by Mary Daheim
“Yes, but there’s no ashtray.”
“Use the rug. It’s beat up, like everything else in SkyCo. The hospital’s as desperate for money as my operation is.” He lit the cigarettes and handed one to me. “Tanya seemed better, except for the nightmares. I was leaving for work and didn’t know she was in the can. When I opened the door, she was shoving pills in her mouth. I grabbed her, saw she had more in her hand, and tried to shake out the ones in her mouth. The bottle was empty. I didn’t know she was taking the stuff.”
“What did you do then?” I asked as he took a drag on his cigarette.
“I hustled her into the SUV and hauled her ass over here. She was loopy and couldn’t make sense. I knew about the Valium but not the Celexa. The pharmacist here says it’s for depression.” He sighed. “She’ll be okay, but Sung’s keeping her overnight. Can I come home?”
I saw the wistful look in his hazel eyes. “Oh, please do,” I said, leaning against him. “I’ve missed you so much, it hurts.”
He put his arm around me and kissed my forehead. “Tell me about it. When you stop by the office, I want to grab you and … damn it, Emma, this is a hell of a start to our life together. We’re starting it apart.”
“Except for having you and Tanya to dinner, I’ve hardly seen you.” I ran my finger down his cheek. “Did something set Tanya off?”
He shrugged. “She saw an old pal last night, Kristy Olsen. She seemed okay when she got back, but we didn’t talk much.”
“Have you told Tricia?”
Milo winced. “No. Mulehide will say it’s my fault. If a cloud of locusts invaded, my ex would blame me for that, too.”
“Can I do anything?”
Milo looked as if I’d missed “c-a-t” in a spelling bee. “Are you nuts?”
“I mean other than that. What do you want for dinner?”
“I’ve been eating pretty well. Tanya’s a better cook than her mother. Is crab in now?”
“I’ll check.” I took a last drag on my cigarette just as Milo finished his. “I’ll dump the butts. I haven’t smoked since you were living with me.”
The sheriff stood up. “I don’t smoke much around Tanya. She disapproves. She’d rather do heavy-duty drugs.”
I was also on my feet. “What are you going to do now?”
“Check to see if they found a room for Tanya. Then I’ll head to the office. I’d kiss you, but I might not be able to stop. I’ll wait until tonight.”
I smiled a bit weakly. “That’s fine. See you then.”
Milo mussed my hair. “Go away. I have to stay focused on Tanya.”
I was still smiling as I headed for the women’s restroom. And realized I hadn’t smiled much at all in the last two weeks.
Vida was agog. “My nephew Billy told me Tanya overdosed.”
I plopped into her visitor’s chair. My ad manager, Leo Walsh, looked up but kept quiet. “You were on the phone when I left,” I said. “Why didn’t you grill Mitch? He told me what happened.”
Vida frowned. “My phone kept ringing. I’ve no idea why my fellow Presbyterians think I can resolve our problems. That’s for the elders. Mitch left before I could ask him. I had to call Billy on a family matter.”
My evil self hoped that Roger had been arrested—again. But I shoved the thought aside and related what I knew about Tanya to Vida, Leo, and Kip, my back-shop tech wizard. I suspected that Amanda, our replacement for the dithering Ginny Erlandson, was practically falling out of the receptionist’s chair to eavesdrop.
“Kids,” Leo remarked. “They never stop needing parents, do they?”
Vida shot him a sharp glance. “Are you reconsidering your retirement and a move to California?”
Leo shrank back in his chair as if he expected Vida to pounce on him. “Hey, Duchess,” he said, using the nickname she claimed to hate, “I don’t know if Liza wants me back in the fold. She’s leaning that way since she dumped the guy who filled in for me while I stepped out of the house for the past sixteen years.”
Vida stiffened in her chair. “Another divorce?”
Leo sighed. “I didn’t know until I went down to Santa Maria on Thanksgiving that they were never married. After we divorced years ago, she told me they’d tied the knot. But Liza’s a good Catholic girl and she wanted to keep up appearances of a legal union.”
“Oh, how ridiculous!” Vida exclaimed. “Some Catholics,” she went on, darting a look at me, “don’t care what people think.”
