by Mary Daheim
Vida now looked thoughtful. “That’s so. But why would anyone do such an awful thing?”
I had no answer, though a sudden idea occurred to me. “Vida—the postmark was Wednesday. The Whitmans didn’t leave until Thursday, yesterday. Wouldn’t Honoria have missed Dodger?”
“Maybe she had given him away,” Vida replied slowly. “Cats are strange creatures. Perhaps he sensed that Honoria was leaving and ran off.”
We didn’t speak for the next few minutes, except for Vida’s complaining that her meatloaf sandwich was dry, and my noting that my hamburger bun seemed stale. The truth was that we could have been eating at a five-star French restaurant and still found our entrées unappealing.
I finally remembered to tell Vida about Becca’s visit to our table. “We should tell Milo,” my House & Home editor declared as we figured out our separate bills. “I’m not saying that Eric Forbes had anything to do with Kay’s murder, but he sounds like a danger to Becca.”
“There are too many side issues,” I grumbled, leaving a dollar tip and heading for the register. “It’s like links in a paper chain—Kay was Becca’s client, and this Eric is Becca’s ex-husband. Laurie was present at the time of the murder, and she may or may not be the daughter of Toby Popp. There are connections all over the place, but do they mean anything?”
We were now out on the sidewalk where the rain was coming down in a steady drizzle. The clouds were so low that Mount Baldy had disappeared behind a gray curtain. Dampness permeated the air, with icicles dripping from storefronts and melted snow trickling along the gutters.
“The connections—I should say situations,” Vida corrected herself, tromping across Front Street in her brown galoshes, “mean a great deal to the people involved. But if you’re asking what they have to do with Kay Whitman’s death, I must confess to being up a stump.”
So was I. We were now in front of Parker’s Pharmacy. The Advocate was a block away, at Front and Fourth; the sheriff’s office was right across Third Street. Vida and I exchanged swift looks, then marched west.
Milo was behind the curving counter where Dustin Fong sat at a computer, Bill Blatt talked on the phone, and Toni Andreas held sway in her newly installed receptionist’s slot.
“Now what?” Milo demanded, sounding exasperated.
“Don’t be like that,” Vida said crossly. “It gets my goat when you act as if we’re a pair of pests. We’ve come to see if you’ve checked with the Sultan postmistress.”
“Sam Heppner’s out on patrol, so I sent him into Sultan,” Milo replied, still sour. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve called Grants Pass. Honoria and her mother ought to get in around six. With any luck, the local cops can contact them at one of the motels. Then we can find out when Honoria last saw Dodger.”
Vida gave a single nod. “Very good.” She turned to her nephew, who had just gotten off the phone. “What about that fax from US West?”
Bill’s fair skin colored slightly. “It hasn’t come yet, Aunt Vida. They said it’d probably be late today.”
Vida uttered a small snort. “No wonder they were divested. You’d think they’d be more efficient these days.” Her eyes darted from her nephew to Milo to Dustin and back to Bill, who was squirming in his seat. “Well?” She spoke sharply. “What is it? I know when something’s bothering you, Billy.”
Nervously, Bill pushed a lock of blond hair off his forehead. “It’s … it’s just business, Aunt Vida. Honest.” He gave his boss a helpless look.
Milo hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Okay, go ahead.” He sighed. “What now?”
Bill pointed to the phone. “That was Stella Magruder. She says Becca Wolfe never got back from lunch. Stella’s worried.”
Chapter Eleven
ED BRONSKY’S WARNING buzzed through my brain as I sat across from Milo in his private office. If there was gossip about my voyeuristic involvement in local crime, maybe it was justified. For the third time in a single week, I found myself giving information to the sheriff.
“Look,” I said, “Becca didn’t say anything except that her ex-husband was in town. He scares her, but she didn’t seem inclined to call you.”
In the chair next to me, Vida was looking at her watch. Milo hadn’t tried to keep her out of his inner sanctum; he knew such an effort would prove futile.
Vida looked up. “It’s one-twenty now. How long has Becca been missing?”
