The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

  Beth held up a hand. “Stop, Emma. You’re getting kind of heated. I’m not a huge baseball fan, but I recognized those players’ names. I never gave the carton to Tiffany. Yes, they belong to her as Tim’s widow. I just couldn’t do it. But at Mom’s funeral, my conscience got the better of me.” Her expression was grim. “The problem is, I can’t find them.”

  I didn’t respond right away. Brandy had brought our orders. I waited until she left to ask the obvious: “What do you mean?”

  “I had them stored in Mom’s old bedroom closet. I hosted a family gathering after her funeral. Tiffany was there with Jack Blackwell, of course. I wonder if she stole them.”

  “Oh, no! Why would she do that?”

  “To sell them, I suppose.” Beth paused to eat a bite of corned beef. “Actually, I see what you mean. Maybe she told Jack about them. I wonder if he realized they might be valuable and took the carton.”

  “He’s slippery but not a thief. Any idea who stabbed him?”

  “No.” Beth wound some sauerkraut on her fork. “I’ve heard rumors that somebody’s been trying to kill him, though. Has Milo got a suspect?”

  “He didn’t believe Jack—until now, I guess.”

  Beth chewed and swallowed before responding. “I wish I knew where Tiff and Ashley are. Not that I ever see much of my niece. I babysat her a couple of times when she was still an infant, but since then, the two or three times I’ve gone to the Erikses’ house, either Cookie or Tiff told me Ashley was napping or had a cold. I was hoping they’d bring her to Mom’s funeral, but they left her with Donna Wickstrom.”

  I told Beth what the Parkers had said about Tiffany’s visit to a friend in Skykomish. “She’ll be back,” I added. “She has free babysitters with her mother and her grandparents. What I don’t get is why she ever hooked up with Blackwell in the first place. Maybe it seemed like a young widow’s dream at the time, but Jack’s abusive.”

  Beth scowled. “So’s Tiff. Did you forget how she treated Tim?”

  “But only verbal and emotional abuse, right?”

  “I think she got rough sometimes. Tim never admitted it, but he had bruises that he laughed off as weird accidents.”

  I recalled rumors. “Do you think she stabbed Jack?”

  Beth looked pained. “I wouldn’t put it past her. When did it happen? I thought it was after Tiff took off. Maybe there’s a dark horse lurking somewhere. What did Milo say?”

  I shrugged. “My fiancé is still the sheriff. He doesn’t tell me all.”

  “Darn,” Beth said with a wry smile. “I figured he’d dump all his work worries on you.”

  “Guess again,” I replied.

  And with that, we began to speak of other, less annoying things.

  The meal was good, but Beth had given me something else to chew on. Tiffany Eriks Rafferty had been seeing Jack Blackwell before Delia Rafferty’s funeral. Maybe she’d already moved in with him. Then her father was killed and Tiff took off not long after that. Jack got stabbed but apparently didn’t think he was seriously injured until the wound became infected. Was there a connection between his stabbing and Tiffany’s erratic behavior? I pondered all these things as I drove down Tonga Road under intermittent sun.

  By the time I got back to the office, I was bursting with questions for Vida but thought it best to keep mum about Dippy. She was the only staffer in the newsroom. Mitch had left and Leo was on his ad rounds.

  “It seems quite simple to me,” she said after I’d unloaded on her. “I’ll call on Cookie to ask when Tiffany’s coming home so I can use the visit to Skykomish for ‘Scene.’ I didn’t know Tiffany had girlfriends. She was always glued to Tim’s side before they finally married.”

  I went into my office, where the phone was ringing. “Get your butt to the courthouse,” Milo said. “We’re filling out the marriage license.”

  “Right now?” I gasped.

  “You deaf? I’m on my way. Move, woman.”

  Mr. Romance hung up on me.

  I assumed Vida was talking to Cookie when I left. I was just as glad. I didn’t want to have to explain where I was going. I told Amanda I had an errand to run, knowing she wouldn’t grill me. By the time I walked the two blocks to the courthouse and crossed Front Street, I realized I was shaking. I paused at the bottom of the stone steps to catch my breath. Relax, I told myself. You’re not going to the guillotine. You’re merely filling out an official form. Just because you’ve never done this before, it shouldn’t scare you. Lots of people do it all the time.