The conversation was going downhill fast. I stood up, shrugging out of my jacket. “Did Bill mention Blackwell’s latest allegations?”
“No,” Vida admitted. “But if someone wants to kill him, it’s Patti Marsh. I can’t believe they parted after so many years of … doing whatever they did together. There must be another woman. Jack was her meal ticket. They’re no spring chickens. Milo probably hopes someone will shoot Blackwell. They’ve never gotten along.”
“That’s Jack’s fault,” I said, edging toward my office. “Back when the sheriff was elected, Jack ran against Milo because he didn’t like the way the murder investigation of Patti’s former son-in-law was being handled. He got his rear end kicked at the ballot box.”
“It goes further than that,” Vida declared. “Those two have gone head-to-head since Milo got back from Vietnam.”
I stopped backpedaling. “How so?”
Vida lifted her chin. “If Milo hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to talk about it. You know I don’t gossip.”
And beavers don’t build dams on Goblin Creek, I thought. Vida’s attitude on this gloomy Wednesday was beginning to annoy me. All I needed was Amanda rushing off to throw up—again. Now that she was past the first trimester of pregnancy, I hoped that problem would go away.
“Maybe,” Kip said, finally breaking his silence, “Blackwell thinks Ed’s after him. Didn’t he want to get appointed to Alfred Cobb’s county commissioner’s post instead of Jack?”
Vida waved a hand in disgust. “Oh, there was never any chance Ed would get that job. I thought they’d let Alfred’s son stay on. He’d been doing most of his father’s work after Alfred became gaga. I suppose Myron didn’t want the responsibility. He’s in his seventies, you know.”
Leo grinned. “Ed’s too lazy to go after anything but McDonald’s takeout. I shouldn’t bad-mouth him. He makes me look good.”
“You are good,” I said. “Ed was bad. The first couple of years I thought we’d go broke. We still can, in this current toxic economy.” On that dismal note, I retreated to my office.
By noon I’d set up appointments with RestHaven’s chief of staff, Dr. Woo, and short-term care’s Jennifer Hood. I could’ve let Mitch handle the interviews, but I felt I needed to show my face. I’d already confirmed dates with the rehab unit’s Iain Farrell and Rosalie Reed, who was in charge of psych patients. Our special edition was shaping up.
I asked Vida if she wanted to eat at the Venison Inn, but she was skipping lunch. “Buck gave me a lovely box of Russell Stover chocolates for Valentine’s Day,” she explained, referring to her longtime companion, who had recently moved from Startup to a condo at Pines Villa. “I can’t resist them, which means I have to watch what I eat for a while.”
I accepted the excuse, though Vida’s weight never seemed to vary no matter what she ate. My Valentine’s Day had been passed alone, though Milo did call to tell me Tanya had plugged up the kitchen sink.
Having been rejected by Vida, I realized that I should go home and change. My caramel slacks and crimson sweater weren’t appropriate for Delia Rafferty’s funeral. I could forage for food in my fridge.
While I ate a ham sandwich, I started a letter to Mavis on my laptop. “Glad you liked the vase,” I typed. “Sorry about Ray. Hope His Royal Grumpiness is improving.” I stopped to munch on a carrot stick and think of a tactful way to tell Mavis she was off base. But my mind was blank. After three false starts, I headed to the funeral. Scandinavians and other northern Europeans have historically domi
nated Skykomish County, so there’d be a big turnout. The Lutherans also ran the retirement and nursing home in the same block between Cedar and Cascade Streets. Seating would be at a premium. Vida would no doubt manage to get up front, but if the service ran long, I preferred to make a quick escape and go back to the office.
My concession to funeral attire was forest-green slacks and a matching sweater. My new Donna Karan winter jacket was black, and Francine Wells of Francine’s Fine Apparel had told me it was a real steal at her post-holiday sale. Noting that the price was still three hundred bucks, I asked her if I could steal it. She said no, but she said it nicely.
Parking was already scarce, though I found a spot not far from the lot’s entrance. It was still raining, the clouds so low that I couldn’t see more than fifty feet up the side of Mount Baldy. Avoiding the puddles that had accumulated, I entered the church, which was already two-thirds full. I couldn’t spot Vida, so I sat in the third row from the back.
