So are you.”
Spence smiled. His expression seemed genuine. “I hope so. I wasn’t in very good shape at the time, though.”
“But you got through it.”
“I did. You helped.” He took a deep drink from his glass. “Kay’s version about who killed Eriks—assuming he was murdered—has merit.”
“Blackwell’s an easy villain,” I said. “You were at RestHaven about the time Wayne died. Did you see anything?”
If the veiled query about his presence near the murder scene jarred Spence, he did a good job of concealing it. “I was checking the sound setup for the remote broadcast. When I left, Eriks must’ve still been there. I saw his PUD van. It was raining like hell and I didn’t linger.” He grimaced. “Damn, if my timing had been better, I might’ve been an eyewitness. Wouldn’t you have been green with envy?”
“I’d have hoped you’d been struck by lightning,” I said. “Then I could’ve gotten a double scoop.”
“You are crass,” Spence declared. “I like it. It makes me feel better about myself.” He finished his beer and put out his cigarette. “As enchanting as I always find your company, I must go. I shall remain on guard against any further attempts on my virtue by Ms. Burns. Frankly, her taste in men is otherwise deplorable.”
I’d stood up, too. “Maybe the other husbands weren’t as awful.”
Spence put on his all-weather jacket. “I hope so. You look frazzled,” he said seriously. “Are you having doubts about Dodge?”
My head jerked up. “No!”
Spence grinned. “I guess that answers the question. Therefore, I must conjecture that he’s not worrying you, but the daughter’s worrying him. Has she returned to Dad’s nest for the duration?”
“Go away, Spence.”
“Okay.” He opened the door. “God, I’m glad I never had children.” He exited into the rain, which had made small rivulets in my driveway. I was almost sorry to see him go. If nothing else, despite being a phony most of the time, he was basically real. That might not make sense to anybody else, but it did to me. Maybe it was because we were both in the same business, earning a living off other people’s miseries. It made our own seem more bearable.
I went to bed around eleven, but I couldn’t sleep. I stopped glancing at the digital clock shortly before one. I must’ve drifted off not long after that, given that I was awakened by the alarm at 6:45, the time that Milo got up on workdays while I lingered in bed, waiting for him to get out of the bathroom.
I went through my routine like a zombie. Never alert until after I reached the office, it took me twice as long to do even the simplest of tasks. In the shower, I’d turned on the cold water and forgotten to turn on the hot tap. That should have woken me up, but it only made me mad. I got a piece of bread stuck in the toaster and had to upend the blasted thing to get it out. By the time I went to my car, I wondered if I could drive without running over somebody. At least the rain had stopped, though the gray clouds matched my mood.
“Good morning,” Amanda said in her chipper voice when I somehow arrived at the Advocate without a mishap. “Or maybe it’s not,” she amended, seeing my sour face.
“It’s not,” I said, trying to smile. “But I’ll live.”
Leo apparently had gotten to work just ahead of me. He was taking off his jacket when I entered the newsroom. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I said, but paused at his desk. “Tanya’s back at Milo’s house, so he’s not at mine. Maybe I’m a selfish, horrible person.”
He lit a cigarette and offered me one. I took it, not seeing any sign of Vida. “No, you’re not,” Leo said. “You’re frustrated. Does Dodge feel guilty about this? I mean,” he went on, “I did. Not lately, but my kids were still in their teens when Liza tossed me out. They had problems at school, did minor drugs, shoplifted, got in with bad company. I was here, not there. They never went to jail or went nuts. But I blamed myself.”
“You never told me about any of that.”
Leo shrugged. “Neither did Liza until after the fact. I still felt guilty. Turns out she did, too.”
Mitch entered and stopped short before actually stepping into the newsroom. “Hi,” he said. “What’s up?”
I shook my head. “You don’t want to know. Boss brings family troubles to work.” I glanced at Vida’s vacant chair. “It’s contagious.”
Mitch proceeded to his desk and nodded. “I know. I’ve got a case of it, too. I have to leave early tomorrow to catch a flight to Pittsburgh. I’m bringing Brenda home with me. I should be back at work Monday.”
My reporter’s problems distracted me from my own. “I hope that turns out well for both of you,” I said. “When do you leave?”
“The flight’s at five, so I’ll have to get out of here around one,” he replied. “I should have everything wrapped up by then.”
“That’s fine. Really, I wish you good luck.”
“Thanks, Emma.” His own smile was as feeble as my own.
Leo went over to get his coffee. “Vida has the bakery run. I hope she’s still on the job. Hey, babe—meant to tell you your editorial was good. It should hit home with some of the people around here.”
I’d forgotten all about my first attempt at putting Fuzzy’s plan in motion. “Thanks. I’m thinking of a series. Maybe find some ways to reorganize how the town and the county operate. If anybody’s got an idea, let me know. We need to change how we raise funds. I imagine the storm caused some damage.” I looked at Mitch. “You’re doing a follow-up?”
