by Mary Daheim
“Really?” Milo had officially announced that Cody Graff’s death had been caused by foul play. Luckily, the sheriff hadn’t made a formal announcement of accidental death. Otherwise, he would have to go through all the legal rigmarole regarding corpus delicti. Perhaps he had also saved himself from getting sued by Durwood Parker. Milo had a right to throw Durwood in jail just for breaking the thirty-day ban on driving.
Vida was pushing up the window above her desk. The midday heat was bringing unwelcome humidity. “Marje insists that nobody would want to kill Cody.” Vida brushed tendrils of damp gray hair off her high forehead. “I suppose she has a point. I have to admit I’m flummoxed over this whole mess.”
So was I. Worse yet, I had the feeling that Milo Dodge was as baffled as we were. If Cody Graff had been poisoned at the Icicle Creek Tavern, Milo and I had both been eyewitnesses. Yet neither of us had seen anything suspicious. Milo probably would question everybody he could find who had been in the tavern Saturday night, but it was doubtful that they would be able to shed any light on the matter. Not only had there been too much confusion, but many of the patrons probably had been too far gone with drink to be observant or reliable witnesses.
Vida was sorting through some handouts on late summer garden care. She uttered a contemptuous snort and dumped the whole batch into her wastebasket. “What do these promotional people think we are, idiots? Who wouldn’t know when to cut back old growth and prune fruit trees?” Vida wasn’t the best gardener in town; she worked only in spurts, but with great energy. Still, she was knowledgeable. I was about to ask her when I should put in my spring bulbs, but she had already moved on to another topic: “You never told me about your date.” There was a hint of reproof in her tone.
“Some date.” I made a deprecating gesture. “At least the food was good.”
“Reid Hampton’s not your type. Shallow. Pretentious. Stuck on himself.” Vida was dead-on.
I decided to get her opinion of Milo’s new friend. “What did you think of Honoria Whitman?”
“Pleasant. Smart. Dull. Milo needs somebody with more pep.”
“She’s very gutsy,” I pointed out.
Vida pushed her glasses back on her nose and frowned at me. “What has courage got to do with pep! Milo does his job well enough, but he’s on cruise control when it comes to his personal life. If you ask me, that’s what went wrong with his first marriage. It’s too bad you’re so hung up on Tommy.”
I winced for various reasons: Vida had met Tom Cavanaugh on his visit to Alpine the previous autumn. She had liked him a lot. She also knew the rest of the story, and passed no judgment on either of us. But she was the only person I knew who ever called him Tommy.
I was going to tell her about Tom’s letter when Marje Blatt walked into the newsroom. Marje’s piquant face was sunburned, yet somehow lifeless. Her white uniform didn’t seem quite so crisp. The bright blue eyes had lost their luster. Yet there was no indication she had been crying. Marje said hello to me, then went straight to the point:
“Aunt Vida, have you had lunch?”
Aunt Vida had, varying her customary diet lunch with Rye Krisp instead of cottage cheese. “Yes, it’s after one. But if you want company …” Vida was already springing toward the door.
I wanted to talk to Marje, too, but I couldn’t intrude. Besides, the fish and chips basket I’d brought over from the Burger Barn would do me until dinner. Unlike Vida, I wouldn’t be able to sit down and consume an entire meal with all the trimmings.
Instead, I finished working on the paper, then gave Milo a call, using the need to find out if there had been any further developments as my excuse for bothering him. We wouldn’t want to send The Advocate off to Monroe without the latest news.
“There’s nothing new,” admitted Milo, unhappily. “Our forensics guy is checking fibers and such. We’ve been talking to some of the other customers who were at the tavern Saturday night. Janet Driggers says Cody probably poisoned himself, but that’s only because she and AI are miffed that the funeral is being held up at Friday Harbor—Al won’t get his usual fat undertaking fee. Cal Vickers said something kind of interesting, though.”
“Such as?” I asked, wondering what the owner of Cal’s Texaco & Body Shop might have to add.
“Well, he and Charlene stayed on for about an hour. It was their twenty-fourth wedding anniversary, so I guess they got sort of sentimental and decided to drive out to Burl Creek, where he proposed. They were coming back down around midnight when they saw a strange-looking car parked across from the Overholt farm. Cal had seen it around town this past week and said it was a Zimmer. You know how interested he is in unusual cars.”