  Like a complete idiot, I couldn’t seem to move. Finally I looked up. Milo was standing at the top of the ten steps. “Do I have to carry you inside, you little twit?” he bellowed.

  I squared my shoulders. “No,” I called up to him. I walked purposefully—if unsteadily—up to meet him.

  “Damn,” he said, putting his arm around me, “you are so … perverse.” He stopped at the door. “Do you love me or not?”

  I craned my neck to look at him. “Of course I do. I love you more than …” I couldn’t get the words out.

  He gave me a little shake. “Say it.”

  I lowered my eyes and swallowed. “I love you more than I ever loved Tom.” Defiantly, I finally met his hard hazel gaze. “Are you satisfied?”

  “You bet.” He leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Let’s do it. I got a waiver on the license. We’re getting married.”

  “What?” I shrieked as he opened the door.

  “Pipe down. You want everybody staring at us?”

  “No,” I squeaked, aware of a half-dozen people who were doing just that as we moved toward the judge’s chambers. “Who’s marrying us?”

  “The new judge, Proxmire. She can squeeze us in just before traffic court. Rosemary Bourgette and the bailiff, Gus Tolberg, are witnesses.”

  I started to giggle as we entered the courtroom. I’d only glimpsed the fair-haired Amazonian Diane Proxmire from a distance. She was standing in front of her bench between Rosemary and the always grumpy Gus. Her Honor shook my hand as Milo introduced us. I nodded to Rosemary, who was all genuine smiles. Gus, of course, looked as if we’d come to be buried, not married. I barely heard the words of the standard civil service, though apparently I made the correct responses. At least Milo didn’t have to kick me into speaking up. It was only when the judge asked if Milo had a ring for the bride that I became fully aware of what was happening. He took my hand and slipped an antique gold band with twin circlets of tiny diamonds onto my finger. We were married. Milo kissed me, more decorously than usual, and said, “Come on, Mrs. Dodge, we have papers to sign. Then I’ve got some news for you.”

  As if he hadn’t done that already.

  EIGHTEEN

  “WHERE,” I ASKED AS WE WENT DOWN THE COURTHOUSE STEPS, “did you get this beautiful ring?”

  “Out of a drawer at my house,” Milo replied, holding my hand. “It belonged to my grandmother. Mulehide didn’t like it. We can replace it.”

  “No! I love it! And it fits.”

  “I don’t remember much about Grandma Dodge,” Milo said as we crossed the street. “She died when I was about six. But she was little, like you. I thought it might be the right size.” He paused at the corner of Second and Front. “Well? Are you through being terrified?”

  I leaned against him. “Yes! I … I’m sort of speechless.”

  “Hunh. Like that’d ever happen.” He led me across the street. “I suppose you’ll have to tell Vida. Is she still mad at me?”

  “I think so. All three of the people she isn’t speaking to were in the courtroom. She never liked Gus Tolberg anyway.”

  “Who does? But he’s a decent bailiff.”

  We’d reached the sheriff’s headquarters. “Are you going to tell your staff we got married?”

  Milo shook his head. “Not now. I don’t need distractions. We’re back to business. If we weren’t, you’d be going to your own office.”

  Lori and Dwight were the only people out front. Beth h
ad returned to her 911 post in the rear of the building. Lori greeted me with a cheery smile. Dwight looked as if he’d rather eat a bug than say hello—but he did, probably in deference to his boss, who was leading me into his office.

  “Okay,” Milo said, sitting at his desk after taking off his hat and jacket. “Let’s start with Blackwell. I can’t figure that guy out. His wound was fairly superficial. According to Doc, a steak or kitchen knife. If it hadn’t gotten infected, it would’ve healed in two, three days. Blackwell claims he doesn’t remember being stabbed. I almost believe him. Which means he must’ve been asleep.” The sheriff had been looking at his notes, but he finally raised his eyes. “He swears he was alone.”

  “Tiffany comes to mind. Did she have a key to his house?”

  Milo made a face. “Jack doesn’t always lock up at night. He’s so damned arrogant that he figures nobody would dare break in.”

  “Typical.” I rested my chin on my hand. “Patti’s a possibility, even if she took him in and got him hospitalized. She loves the guy, so she’d feel remorse. Does this mean you believe the earlier threats were real?”