That was a mistake. I hadn’t taken into account the Wailers’ arrival five minutes later. They sat down in the last row almost directly behind me. The trio of black-clad women never missed a funeral—unless it was at St. Mildred’s or Trinity Episcopal. In acts of Christian charity for the sake of their mourners, Father Dennis Kelly and the Very Reverend Regis Bartleby had banned the Wailers. They wailed, keened, groaned, and moaned at what apparently constituted the saddest moments of any service. Most Alpiners were able to ignore them. I didn’t know how to do that, still finding them disruptive.
But I was stuck. At least I’d managed to edge over to the far end of the pew. Meanwhile, I focused on the Rafferty family members who obviously weren’t going to sit in the more private mourning area. I’d come mainly for Delia’s daughter, Beth, who was the daytime SkyCo 911 operator. When Beth’s brother, Tim, had been killed, we’d formed a tentative friendship. Beth was accompanied by a man I didn’t recognize, but I assumed he was Keith Jacobson, the recently hired Nyquist Construction foreman. I’d heard they’d been dating since November. I was glad for Beth. An early marriage had ended badly. She needed someone in her life after losing her brother and now her mother.
Tim’s widow, Tiffany, was another matter. She’d been pregnant at the time and so self-absorbed with her unborn child that I’d lost sympathy for her. She walked down the aisle between her parents, Wayne and Cookie Eriks. Cookie was rather vapid. Wayne wasn’t one of my favorite people. He’d made a pass at me once and had problems with the word “no.” Milo had fingered him as the prime suspect in his son-in-law’s murder, but I’d never gotten the sheriff to admit if he’d collared Wayne on the basis of evidence—and there was some—or because the lecher had hit on me.
I was so fixated on Wayne that at first I didn’t notice the tall, saturnine man who was following the Eriks family. It was Jack Blackwell, who sat down with the rest of Delia’s kinfolk. I was puzzled, unaware of a connection between Black Jack and the Rafferty or Eriks clan.
My rubbernecking allowed me to catch Vida moving into the second row. I hadn’t seen her come in. Maybe she’d entered through a rear door—or had descended from the ceiling like a prophet in the Bible.
Pastor Nielsen conducted a dignified service. I drifted, only being jerked back into attention when the Wailers wailed or otherwise made some ungodly noise. Near what I hoped was the ceremony’s conclusion, I noticed Milo standing across the way at the back. I decided that was my cue for making an exit.
The sheriff noticed my departure. By the time I got out into the vestibule, he was waiting for me. He didn’t look happy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, craning my neck to stare up at him. The more-than-a-foot difference in height between us always made me feel as if he were looming over me.
He glanced around to make sure nobody was lurking in the alcoves or on the stairway. “Mulehide. She’s driving up here later this afternoon. Did you buy the crab already?”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t had time. Can you come later?”
His big hands clutched at his regulation hat as if he wanted to rip it to shreds. “No. She’s staying at the house. Linda Grant hasn’t got any heat. Her furnace went out last night.”
Linda was the high school P.E. teacher and an old chum of Tricia’s. The last time Milo’s ex had come to town, she’d spent the night with Linda. “Oh, damn! Can’t you …” I stopped. “No, you can’t leave her there by herself. She’s probably worried sick.”
Milo looked as disappointed as I felt. “Maybe she’ll take Tanya back to Bellevue. If I walked out on Mulehide, it would only give her an excuse to make me miserable. She already figures I’m responsible for every one of our kids’ problems, including chicken pox. Hell, I was lucky to see them once a month after she took off. I’ll never know what godawful bullshit she told them about me and why she left.…” He winced as the Wailers let out an earsplitting cry like a dying elephant. “Jesus,” he said under his breath, “can’t I arrest those old bats for breaking an anti-noise statute?”
“Do we have one? Do you want them wailing away in the jail?”
“God, no. I’d ship them to Everett.”
We turned as Al Driggers, the funeral director, opened the double doors. I could hear the organ playing. Apparently the funeral was over.
“Hello, Sheriff. Hello, Emma,” Al said in his suitably mournful voice. “You can go downstairs to the reception hall now.”
“I stopped in for Beth,” Milo said. “I have to get back to work.”
