She asked an aide for paper and pen. By the time Dany showed up, Beth had talked to the commissioners, assuring them that she would serve the county faithfully, or words to that effect, and had prepared a shopping list for Dany headed Underwear.
“I don’t have two cents,” Beth confessed. “Not even a credit card.”
“I’ll keep the receipts, and you can pay me back when the insuranee money comes through. I really ought to go to Portland for you, Mom. There’s not much choice in Klalo.”
“Klalo will do.” Beth did not want Dany turning her into a fashion statement. “Fred Meyer and that little shop on Pine Street. I need clothes now.”
“You must feel better.”
“The headache’s gone, but the leg hurts.” Her left leg was encased in a fiberglass cast from the knee down.
“Can you wear pantsuits with a broken leg?”
“No. Get me a long skirt. I hate skirts, but I’ll wear one tonight if I have to.”
“Tonight?”
It was time to tell Dany about the appointment. “I ought to make a public appearance,” Beth fretted after she had confessed. “The county employees will be wondering where the buck stops.”
It took Dany that long to get the message. She let out a gratifying whoop, startling Beth’s poor roommate, and danced around the room. Shortly afterwards, she left with her list, murmuring “Sheriff Mom” as she went.
Beth drowsed. From long association, she knew the workings of county government. Mack had taken a lively interest in his deputies and had trained Corky and Rob well. The department could operate without constant interference from above. Juvenile Justice? Under control. The Library was in good hands. Parks and Recreation, too. Health Services needed money and a new clinic at Two Falls. She could talk to Maddie about that. Roads. Licensing—ah, liquor, hunting, construction…
“Mrs. McCormick?”
Beth’s eyes snapped open. Her privacy curtain was drawn. She pressed the nurse’s button and the button to elevate the bed. “Come in, Earl. I was expecting you.”
He yanked the curtain aside with a rattle of rings. “I just heard… they told me…” Mack’s protégé was white in the face and looked very young.
Pity disarmed her. “They told you the governor just appointed me to serve out my husband’s term.”
“It can’t be true!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t fucking believe it.”
“I hope you’ll continue as undersheriff,” Beth murmured. “Mack thought well of you. He wanted you to gain experience outside the police function. You can start with the Chamber of Commerce meeting on Tuesday.” Mack had always enjoyed C of C meetings, Beth couldn’t imagine why.
“You’re crazy!” Minetti roared. “You’re no kind of cop. You have no right—”
“Please lower your voice,” Beth said in best classroom mode. “My roommate—”
“The hell with her. Everybody said that woman was disaster.” He must have meant the governor.
“Everybody didn’t,” Beth rejoined. Half the voters hadn’t, plus forty-six or seventy-two or whatever the majority had been. “Are you going to calm down and communicate, Earl?”
He took a gulp of air. “Why did you say yes? You must know you have no qualifications, no experience.”
“And you do?”
“I’m a good cop. I’ve been a cop for eight years. I have a degree in law enforcement.”
“That might make sense if you were applying for Rob’s job, or Corky’s, but the sheriff is chief executive officer of the county. He or she is not just a cop.”
“Just a cop? Fuck.”
“You’ve lived in the county three years, Earl, and you haven’t done much outside the department. I was born here, grew up here, lived here all my life. I know the people, good and bad.” She knew she sounded defensive. “I’ve worked for twenty years in—”
“As a fucking English teacher.”
“You damn well betcha,” Beth snapped. “I understand you just got married. I was married more than forty years to a man who worked in county government his whole life. I’ve seen sheriffs come and go.” She swallowed hard, swallowed outrage. “It was a good marriage. We talked things over. I know what Mack wanted for the county and how he meant to get it. I think my credentials are good.”
“You stupid bitch, I bet you never touched a gun.”
Beth stared at him until his eyes dropped. “I grew up on a ranch potting rattlesnakes with my twenty-two. That has nothing to do with law enforcement. If you think it does, you’re dumber than you sound, which is pretty dumb.”
He raised his fist. She stared at it.
“What’s going on here?” The duty nurse entered with a burly security man at her elbow.
“Mr. Minetti was just leaving. Chamber of Commerce,” Beth said in the sweetest tones she could muster. “Tuesday, noon, at Logger Lover.” Logger Lover was a steak house.
“Damn the Chamber of Commerce,” Minetti shouted. “I quit!”
“I’ll expect your resignation this afternoon in writing.” She was proud that her voice sounded cool and pleased to have witnesses.
“You can expect my lawyer.”
Beth wondered whether he had a case. Maybe. She wouldn’t work with anyone who called her a bitch, but Earl didn’t need to know that. If he hadn’t resigned, she would have fired his ass.
The doorbell rang. Thanks to modern chemistry, Rob was sound asleep on Meg’s hide-a-bed. She had gone to work. He decided to ignore the bell, tried to roll over, and thought better of it. He brought his left wrist up and blinked at his watch. Almost ten-thirty A.M. The bell rang again.
It couldn’t be Jeff. Meg had given him a key. Heavy pounding rattled the glass in the old-fashioned front door.
“Keep your shirt on!” Rob set about getting to his feet. There had better be a major emergency. He edged over and slid off the bed onto his hands and knees. The jolt when he landed hurt his back but not as much as sitting up would have. The pounding went on.