  “Hell, no. This doesn’t prove any of the others.”

  “Have you found the weapon?”

  “Heppner found eight of them—all wiped clean.” Milo offered me a cigarette, which I accepted. He was lighting it for me when his phone rang. “Screw it,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “Lori can take it. The knives will go to the SnoCo lab as soon as I can free somebody up to take them over there. For all I know, whoever stabbed Blackwell might’ve tossed the thing.”

  I was about to ask if the sheriff was going public with any of this when Lori interrupted. “Doe called to say they found the body on Tonga Ridge. They’re taking it to the hospital morgue. Is that okay with you?”

  “Fine,” Milo said. “Call RestHaven and tell them to send somebody to ID Mr. Nut. We need a name this time. And make sure Doc knows he’s got a stiff coming in.”

  Lori nodded and scurried off. I posed my question to the sheriff.

  “Hell, Emma,” Milo said, “you can’t do anything on Mr. Nut until we get an ID, right? But I wanted to give you background on Blackwell to see if …” He stopped, took a drag on his cigarette, and shook his head. “Damn it, maybe I just wanted to spend some time with my wife.”

  I smiled. “That’s incredibly sweet. But I don’t believe you.”

  Milo scowled at me. “Okay, it’s partly true. Knowing you, I suspect some ideas are dancing around in your funny little head.”

  I tapped my cigarette into the sheriff’s NRA ashtray. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking about that sort of thing on the way back from lunch with Beth.” Given that Milo had left the door open, I lowered my voice and told him about the missing box of sports memorabilia. “I gather,” I concluded, “she hasn’t mentioned it to you.”

  He shook his head. “I hardly ever see her. She stays holed up in back and works until six. You think Blackwell took the stuff?”

  “Well … Tiff wouldn’t know the value. She apparently never asked Beth about it after Tim died. But if she knew it existed, she might’ve mentioned it and then he decided to check it out.”

  Milo stroked his chin. “No. That doesn’t sound like Blackwell. Even for a few grand, I doubt he’d pull a stunt like that. How about Wayne? He was a baseball fan. The few times I talked to the guy he’d always yap about the latest game he’d watched.”

  “I never thought of him,” I admitted. A thought flashed through my mind. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but Jennifer Hood told me something was burned by the road where Wayne was killed. Did you notice that when you were at the crime scene?”

  “Yeah. It looked like some paper. Not much of it, either.”

  The sheriff was probably right, but I persevered. “Kip lives next to Mel and April Eriks’s house. He told me Mel was burning something in his backyard right after Wayne died. I happened to run into him at the Grocery Basket and I alluded to that. Mel seemed … evasive.”

  Milo leaned back so far in his chair that I thought he’d tip over. “Mel’s a baseball fan, too. Hell, Emma, do you think he’d set fire to Ken Griffey Jr.’s rookie card? He’s not nuts.”

  “Okay,” I said, sounding humble. “But if you’re right and Wayne took the carton, then Tiff probably has it. Unless it’s still at Cookie’s.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “So? That’s where it belongs—legally.” He sat up. “I don’t see where this stuff has anything to do with Wayne’s murder. Or Blackwell’s stabbing. Tiff will show up sooner or later. We’ll talk to her. In fact, when Doe gets back, I’ll send her to talk to Patti.” He paused. “We should talk to Kay, too. Maybe Dwight wasn’t the only ex she decided to bang for old times’ sake.”

  His phone rang again. He stared at it as if he could make it explode. “Damn, it must be important or Lori …” He picked up the receiver. “Dodge,” he barked. I watched his jaw set as he listened, obviously trying to remain patient. “Okay, Doe, here’s what you do. Tell Dr. Reed to get her ass down to the morgue pronto and ID the stiff or we’ll take a picture of him and post it on every utility pole in SkyCo until somebody comes up with a frigging name.” He banged the phone down. “Those dinks at RestHaven are going to drive me nuts. Woo’s having emergency dental surgery at Dr. Starr’s office and, according to Dr. Reed, he’s the only one with authority to ID the dead guy. That’s bullshit. Isn’t he Reed’s patient if she’s in charge of the nut jobs?”