Milo glanced at the notes Bill Blatt had taken over the phone. “Stella said Becca left the salon about twelve-fifteen. She hasn’t come back.” The sheriff turned to me. “What time did Becca leave the Burger Barn?”
I considered. “Twelve-thirty, twelve thirty-five? It was while Vida was here with … Dodger.” I hated calling the poor dead thing by name. Somehow, it made the tragedy seem worse.
Milo picked up the phone and poked a button. He asked whoever answered exactly when the cat corpse had been reported in the log. “Twelve twenty-four,” he said, making another note, then directing his attention at Vida. “You didn’t see Becca on your way back to the Burger Barn, I take it?”
“No.” Vida answered without hesitation. “If I had, don’t you think I would have said as much?”
“Shit.” Milo swore softly, ignoring Vida’s reproachful expression. “What could happen to her in one block? She didn’t even have to cross Front Street to get back to work.”
The only businesses between the Burger Barn and the Clemans Building were the ski shop and the cobbler’s. The most likely scenario was that Becca had been hailed by someone, maybe in a car. I made the suggestion and watched Milo roll his eyes.
“Hell, you think I haven’t thought of that already? But would she go off with her ex-husband right after she’s announced he’s dangerous?”
“She didn’t say that exactly,” I hedged.
Milo had already requested an all-points bulletin on Becca. I could imagine Stella Magruder’s reaction to the latest disaster. The salon owner must feel hexed.
“We need a description of this Forbes guy,” Milo declared, his gaze on Vida.
For once, Vida couldn’t help. She made a rueful face, then offered suggestions, as if to make amends for her inadequacy. “Ask Stella. She may have seen a picture. Or Becca’s parents. Perhaps they knew their son-in-law, even if they didn’t approve of him.”
Milo gave orders to Dustin Fong to deliver the news. “I hate this part,” the sheriff lamented. “Telling the relatives is harder than anything else.”
“You’ve no reason to believe Becca is dead,” I pointed out. “Vida—who was on the street when you went to and from the sheriff’s?” I didn’t doubt for a minute that Vida could recall not only names, but apparel, attitude, and family background.
Vida sighed. “Reverend Phelps, from the Methodist church. Heather Bardeen and Chaz Phipps from the ski lodge. The Peabody brothers. Georgia Carlson, Dr. Flake, Irene Baugh, George Engebretsen—one or two others I can’t recall off the top of my head. But I saw no strangers.”
Milo had been hurriedly jotting down names. “We’ll find out if they saw Becca—or anybody else. What about cars?”
“I pay no attention to cars.” Vida sniffed. “Cars aren’t important—only who is in them. I did see my brother-in-law, Edward, passing by in his truck. He needs a new muffler. Such a racket it made!” She shook her head in disapproval.
Any law-enforcement official who didn’t know Vida might have questioned her accuracy. But not Milo. “I’m going to see Stella,” he said, getting up. “We’ll keep you posted on the latest developments.”
“Of course you will,” Vida agreed. She was also on her feet. “That’s because we’re going with you.”
Milo stopped at the edge of his desk. “Hold it! This is official business. I said we’d keep you posted.”
“I need hair products,” Vida announced blithely, then looked at me. “You need a permanent, but there’s no time for that. Perhaps you could have Stella perk up your new cut. It looks a trifle … limp.” She wo
re a genuinely apologetic expression.
“On the contrary,” I said, suddenly feeling bold, “I’ll see if Stella can fit me in this afternoon.”
In defeat, Milo was a reasonably good sport. I was serious about the perm. There was nothing pressing on my calendar for the rest of the day. This week all the breaking news seemed to be coming out of Stella’s.
Stella, however, had a busier schedule than I did. Laurie was not only working with her own clients, but she’d volunteered to take over for Becca in the facial room.
“I could do it tomorrow,” Stella said, obviously trying hard to keep worry at bay. “Eleven-thirty?”
I nodded, then let Vida move in. But my House & Home editor deferred to Milo. “After you, Sheriff. Becca’s situation is far more compelling than my need for a good conditioner.”
Stella wasn’t as gracious. “Make it short, Milo. I’ve got the mayor’s wife with her head in a shampoo bowl, and Minnie Harris under the dryer.”