He nodded. “I can wind that up today. The heavy rain last night may’ve caused more problems. I’ll check after I see the sheriff’s log.”
He’d barely finished speaking when Vida burst onto the premises. I hurriedly put out my cigarette. Luckily, she didn’t notice, being absorbed in the presentation of the bakery box she was carrying. “The Upper Crust’s ad had some new items, Leo. You should’ve told us in advance.”
Leo looked puckish. “Why? You don’t read the paper, Duchess?”
“Fie on you, Leo,” she said, opening the box. “ ‘Advance’ means before publication, you ninny. I have croissants with cream cheese filling, red velvet cupcakes, filled florentines—though I’m not sure what they’re filled with—and a selection of petit fours.”
“Hey,” Leo said, “you must’ve blown up the monthly bakery fund.”
Vida shook her head, which was adorned by a green hat with a long pheasant feather that looked as if Robin Hood should be wearing it. “My treat for missing an entire day.”
Mitch and Leo began to plunder the baked goods. I let them go at it while I went to my office. A few minutes later I plucked up a cream cheese croissant. It was delicious.
Mitch hadn’t returned by nine-thirty, so I couldn’t ask him if the sheriff was at work. Just before ten Milo appeared. He greeted Vida perfunctorily, got some coffee and a cupcake, and came into my office. He closed the door. I could imagine Vida seething in the newsroom.
“I had to bring Tanya to work with me.”
“How come?”
He’d taken a bite of cupcake and waited to swallow it. “This is breakfast, by the way. Tanya was too nervous to stay alone. She’d had the nightmares again. When she was up here before, she stopped having them after about three days. It was a long night and a short sleep.”
“Poor you. Poor Tanya.”
Milo lifted one broad shoulder. “Maybe she’ll stop doing it after another night or so. I called Doc this morning and she’s going to see him at eleven. Tanya likes Doc. She can do that on her own. I don’t know if he can help, but I want his opinion. Hell, he’s known her since the day she was born. He delivered her, one of his first babies.” He polished off the cupcake and gave me a close look. “Are you okay?”
“Just worried.” I reached out to touch his hand. “I feel worthless. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah,” he said, a faint spark in his eyes, “but not here. This place is small and so cluttered we’d probably have to ask Vida to untangle us.”
I laughed—which felt good. “You can’t bring Tanya with you every day. She stayed alone before.”
Milo nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping for. But she can’t just sit on her ass. There’s plenty for her to do around the house. The first time, she mostly watched TV all day.”
“Hey,” I said, feeling almost human, “Mitch is going back to collect Brenda tomorrow. Maybe she and Tanya can watch each other. He’s already said he can’t leave her alone.”
“Shit.” Milo shook his head. “What’s wrong with all these people? It’s getting to the point that Crazy Eights Neffel seems normal. I hardly noticed on my way here that he was wearing an Uncle Sam outfit and saluting the Sears catalog office.”
“Maybe that’s where he got the Uncle Sam outfit.”
Milo grinned and squeezed my hand. “God, Emma, what would I do without you? I feel better already. Will you marry me?”
“I already told you I would. Did you forget?”
“No.” He turned serious, but he kept hold of my hand. “I mean right away. If we file the application today, we can get married Monday or Tuesday. At least that’ll keep Mulehide from insisting we’re not serious.”
“Tuesday’s pub day,” I said.
“So? It’ll only take about ten minutes.”
I hesitated. “Sure. We could honeymoon in the back shop.”
“That sounds about right. I’m glad you’re not very romantic.”
“Neither are you, big guy. Romance is highly overrated, as I found out to my sorrow.”
He let go of my hand and got to his feet. “May I kiss the bride?”
I giggled. “Yes.” I got to my feet and fell into his arms. He kissed me, a long, lingering kiss that made me feel a little weak in the knees.
“Wow,” he said softly, finally letting me go and picking up his hat. “I’m coming home tonight if I have to get Crazy Eights to sit with Tanya.”
“Play it by ear,” I urged him.
He opened the door. “I’ll get somebody to give me a break for a couple of hours. See you later, Emma.”
He grabbed another cupcake, nodded to Vida, and departed. I was about to see if there were any croissants left, but Vida rocketed out of her chair, heading toward me like a running back sniffing the end zone.
“Well? What was that all about? And my, but you look much improved. You should, however, put on some lipstick. You’re very pale.”
“Would you mind if I get something to eat? Then I’ll unload, okay?”
Vida stalked me over to the pastry tray. Luckily, one croissant remained. I filled my coffee mug while she nudged me out of the way. “Those are very tasty,” Vida remarked. “I don’t suppose it’d hurt my diet if I sampled the petit fours. They are, after all, petite.”
