by Mary Daheim
“Are you that worried about the chance you actually did arrest the wrong suspect?”
Milo scowled at me. “It happens. Did you lose your memory between here and the radio station? I arrested the wrong guy less than two months ago in the De Muth homicide, for God’s sake. You don’t think that still bugs the hell out of me? I hear all kinds of morons making cracks about that, even on my own staff. It may be a joke to them, but it sure as shit isn’t to me.”
“Clive confessed after the two of them got into the tavern fight and De Muth dropped dead,” I reminded him. “You had no choice.”
“Bull. You think anybody else remembers that part? All they know is that Clive ended up spending jail time before the whole mess got squared away.” Milo was pacing in front of the fireplace, rubbing his head as if he could erase the memory. “People around here probably think I’m losing it, been too long on the job, gotten soft—and old.”
“Oh, good grief!” I cried. “That’s crazy! Maybe whoever is writing the letters picked up on the Berentsen arrest and it gave them some nutty idea. Or else it’s just bad timing.”
The sheriff stopped moving a couple of feet from me. “Don’t try to whitewash it. It is what it is.”
“And what the hell does that mean? I hate that phrase,” I said in disgust. “If you don’t want Spence to play the tape, confiscate it.”
Milo’s expression was mocking. “You want me to get into a free-speech war with Fleetwood? That’s all I need. Get your head screwed on straight and come up with something that’s not a bunch of crap.”
“Hey,” I yelled, “I’m only trying to help. Don’t be such a jackass! What do you want me to do, write an editorial about how terrific you are and anybody in SkyCo who criticizes you is mad as a hatter?”
“Go ahead. It sounds like some of your other shit-brained ideas.” He glared at me with a fierceness that should have been frightening, but only made me angrier. I turned my back on him and stomped off toward the kitchen. Just as I got to the open doorway between the two rooms, Milo grabbed me by both shoulders and turned me around so fast that my neck squeaked.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he said, his voice suddenly low as he leaned down so that his face almost touched mine. And then it did, and the next thing I knew we were on the floor by the fireplace and I couldn’t remember anything except that this wasn’t the Milo Dodge I thought I knew so well and it wasn’t Emma Lord, either. It was two wild, ravenous, fierce human animals suddenly risking pride for passion and not giving a damn. The past wasn’t present; the future didn’t matter. There was only us, no babes in the woods, no orphans of the storm, just two scarred veterans of love’s bittersweet wars. I couldn’t think, and I didn’t want to. It was enough to lose myself
in this stranger named Milo and let whoever he was lose himself in the me I didn’t recognize.
“Oh!” I gasped after we were both spent and my head rested on Milo’s chest. “Guess you can forget the ‘old’ part.”
“I can’t hear you. You’re all fuzzy. Or else my ears are ringing.”
“Mmm.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time. I didn’t move, content to feel the rhythm of his breathing, and vaguely wondering if he’d gone to sleep. But after a while, I realized I was cold. I lifted my head to look at the fireplace. There were no flames, just a scattering of orange embers in the grate. I checked my watch, the only thing I was still wearing.
“My God,” I said in shock, “it’s going on eleven!”
Milo opened his eyes. “What?” He raised his head. “Jesus. It can’t be.” His left arm was still around me. “I can’t see my watch.”
“I can move.”
“Don’t. You feel good like this.”
“We can’t stay here forever.”
“Can’t we?” He ruffled my hair with his free hand. “Why not? The rest of the world’s a bunch of crap.”
“It’s also winter out in that crappy world. Aren’t you chilly?”
“No. Want me to warm you up again?”
I smiled at him. “I’m sure you could, but one of us has to act like a responsible adult or else we’ll never get off the floor.”
His hazel eyes studied my face for a long moment. Then he pulled me closer and kissed my nose. “You’re right. Roll over so I can get up.”
I scooted off of him and put a hand on the side table next to the easy chair to steady myself. I felt shaky, a discovery that made me giggle. The sheriff was sitting up, his back to me.