Milo’s questions were brief. Stella’s replies were to the point: unless Becca had a client in the noon hour, she always brought her lunch back to the salon. She’d been booked until twelve, and had a twelve-thirty, with Irene Baugh. When Becca didn’t show up, the mayor’s wife had decided to have the facial after her hair appointment, instead of before.
“It meant Irene had to wait,” Stella explained hurriedly, “because I had to set Minnie Harris first. Minnie was anxious to get back to the desk at the Lumberjack Motel. They’re busy on Fridays during ski season. Anyway, I was sure Becca would be back. I thought the Burger Barn was slow filling her order. When Becca wasn’t here for her one-fifteen with Darlene Adcock, I got nervous and called you. I felt silly, but what else could I do?”
“You did the right thing,” Milo reassured her. “What do you know about Becca’s ex?”
“World-class creep,” Stella asserted, glancing anxiously in the direction of her waiting clients. “He called here yesterday.” She gave me a nervous, quirky smile. “You were here, Emma. That’s the last time I heard anything of the jerk. Why do you ask?” Stella was again staring at Milo.
The sheriff explained that Becca had told me Eric Forbes was in Alpine. Stella gaped and leaned against the counter for support. “Jesus H. Christ!” she exclaimed under her breath. “Becca never told me that! Oh, shit!”
“Would she have told Laurie?” Milo inquired.
Stella was shaking her head in apparent disbelief over Milo’s announcement. “Laurie? Oh—I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. They work well together, but they’re not exactly buddies. Oh, double shit!” Stella sat down in the swivel chair behind the counter.
For me, there was a fascination in watching Milo handle a witness. Stella Magruder was not only a businesswoman and the wife of Alpine’s deputy mayor, but a voter and a lifelong acquaintance. Only in a small town is a public official exposed so rawly to the electorate. Yet Milo behaved as if Stella were a stranger who wouldn’t know a polling booth if it fell on her. I had to admire the sheriff for his objectivity.
“Did Becca have a boyfriend?” he asked, seemingly indifferent to Stella’s semicollapse.
Stella was staring not at any of us, but at the telephone on the counter. Maybe she was thinking about Eric Forbes’s Thursday-morning call. Or perhaps her own, to the sheriffs office.
“A boyfriend?” Stella finally echoed. “I don’t think so.” Her voice was hollow.
“What about girlfriends?” Milo asked, keeping his poker face.
Slowly, Stella got to her feet. “Becca had turned her back on the old crowd from high school. They were the ones who got her into trouble in the first place. Some of them have moved on anyway. The only girl chum she ever mentioned was your receptionist, Toni Andreas.” The information was delivered with a slightly chiding look for Milo.
“Okay,” Milo responded noncommittally. “I’ll check with Toni. We’re already contacting her parents.”
“Good luck.” Stella’s tone was ironic. Then, with a forceful movement, she came around the counter and stood toe-to-toe with Milo. “Listen, Sheriff, you’d better move your ass on this one. It’s bad enough that a client gets killed on my turf, but to lose an employee—I swear to God I’ll torch that brand-new snazzy office of yours if you don’t come up with some answers pretty frigging fast!” With a flip of her hips, Stella marched off to tend to business.
“Hmm,” Vida murmured. “I don’t believe I’ll get that conditioner after all.”
But Milo wasn’t finished. A moment later Laurie came out of the rear part of the salon, presumably from the facial room. The sheriff beckoned to her; she came forward with obvious reluctance.
Laurie knew nothing about Becca’s former husband. She was almost certain that Becca hadn’t been dating since her return to Alpine. If Becca had any close friends—including Toni Andreas—Laurie didn’t know about them. Laurie not only knew nothing, but in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, she didn’t suspect anything either.
Vida and I, however, believed otherwise. When Milo finished with Laurie, we lingered.
“Laurie,” Vida said kindly, “I really must purchase some conditioner. What type would you suggest for my hair?” To prove her concern, she removed the black pillbox hat she’d been wearing.