“Go for it,” I said.
She took the last two and followed me back to my office. After a bite of croissant, I gave her the brief version of Tanya’s emotional status. As expected, Vida had little sympathy.
“No spunk,” she declared. “Tricia probably had some very modern and very silly theories about child rearing. I can’t imagine that her philandering second husband was an adequate stepfather. I know Milo wasn’t around his children as much as he might’ve been, but that was because of his job. Goodness, you couldn’t expect him to keep going to Bellevue! All those people and traffic would’ve made him very grumpy. Why, even Bellingham is getting too big. It’s hard to find a parking place, especially in the section they call Fairfield or Fairfax or—”
“Fairhaven,” I put in. “It’s a nice historic part of town, though.”
“No more so than Alpine,” Vida asserted. “I was in Pioneer Square once in Seattle. Why do they call it that? The pioneers arrived forty years before it was built.”
“The first mill was there,” I explained. “The logs were sent down what was called Skid Row to—”
“Oh, twaddle! We had a first mill and we had logs. So what? But to get back to Tanya, she’s clearly mental. She needs to go back to work.”
“I don’t think she can do that right now. As I told you, Doc’s going to talk to her this morning.”
“I hold Gerry in high regard, but he is, after all, a man.” She paused. “I’ll pay Tanya a call to see for myself what’s going on with her.”
That struck me as a good idea for more than one reason. “Do it. I’d like to get your reaction. If you go today, would you mind seeing her around six-thirty?”
Vida looked shocked. “Are you crazy, too? I have to be at KSKY for my program. I can drop by afterwards, say around seven-thirty.”
“That’s fine,” I said hastily. “Milo is going to … um …” I winced.
Vida heaved an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re both very lonesome. Really, I had so hoped that once you got engaged, you’d act like adults. I’m beginning to think neither of you went through adolescence. My memory must be hazy. I could’ve sworn Milo did. He seemed normal—if extremely gawky—back then.”
I changed the subject, if only to remind my House & Home editor that I was the boss. “Are you caught up on everything?”
“Of course, except trying to make sense of Clarence Munn’s ramblings. Maybe we should hold off on those for now. I confess, I was stumped over the letter from the wife who was put off by her husband’s reading matter. I assume she meant magazines like Playboy.”
“Probably. Didn’t they make her feel inadequate?”
“Yes. But the response didn’t get into this issue even though the letter was written at least a week ago. Then I got another one from her yesterday saying not to bother. They’d taken care of the problem. I assume they cancelled his subscription. Naturally, I’ve been trying to figure out who she is. Not that I’d pry, but it’s always easier to respond if you know the person. It was an Alpine postmark,” Vida added, as if that would identify the writer. Of course, it often did.
“Shall we pull your answer?”
“Well … maybe. Though my advice might serve wives in similar situations. I said she should worry less about her husband’s reading material and concentrate more on her personal grooming while making sure that he knew she loved him. I added that flattery was always a woman’s best secret weapon, men being so vain and full of themselves.”
“Your call about running it,” I said.
Vida nodded. “When are you and Milo getting married?”
Even Vida couldn’t listen at my office door keyhole. It was in the doorknob. Nobody’s hearing was that acute. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “You have a license application. You were glum earlier, but you had on lipstick. To convince Tricia you’re serious, marry and be done with it. Do it before deadline so I can put it on my page.”
I gaped at Vida. “You are amazing. But don’t tell anybody. Who’s the local justice of the peace since Harold Krogstad retired? I don’t know enough about Diane Proxmire’s full range of duties. In fact, I don’t know her at all.”
“Don’t you remember my story on Simon and Cecelia Doukas last year? They went to China after his semiretirement. He was sick of divorce cases and got a J.P. license to deal with happy couples for a change.”
“Simon Doukas?” I exclaimed. “I haven’t spoken to him in fifteen years! I sure don’t want him marrying us. He’ll ask Milo if he wants to take this trollop as his lawful wedded wife.”
“No, he won’t,” Vida said. “If he did, Milo would have to hit him. That would spoil everything.”
“Let’s hope Judge Proxmire can do it.” I meant it. Just looking at Simon would make me want to hit him first.
“She probably can. If not, you could go to Sultan or Monroe. Unless it’s pub day, of course.” She rose from the chair. “Now don’t forget my program tonight. I’m hosting Jennifer Hood from RestHaven. We’ll discuss their volunteer program. I’m sure Roger’s name will come up. I asked Rosalie Reed first, but she demurred. So busy, she said. My show is after hours. Dr. Reed has a great deal to learn about life in Alpine. I understand she’s from the Bellevue area, too.”
With that parting sally, Vida left. Only later would I remember a passing remark she’d made that would help finger a killer.