I told Al I had to do the same. Milo steered me outside. “I’m blocking the exit, so I’d better go.” He gave me a quick squeeze. “Later.”
I watched him head for the Yukon SUV. I headed for my Honda. I knew life wasn’t fair, but that didn’t make me feel better. I’d never met Tricia. I trusted Milo, but the idea of him spending the night under the same roof with his ex irked me. My perverse nature goading me, I purposely stepped in a big puddle. Now I could bitch about ruining my good black shoes along with everything else that had gone wrong lately.
Amanda greeted me with a friendly smile. “I didn’t think you’d get back so soon. Mayor Baugh wants to meet with you Friday morning.”
“Why doesn’t the old coot just wander in the way he always does?”
“He said this was official business.” Amanda shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He sounded very formal. He forgot to use his Louisiana accent. Is he really from down there in the Bayou?”
“Yes,” I said, wiggling my toes inside my damp shoes. “The Baughs moved here thirty years ago. Their son married a girl whose family owned a dairy farm by Monroe. The senior Baughs moved nearby, but later, he and Irene split up. The farm was sold and his son’s family moved to Edmonds. After Fuzzy and Irene reconciled, they came here and he ended up as mayor.”
“He must be eighty. Does he do anything as mayor?”
“It’s mostly ceremonial.” I removed my jacket. “He does have a rare brainstorm. Eleven is okay. If he’s too windy, I’ll say I have a lunch date.”
“Will do,” Amanda said, making a note. “How was the funeral?”
“Fine, except for the Wailers. And before you ask, I still haven’t heard from Ginny. I sense she isn’t coming back. With three kids, she’s got her hands full. Maybe she should stay home and play mommy. I’m just glad you were freed up from your holiday duty at the post office.”
“So am I,” Amanda said. “With Roy still recovering from going off his rocker over his missing mama, it was more chaotic than usual. I hear he’s doing better. Doc Dewey prescribed some meds that work for him.”
The saga of Roy’s mother, Myrtle Everson, had gone on for sixteen years after she disappeared without a trace. Every time anybody found some bones, Roy and the rest of the family would get them tested to see if they belonged to Myrtle. I had my own theory about what had happened to her, but there’d been no opportunity to prove or disprove it. Roy’s obsession with Mama had landed him in the hospital after Christmas.
“Maybe,” I sa
id, “when you have your baby in July, Ginny can fill in for you. Unless you think you’ll want to be a stay-at-home mom, too.”
Amanda turned serious. “Walt and I’ve talked about that. Over the years when I worked part-time, I’d get antsy.” She offered me a quirky smile. “But a baby takes up a lot of time and I hope I’ve changed for the better. You know my pathetic history.” The smile broadened. “I can’t believe I actually considered taking up with Jack Blackwell back then.”
I’d forgotten about their near fling. “Funny you should mention him,” I said. “He was at the funeral with Beth and the Eriks gang.”
Amanda looked sly. “I hear he’s been seeing Tiffany since he broke up with Patti Marsh. Can you believe it? He must be almost sixty!”
“True,” I said. “But Tiffany’s not as young as she looks. I figure her for mid-thirties. That’s still a huge age difference. But Tiff may be looking for a sugar daddy. She didn’t do very well as a wife.”
Amanda turned somber. “I didn’t do so well for a while, either.”
I smiled. “You rectified that situation. Skip the regrets.”
Her own smile came more slowly. “The baby did that.” She paused, and her smile grew brighter. “There wouldn’t be a baby on the way if Walt and I hadn’t decided to grow up before we had kids. Playing the blame game on each other for not having a child almost ruined our marriage.”
I nodded. “That’s what grown-ups do—they move on. Then you got lucky—and pregnant.”
I left Amanda with a smile on her face. For the next half hour I went over the backgrounds of RestHaven’s staff. Shortly before three, Mitch asked if I’d checked his latest installment on the new facility. I told him I had, and only some minor tweaking had been necessary.
“Good,” he said. “But I’d like to know how Fleetwood scoops us on some of the RestHaven news. I had the radio on when I went to the ranger station to get the trail openings schedule. KSKY’s on-air guy said Dr. Woo eventually plans to add another unit for Alzheimer patients. How do we keep getting beat on that stuff?”