“Was it the same one we saw the other night?” I inquired.
“Sounds like it. It’s definitely Matt Tabor’s car—he drove it up from California, but he had it made out south of Seattle, in Des Moines. They’re only three places in the country that hand-build these things. They must cost a shit-load, but they sure are beautiful.”
I wasn’t paying much attention to Milo’s car commentary, which had no doubt been inspired by Cal Vickers. I was more interested in why the custom-built Zimmer had been parked in the vicinity of Cody Graff’s body. “Did Cal or Charlene notice if anyone was in the car?”
Milo sighed. “No, they were either too moonstruck or concentrating just on the car itself. The Zimmer’s headlights were off, though. Cal did notice that.”
“Hmmmm.” I mulled over Milo’s information while one of his deputies asked him a question in the background. “We know it wasn’t necessarily Matt Tabor driving, don’t we?” I finally remarked after Milo had finished talking to his subordinate.
“I’m going to ask Dani—or Matt—about that,” said Milo. “If I had a car like that, I sure wouldn’t let just anybody drive it.”
I agreed. But Dani and Matt were hardly strangers; they were engaged to be married. Still, I wondered what the Zimmer was doing parked out by the Burl Creek Road at midnight on Saturday. It was such a conspicuous vehicle—somebody was bound to see it.
And somebody had. But the real question was whether or not the murderer was at the wheel.
As I drove up to the ski lodge after dinner, I had to scrutinize my motives. Was I going to see Dani Marsh because I thought there was a real news story in her reaction to Cody Graff’s death? Or was I insinuating myself into her life because I wanted to help Milo find her ex-husband’s killer?
Or, I asked myself with a grimace, was I trying to put off replying to Tom Cavanaugh’s letter?
I couldn’t answer any of my own questions. I’m a great one for rationalizing my actions, and rarely will one clear-cut explanation serve. I must have at least two or more reasons for anything I do that might be on shaky ethical ground. By the time I reached the lodge, I’d convinced myself that I was also calling on Dani to offer my condolences. Judging from a lot of comments about her return, she might not have a local shoulder to cry on. Certainly not her mother’s.
Henry Bardeen informed me that Dani was in her room, but that all visitors had to be screened by some flunky who was eating dinner at the Venison Inn.
“Half the town has tried to get in here in the past few days to see the movie stars,” Henry said crossly. “Fortunately, the company makes its own rules. We’re off the hook. But it’s been a real nuisance all the same. Even Patti Marsh came storming in here this afternoon.”
“She did? To see Dani?”
Henry shook his head. “No—Reid Hampton. I had to get very firm with her. Patti has no manners.”
Apparently, Henry Bardeen was going to be very firm with me as well. He had the grace to look ill-at-ease, however, as he suggested I call the Venison Inn and ask for the flunky to come to the phone. I was considering just that when Reid Hampton strolled through the lobby.
Hampton greeted me heartily, practically squeezing the blood out of my hand. Relieved to have someone from the film company present, Henry slipped away toward his office. I informed the m
ovie director that I would like to see Dani.
Hampton’s hearty manner changed instantly, shifting into appropriately mournful gear. He gazed up into the vast ceiling of the lodge with its rough-hewn rafters and knotty pine walls. “Dani’s really distraught,” he said at last, lowering his booming voice to a mere rumble. “She and Cody … what was his name? Grass?” He seemed to be reading from a cue card on the Indian blanket suspended from a crossbeam. “Graff, that’s it. They may have been divorced, but it’s still a shock.”
“It must have been a shock when Cody threw that axe and practically chopped off her feet,” I remarked.
Reid Hampton’s gaze deigned to drop down to earth and meet mine. “That was strange,” he admitted. “An accident, though, I’m sure. Would you like to have a drink in the bar, Emma?”
I considered my options: I could decline the invitation and renew my efforts to see Dani. But Reid Hampton would probably refuse permission, and I might not fare any better with the flunky who was eating chicken-fried steak at the Venison Inn. If I accepted Reid’s offer, he might mellow and let me talk to his star.