  “I’d think so,” I said. “That sounds a little too weird.” I stood up. “Maybe I’ll go up to RestHaven.”

  “Hold it.” Milo had gotten out of his chair. “I’ll do that. You keep out of the way. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “No, you won’t!” I actually stamped my foot. “This is news, you big jerk! I’ll take my own car. If Mitch were here, I’d send him.”

  Milo took his jacket off the hook on the wall and slung it over his shoulder before looking down at me with bemused hazel eyes. “I can’t win. I had one wife who hated my job and didn’t want to hear about it. Now I’ve got one who can’t keep her nose out of it. You’re on your own.” He pushed me out of sight from the outer office, wrapped his free arm around my neck, and rested his chin on the top of my head. “Happy?”

  “Yes.” I rubbed my cheek against his chest. “I hate you, though.”

  “I know. You often do.” He kissed my nose and let me go.

  Milo was just ahead of me a couple of blocks from the River Road arterial when, instead of crossing the tracks, he made an abrupt U-turn onto Seventh Street. I didn’t dare attempt that maneuver, so I reversed in Swanson Toyota’s parking lot and tried to spot the Yukon. I had to wait for the stop sign at Front Street. Up the hill, Milo turned onto Pine. I guessed he was going to the hospital. After I hooked a right off Seventh and passed the Presbyterian church, I saw him walking into the main entrance. The Yukon was parked in a loading zone. There was just room enough behind it for my Honda. As Mrs. Sheriff, surely I had some perks.

  Milo had disappeared by the time I got inside. Jenny Bjornson was on duty again. “Are you looking for Sheriff Dodge?” she asked.

  “Yes. Where did he go?”

  “To the morgue in the basement.” She grimaced. “Do you really want to go there? Just seeing the sign creeps me out.”

  I assumed my callous reporter’s air. “Yes. Which way do I turn when I get down there?”

  “To your left. Oh! Here’s Mr. Fleetwood. I’ll bet he wants to go to the morgue, too. Hi,” she said with a big smile for Mr. Radio.

  “The charming Jenny,” Spence said, blowing her a kiss. “Did you say the magic word ‘morgue’? I’m headed there with Ms. Lord.” He practically pushed me to the elevator. “Surprised to see me?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Who’s getting news leaks now?”

  “I happened to run into Dodge at the courthouse,” I replied as the elevator doors slid open. “I’m filling in for Mitch. He’s gone out of town.”

&n
bsp; “Good timing on your part? Or were you letting the resident bear maul you during working hours?”

  “Hey,” I said as the elevator stopped, “don’t get nasty. By chance I was there when the call came through about finding the escapee’s body.”

  Spence stopped at the morgue’s door. “You ever done this before?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Milo’s always spared me.”

  “Then why don’t you turn around and go back to your office?”

  It wasn’t the worst suggestion I’d ever heard, but I refused to let my rival intimidate me. “It’s my job. Open the damned door.”

  “We have to be buzzed in,” he said, but before he hit the button, a female voice called his name.

  We turned. Rosalie Reed was coming from the doctors’ parking area. “Spencer!” she cried before falling into his arms. “Help me!”

  I stared at them. Spence was holding her close, speaking soothing words and patting her back. “It’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

  Stupefied, I hit the buzzer. I heard Doc Dewey ask who it was. I told him it was me—along with Dr. Reed and Fleetwood. Doc said to wait until I heard a click before turning the knob. A moment later all three of us entered a small office where Doc and Milo were standing by a large wooden filing cabinet. They both looked faintly dismayed.

  “Is this a media tour?” the sheriff demanded.

  Doc pulled out a chair for Rosalie, who was still sobbing. “Sit, please. Are you ill, Dr. Reed?”

  Spence eased her into the chair. “Dr. Reed,” he said softly, “gets emotionally involved with her patients. She’s very upset. Is there some way to prevent her from having to make the ID?”

  “We can’t wait for Dr. Woo,” Doc replied. “What about Farrell?”

  “He didn’t know the patient,” Spence said, his hand on Rosalie’s shoulder. He cleared his golden throat. “Would you trust me to do it?”

  Doc removed his glasses to stare at Spence. Milo shot Mr. Radio a sharp glance. “You know the man?” Doc finally asked.