“If you want something funny,” he said in faint dismay, “my watch says it’s nine-fifteen. The damned thing’s stopped.”
“I’m not surprised. If I can walk, I’m going to get my bathrobe.”
When I returned, Milo had put all of his clothes back on except for his socks and boots. “I’d better head on out,” he said wistfully.
I peeked between the drapes to see what the weather was doing. “It’s sticking. An inch, maybe.”
“No problem.” He sat down to put on his boots. “You’re right. It is cold in here now.”
“My furnace turns off at ten every night, then comes back on at seven in the morning.”
He gestured at the end table by the sofa. “Don’t forget your key.”
“I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that now.” I picked up the key, clasping it in my hand.
Boots on, the sheriff stood up. “I’ll talk to Fleetwood first thing tomorrow. I want to hear that tape.”
“You should,” I said as he put on his all-weather jacket. “Take the rest of the pie with you.”
“Don’t you want some?”
“I’ll cut out a slice. Come on, you can leave through the kitchen.”
Milo stood by the window over the sink, looking out to the carport. “It’s still blowing, coming in from the north.”
“It could get bad by morning,” I said, taking a fairly generous piece of pie and putting it on a plate. I covered the rest with the plastic lid and handed it over. “I do have regular cheddar, extra sharp. It’s in one of the crisper drawers.”
The sheriff nodded absently. I knew what he was thinking—the same thing that was going through my mind. Whatever we’d had there on the living room floor had evaporated once we covered ourselves. I felt close to tears and had to turn away. “I’d better put the key on my loop right now. Be careful.”
“You too. Thanks for everything.”
A burst of icy air filled the kitchen as he went out the door. I’d never felt so cold—or so alone.
TWELVE
KIP CONFRONTED ME FIRST THING THE NEXT MORNING AS soon as I walked through the Advocate’s front door. “I waited up until after eleven, but I never heard back. Did I miss a call from you?”
I tried to act as if I hadn’t forgotten Kip existed during the hour or more that he’d waited for the phone to ring. “There wasn’t anything to add. Spence is supposed to let us know when he’s going to air the interview, but Milo wants to hear it first.”
Kip looked puzzled. “Dodge wasn’t there at headquarters?”
“He’d already finished talking to the Petersens,” I explained. “Strom didn’t stick around, either. He took off for Seattle. It was a one-on-one between Spence and Cole.” I forced an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve called to let you know there was nothing new.”
Kip shrugged. “No big deal. Did the original posting look okay?”
I didn’t want to admit that I’d never bothered to check. “Fine,” I said, and hoped it was true. “I always trust your judgment.” That was true. “Where’s Denise?”
“Not here yet,” Kip replied. “Maybe she’s still sick. She left the reception area in kind of a mess. I had to shut down her computer, wash her coffee mug, empty the wastebasket, and rescue a copy of this week’s paper from under her chair.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I can give you a five-dollar bonus. Oh! I forgot that she has the bakery run.”
“I’ll bet she didn’t plug t
he coffee in before she left,” Kip said. “Or did you tell her about that?”
“No, I figured Amanda did.”
We both went into the newsroom. Leo was coming out of the back shop. “If you’re in search of coffee, you’ll have to wait. It wasn’t set up and I plugged it in about three minutes ago.”
“No sign of Denise?” I asked.
Leo shook his head. “Maybe she’s skiing to work. There must be four inches out there, but at least it’s stopped now.”
“It’s ten after eight,” I pointed out. “Did she call?”
“I got here about ten to,” Kip replied. “No messages from her. A bunch for Vida about her show last night.” He grinned. “You’d expect that, though. She gets plenty of calls even when somebody has a new chocolate cake recipe on Cupboard.”
At least he hadn’t said “apple pie,” I thought to myself. “Then I’ll call her. Denise, I mean.”
Even as I spoke, my eye was caught by a pretty, breathless blonde coming through the front door. I went out to greet the newcomer, leaving Leo and Kip to stare at the coffeemaker.