“Sure,” I responded, with a smile meant to flatter.
Hampton nodded, then swaggered off toward the bar on the other side of the lobby. The Après-Ski Room had recently been remodeled, a tasteful job that featured the best appointments of the original hole-in-the-wall watering place. More warm wood, rustic lamps with cedar bark bases, and some handsome sketches by Pacific Northwest Indian artists gave the room a comfortable native flavor.
After ordering us each a brandy, Reid Hampton leaned across the polished pine table and gave me a seductive smile, capped teeth flashing in his tawny beard. The man must be close to fifty and there wasn’t a gray hair in sight. I suspected that not only did Reid Hampton dye his hair—and beard—but that the lionlike shade wasn’t natural. It certainly didn’t match the darker hairs on his arms and chest.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you I had a wonderful time at dinner the other night,” said Hampton, at his most suave. “I hope we can do it again before I leave town, Emma.”
I don’t think I managed to hide my surprise. Reid Hampton had to be kidding. I was certain he’d had as crummy an outing as I had. But maybe he felt compelled to say otherwise. Accepting his gallantry at face value, I stopped looking startled and smiled politely.
“Thanks, Reid. When do you wind up the shoot?”
“Early next week.” He twirled the brandy snifter under his nose and inhaled. “We finish up at Baldy Wednesday. Are you ready for the paint job?”
Again, I was evasive. Surely Reid Hampton really didn’t want to colorize Front Street. “Has Dani been able to work the past couple of days?”
“She’s a trooper. I was afraid she might want to go up to the San Juans for the funeral, but she hasn’t insisted. That relieves my mind—it would have put us off schedule. We can’t shoot around her with the way the script is written.” He took a sip of brandy and savored it slowly. “It’s lucky she’s had Cody’s brother to lean on.”
“Curtis?” Again, I had to guard my reaction. “I didn’t realize they were close. I’ve only lived in Alpine a couple of years.”
Hampton lifted one of his broad shoulders. “He came to see her as soon as he heard Cody was dead. Say, Emma,” he continued in a different, more intimate tone, “you aren’t going to play this as a homicide, are you? In the newspaper, I mean?”
“But that’s what it is,” I replied, dumbfounded.
Hampton lifted his hands in an expressive gesture. “Crazy! Who knows what that guy was taking? He has a lot of beer and then he overdoses. It happens all the time in L.A. Nobody goes around shouting, ‘Help, Murder!’ Your sheriff must be very naive.”
Cody Graff had his faults, but taking drugs wasn’t one of them, as far as I knew. If he had been a user, Marje would have known, and thus so would Vida. I gave a definite shake of my head. “Sorry, Reid, the sheriff is right. Somebody deliberately poisoned Cody Graff. Have you got any ideas who?”
The question was off the top of my head, and Reid Hampton looked as if I were out of my mind. “Hell! That’s rot, Emma! No, I don’t have—Why would I know who’d kill some small-town loser?” He looked genuinely offended. He also looked as if he’d define anybody who lived in a small town as a loser. Including me.
I began to feel irritated. “You certainly made Jack Blackwell angry by cutting down those trees. Cody worked for Blackwell. If you want to start scratching for motives, I could count you in.” I gave him my most ingenuous smile.
Hampton was not amused. “More rot,” he muttered. “My lawyers are better than Blackwell’s lawyers. I don’t need to waste some punk over a pile of logs. All this poison crap is ridiculous.”
I realized it was useless to argue with Reid Hampton. It was also counter-productive. I had probably already ruined my chances of using him to get to Dani Marsh. I drank some brandy and tried to think of a different, more conciliatory approach.
But I didn’t need it. Dani Marsh floated into the bar at that moment, smiling sweetly at a middle-aged couple in the corner and a couple of men I recognized as grips or gaffers or some such technical workers from the movie location. She headed straight for us. Reid Hampton grimaced.
“Dani,” he began, standing up, “Emma and I were just leaving. I’ll see you upstairs in half an hour, okay?”
Dani had already sat down in the chair next to me. “Oh—Reid, I don’t want to drink alone. In fact, I only want some mineral water. Don’t rush off.” Her limpid brown eyes appealed to both of us.