Laurie wandered over to the hair-products display. “You need a conditioner for permed, noncolored extra-thick hair,” she said, as if by rote. “This is a good one,” she continued, taking a large white plastic jug from the rack. “If you buy the biggest size, you save almost two dollars.”
“How nice,” Vida remarked. “How much is that, Laurie?”
“Fifteen ninety-five, plus tax.” Laurie’s pretty face was an absolute blank.
“With tax?” Vida asked.
In her typically vague manner, Laurie began to look at the sales tax chart that was taped next to the register. Vida leaned down and slapped her hand over the paper.
“Make a guess, Laurie.” Vida wore a smile that would have made an angel blush.
“Seventeen-thirty,” Laurie replied, those blue eyes bland. “I do this all the time. I can sort of memorize it.” She looked away.
“Remarkable.” Vida spoke without inflection. “Your father must be very proud of you.”
The startled expression that passed over Laurie’s face was almost imperceptible. “He wanted me to go to work for him at the machinery shop, but I said I’d like a career of my own. I really enjoy doing hair. It’s creative.”
If Laurie hadn’t missed a beat, neither had Vida. “I didn’t mean Martin Marshall, Laurie. I referred to your real father. Surely you’ve heard from him now that he’s moving so close to Alpine.”
If I’d glimpsed surprise on Laurie’s face a moment ago, I could have sworn that it was now briefly replaced by alarm. Then her gaze hardened, that same agatelike look I’d seen the previous morning after she dropped the mail. “I hardly remember my birth father,” she said carefully. “My dad’s my dad. That’s why I’m Laurie Marshall.”
“Instead of Laurie Popp.” Vida tossed off the line as if it were an aside in a play.
“Seventeen-thirty,” Laurie repeated. “Do you need shampoo?”
Even Vida knows when to run up the white flag. “I have exact change,” she murmured, rummaging through her purse. “No, I don’t need shampoo, thank you.”
I had assumed Milo would leave after he finished questioning Laurie, but apparently he hadn’t. The sheriff now appeared in the rear of the salon, where he paused to speak to Stella.
“What’s he been doing?” I whispered as Vida and I headed for the door. “I thought he went back to his office.”
Vida wore a sour expression, no doubt smarting from her defeat at Laurie’s hands. “He did. That is, he exited the salon.” She paused in midstep, looking over her shoulder. “Interesting, that.”
“What?”
But Vida didn’t answer. Maybe she was taking out her revenge on me. I’d let her; she’d get over it. Vida’s not a spiteful sort.
<
br /> But I wondered what she meant.
While I didn’t know Becca Wolfe very well, I was worried about her. For the next two hours I felt distracted, my mind constantly turning to Becca’s whereabouts. My imagination was working overtime, inventing all sorts of grisly scenarios.
Around four o’clock, I went into the news office and sat down next to Vida’s desk. “Have you heard anything from Milo?” I asked.
Vida shook her head. “I talked to Billy a few minutes ago. There’s no news, not even from the phone company. Stella told Milo she’s never seen a picture of Eric.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, trying to keep my hands from making nervous little gestures. “What if Becca saw something Monday? Or the murderer thinks she saw something. Isn’t it possible that he or she might have taken steps to silence her?”
“It certainly crossed my mind,” Vida agreed, putting aside the etiquette book she’d been consulting for filler on her page. “I trust it also occurred to Milo. But why would the killer wait five days to act? Becca has been interrogated thoroughly.”
“Her subconscious,” I said, more to myself than to Vida. “Becca hasn’t told anybody what she knows because she hasn’t realized it yet.”
Vida whipped off her glasses and began rubbing her eyes. “That means the killer is still among us. Oh, dear!”
The phone rang, causing Vida to fumble for her glasses before lifting the receiver. Her whole body tensed as she listened, then rose from the chair.
“Don’t read it to me, Billy. I’ll be right over.” Vida hung up and reached for her coat. “That was Billy. He has the phone-company information.”
I rushed into my office. “I’m coming, too,” I called, grabbing my duffel coat. Feeling a need to excuse myself, I gave Vida a wan smile as we went through the door. “I can’t stand the suspense.”