“Ms. Lord?” the newcomer said with a tentative smile. “You don’t remember me, but I’m Alison Lindahl.”
“Oh, Alison!” I exclaimed, taking her hand. “You’re beautiful! How are you?”
She laughed. “How am I beautiful? It’s all smoke and mirrors, which is why I’m teaching cosmetology now.” Alison quickly sobered. “In fact, I’m not teaching today. My students are working on their finals projects. But my cousin Denise called to say that Aunt JoAnne is coming to town this morning and could I fill in here for her. I didn’t know what to say, so I thought I’d better come by to see if you’d want me to take her place for the day.”
If Alison’s physical transformation wasn’t as natural as it looked, I remembered that her brain was inborn. “That’d be great,” I assured her, “but do you want to do it?”
“It’s better than staying home and watching Denise’s brother play kissy-face with my roommate, Lori. She’s taking the day off, too. If Cole stays through the weekend, I’ll spend more time at Donna’s art gallery to keep my distance.”
I’d also forgotten about the Alison-Lori-Cole connection. “Has Cole recovered from being on Vida’s program last night?”
Alison shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him or Lori this morning. Anyway, I worked as a temp, usually a receptionist, while I was going to college. Oh! I just remembered—I brought the legacy book or whatever it’s called from my mom’s funeral. Mrs. Runkel wanted to see it for some reason. Is she here yet?”
“No, but she will be.” I stepped aside so Alison could go behind the counter. “In fact, she’s running a bit late.”
“Maybe she’s worn out from listening to my cousins.” Alison suddenly looked wistful. “Frankly, I could barely stand it. I don’t remember Uncle Larry all that well, but he seemed like a nice man. It’s weird he’d say he hadn’t killed my mother. If he did say that, and Cole isn’t making it up.” She looked at me as if I had some kind of answer for her. I considered telling her about the letters Milo and I had received, but decided against it—for now.
“Cole sounded sincere,” I said.
“He seems like a good guy, but you never know, do you?” Alison sighed. “Maybe Uncle Larry realized he wasn’t well or maybe he wasn’t in his right mind when Cole saw him. Who knows? After all those years in prison, Uncle Larry might’ve been out of his head and wanted to believe he hadn’t murdered his own sister.” She paused again, her face frozen. “Wouldn’t you think that after all this time since my mother died, I could finally put the past behind me? It wasn’t as if we were really close.” Her artfully mauve-colored lips barely moved.
“I marvel that you’ve done so well despite undergoing such traumatic circumstances at a very impressionable age,” I said. “But you always were a brave as well as a smart girl.”
“Brave?” Alison shrugged. “No, just worried about my dad getting railroaded as the ex-husband turned prime suspect. As for smart, at least I was able to understand early on that my stepmother was the real deal when it came to mothering.”
“How are your folks?” I inquired, trying to remember the last time I’d seen Howard Lindahl and his second wife, Susan. It had probably been at the trial, almost ten years ago.
“They’re good,” Alison replied. “Oh—here comes Mrs. Runkel. It looks as if she’s been to the bakery. Omigod, what’s that on her head?”
“A fried egg,” I said under my breath as my House & Home editor entered the front office.
“Alison!” Vida exclaimed, echoing my own greeting, but without surprise. “I knew you’d be a good trouper.” She set the bakery box on the counter and undid her headgear, a white knit wool cap tied under her chin with a yellow starburst on top. “Denise called me to say she couldn’t do the bakery run. She forgot to mention it to you. I’m glad your aunt JoAnne is coming to town. I must have a chat to catch up with her. She’s usually so busy, with her old friends and family.”
“I’m sure my aunt would enjoy that,” Alison said. “This isn’t a happy visit, according to Denise. In fact, she tried to talk her mother out of coming. I guess Uncle Larry’s death really upset Aunt Jo.”