“That’s okay, Reid,” I said, with a little wave. “You go do whatever a big director has to do, and I’ll keep Dani company. I haven’t finished my brandy yet.”
Reid Hampton did not look pleased. He gave Dani a glance that might have been a warning, tossed a ten dollar bill on the table, and left the bar. Dani gave me a conspiratorial smile.
“Reid can be a twit, but he’s wonderful to work with,” she said with a wave to the cocktail waitress. Dani ordered a gin and tonic. I wondered what had happened to the cabbage extract.
After Dani was served, I offered my condolences on Cody’s death. She assumed a mournful expression which seemed genuine enough, though I reminded myself she was an actress. “It’s terrible,” she said with a sigh. “When somebody dies young, it’s such a waste. Even with Cody.”
I wasn’t precisely sure how to take her qualifying remark. Instead, I asked about Curtis. “Was he very upset?”
Dani turned thoughtful. “Yes, I think so. Curtis won’t miss Cody, since they hadn’t seen each other in almost five years. I don’t think Cody had seen his parents since they moved up to the San Juans. Still, they’ve got to be feeling blue.”
Unbridled grief wasn’t the watchword of the week. I said as much. “I take it Cody didn’t have a lot of other family or a wide circle of friends.”
“There were some relatives in Spokane,” Dani said. “Cousins, aunt and uncle. But I don’t think they kept in touch. He had his beer-drinking buddies. And of course there was that girl he was going to marry.”
I thought of Marje Blatt as I had seen her earlier in the day. Maybe she was still in shock, and great gushes of grief would come later. “Reid Hampton doesn’t think Cody was murdered,” I said, watching closely for Dani’s reaction.
“I don’t think so either,” said Dani Marsh flatly. “Why would anyone kill Cody? He didn’t have any money. He wasn’t involved in a triangle, at least that I know of. And I doubt that he’d turn to blackmail. What other motives are there besides monetary gain, jealousy, and fear?”
“Knowledge,” I replied promptly. “People have been killed for knowing too much.”
Dani emitted a lame little laugh. “Knowledge doesn’t suit Cody. He wasn’t exactly stupid, but he wouldn’t be interested enough in anybody to invite their secrets. No, Ms. Lord, I don’t buy into this murder business either. It’s so … so melodramatic. Oh, Cody may have ingested some strange drug,
but he probably did it himself.”
My eyes widened. “You mean suicide?” Maybe Janet Driggers’s idea wasn’t so wild after all.
“No, no,” replied Dani, after a gulp of her gin and tonic. “He’d never do that. But he might have been experimenting, or taking some kind of medication. Surely the sheriff has checked into that?”
Surely Milo had, I thought. As the Deweys’ medical receptionist, Marje was in a position to know if Cody was taking prescription drugs. If so, she would have told the sheriff. Or Vida. I had to wonder why Dani and Reid were so determined on insisting that Cody had not been murdered. Maybe they didn’t want the adverse publicity.
“As far as I know, Cody wasn’t on this stuff.” I wished I could pronounce the name of the drug more easily. “If I may be blunt, Cody Graff struck me as the kind of person who might incite someone to violence. He appeared to be a very sulky, perhaps even selfish young man.”
Dani Marsh threw back her head and laughed, that ratified musical sound that reminded me of tinkling crystal chandeliers. “If every sulking, selfish man I know in the movie business got killed, Hollywood would have to fold.”
I was faintly miffed by her dismissal of my theory. “You couldn’t get along with him,” I pointed out. “At least that’s why I assume you got divorced.”
Dani’s gaze wandered around the Après-Ski Room. “Oh—I don’t know. We were so young, immature, impatient. I wanted more out of life than Alpine could offer. I think we both saw that we’d made a mistake. After the baby died, we realized there wasn’t any future for us.” She still wasn’t looking at me, but rather at the totem pole that stood between the tall windows at the far end of the bar.
Dani didn’t seem to be helping me much in terms of information. I’d finally finished my brandy and she was over halfway through her gin and tonic. “You’ve got Matt Tabor now,” I said, hoping to sound more congenial. “You can make a fresh start.”
Dani took another swallow from her tall glass. “Right. Matt’s a good guy.” Her eyes were still wandering around the bar.