If Alison’s statement surprised Vida, she hid it. “Of course. Losing a spouse, even an ex-spouse, can be devastating. Now,” she went on, picking up the bakery box, “I must set out these delicious goodies. I managed to get quite an assortment. The snow must’ve gotten some of the early customers off to a late start.”
As Vida tromped into the newsroom, I asked Alison if there was anything she needed to know about Denise’s duties.
“I can play it by ear,” she insisted. “I know about the classifieds, but if anything stumps me, I’ll ask. That’s a big part of temping.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “I’ll let you get to it.”
The coffeemaker had finished its job as I went back to the newsroom. Leo and Kip were ogling the Italian slippers, three kinds of bear claws, a dozen various doughnuts, and a half-dozen napoleons.
“Duchess,” Leo said, “you must’ve drained all the petty cash on this stuff. Should we all bring in some store-bought cookies Monday?”
“My treat,” Vida responded. “I used my own money, since this wasn’t my usual bakery day. Besides,” she went on, standing back to inspect her handiwork on the tray, “I always think people get hungrier when the first snowfall in Alpine is deeper than an inch or two.”
“Not to mention,” Leo remarked, “that you must’ve sent KSKY’s ratings right over Mount Baldy. Fleetwood owes you a big Christmas bonus.”
Kip nodded enthusiastically. “That was killer, Vida,” he declared. “You really rocked last night. I expected the cupboard door to fall off its hinges. Ah—your phone’s ringing—again.”
“So it is,” Vida said a bit smugly. “I’ll answer it.”
I poured a mug of coffee and took a sugared doughnut. Leo nudged me. “I wonder what Denise thought about her brothers going at each other over the airways. Maybe that’s the real reason why she isn’t here this morning.”
“Being Denise,” I said, dropping my voice while trying to block out Vida’s animated chatter on the phone, “she may be the only person in Alpine who doesn’t regularly tune in to Vida’s show.”
“Are you adding anything to last night’s online posting?”
“I don’t know yet,” I replied. “The sheriff wants to hear the interview with Cole, and Spence may air the original again if he gets a lot of listener requests.”
Leo shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were him. He’d better talk to whoever his lawyer is first. One or all of the Petersens might sue him for exploitation or inciting harassment or God only knows what else. I remember one occasion when I was working in Orange County and the paper there ran photos of local firefighters who’d posed for a fund-raising calendar. It was such a hot item with all those good-looking studs that they were asked to run it
again—in color. Within two months of publication, two of the guys had dumped their wives for women who’d contacted them after seeing their pictures. Both ex-wives filed a lawsuit against the paper for … I forget the exact reason, but basically it was for provoking alienation of affection, charging the publisher had violated their privacy and ruined their marriages.”
“Did they win the lawsuit?” I asked.
“No. Tom had smarter attorneys than the exes.” Leo suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to … you know.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I can hear his name and not burst into tears. You worked for him a long time. It’s occurred to me that you knew him better than I did.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He shrugged. “You look tired. Do you feel all right?”
“Yes,” I answered, wishing it were true. “It’s been a long week. I haven’t had time to get out my Nativity set and start putting the pieces up one by one.”
“Kip told me Denise was sick last night before she left,” Leo said. “I thought that was another reason she didn’t show up.” He gestured with what was left of his bear claw. “Here comes our star reporter now. Hi, Mitch. How do you like the new blonde?”
“Nice,” Mitch said, nodding to Vida, who was now on a second phone call. “I’d have introduced myself, but she seems to have her hands—and her ears—full with fielding calls for our radio star.” He removed his jacket before glancing at the pastry tray. “Wow. This is sumptuous. Italian slippers are my special vice.”
“Have you already checked the sheriff’s log?” I asked.
Mitch nodded. “Six vehicle accidents, none serious, mostly caused by the snow, including two in town. One porcupine on the loose at the Overholt farm, unapprehended so far. Grace Grundle thought one of her cats had been kidnapped, but she found Toodles later, trapped in the kitchen cupboard where she keeps some of her many kitty treats. Speaking of cupboards, how ’bout those Petersen boys?”