He crept to a standing position inch by inch. Once he was up, it was all right. Barefoot and wearing only sweatpants, he made his way to the front door. Earl.
“Back off,” Rob snarled, face against the glass.
Minetti took a hasty step backwards as Rob opened the door. “I have to talk to you.”
“About the case?”
“The governor just appointed Elizabeth McCormick sheriff.”
“And that surprises you?” Wet wind stabbed at Rob’s chest. He wasn’t the bare-chested type, but he hadn’t wanted to squirm into a T-shirt. “Come in. It’s cold.”
Earl stepped in, and Rob shut the door.
“I have to pee. Pour yourself coffee in the kitchen.” He plodded down the hall to the bathroom. Earl followed.
“That’s one hell of a bruise.”
“No shit.” He shut the bathroom door in Earl’s face.
When he came out, Earl was in the kitchen fiddling with a cup of coffee. He looked miserable.
“Bring your cup to the living room. I need major medication. We can talk when it kicks in.”
But of course Earl talked anyway. Rob listened and gulped pills, then began the tortuous process of lying down.
“I screwed up,” Earl admitted.
Flat on his back at last, Rob closed his eyes and waited. Breath in, breath out. The pain began to recede. “What did you say to Beth?”
“I lost my temper. I may have used bad language, but, shit, I was upset.”
“This is not about you, Earl.”
“What?”
“The woman just lost her husband of forty years in a disaster that could have been prevented. How do you think she feels?”
“Okay, yeah, I fucked up. I told you that.”
Rob was silent.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I shouldn’t have quit. I did a good job, though—”
“No.”
“What!”
“You did an adequate job of o
rganizing the rescue operation. Mack would have done better. You wasted time cultivating the Minetti image when we needed you to keep your mind focused.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think I didn’t hear about the press conferences?”
Silence extended between them. Rob felt sorry for Earl, but he felt sorry for a lot of people including himself. He felt very sorry for Beth. And Beth’s kids. And Beth’s grandchildren, who wouldn’t get to know Mack the way they should have.
Earl heaved a sigh. “Guess I better start job-hunting.”
“That makes sense.”
“Uh, will you write me a reference?”
Rob opened his eyes and smiled. “Sure. Buddy. You’re a good cop.” Good but not great. “Who do you think told Mack you’d make a good undersheriff?”
Earl rubbed the back of his neck and gave a short laugh. “I guess I just got too ambitious too soon.”
“Maybe. We all make mistakes.”
“Even Mack?”
“Especially Mack,” Rob said grimly. When Earl had gone, Rob sank back into drugged sleep. It occurred to him as he dozed off that Earl hadn’t given the Drinkwater case two thoughts. Maybe he was not such a good cop after all.
Jeff came in around two and shook Rob’s sore shoulder.
“Ow. I don’t want to know,” Rob grumbled. “Go away.”
“We found Drinkwater.”
He came awake fast. “And?”
“He’s dead.”
“Shit!” He started to sit up and lay back. “Suicide?”
“I don’t know. Unattended death. I sent for the ME.”
“He’ll have to take up residence.” The nearest state medical examiner was based in Vancouver and didn’t like to drive up the Gorge in wet weather. “Maybe he’ll do the autopsies here.” There would have to be autopsies, six, no, seven, counting Kayla’s elderly patient. Rob’s mind raced, mostly in circles. “Tell me.”
Jeff pulled a chair over so Rob wouldn’t have to crane his neck. “I’ll make a better guess when I know the time of death. I think it’s murder.”
Rob felt a chill. Suicide made some sense. Murder didn’t. “Where was he?”
“His place. Big house at Tyee Lake.”
“He wasn’t there yesterday when you seized the files?”
“No.”
“Better trace his movements. Where’d you find him?”
“By the hot tub.”
“By it?”
“Yeah, that bothers me. If he’d been in the tub, we might’ve figured he just stayed in too long.”
“Happens a lot in cold weather,” Rob murmured. “But he wasn’t in the tub.”
“No. He was naked, sitting in the pool room by the hot tub with a towel draped over him. Very neat. Like he just sat down on this upscale deck chair and died. Glass of something, orange juice or a mimosa, on the end table. The tub was whirling away. It stopped just after we got there—had a two-hour cycle, but that doesn’t mean it ran the full two hours. You could set it for less.”
“Maybe it turns on and off automatically.”
“We’re checking the manual. Also checking the mimosa.”
Rob brooded. “He came in, turned on the whirlpool, sat, and died. Weapon?”
“Nothing like a weapon. No note. No visible marks on the body.”
“Neighbors see anything? No, don’t say it. There aren’t any neighbors there on weekdays this time of year.”
“We’re checking.”
Thanks to hydrocodone, Rob had trouble keeping his thoughts going in a straight line. “Fred was in his fifties. He looked healthy but may have had a heart problem, something like that.”
“We’re checking that, too.”
Rob shifted gears again. “Any word from the state patrol? Earl meant to turn the investigation over to them.” Apparently he hadn’t.
“No. Earl’s peeved. The governor just announced Beth’s appointment.” Jeff grinned. “Joy in Mudville.”
“I talked to Minetti. He quit.”
“Wow!” Jeff did not look distressed.
“You can spread the news, in case he starts claiming Beth fired him.”
Jeff eyed him. “So what do you think?”
“About Minetti?”
“I know you like him, but—”
“It isn’t possible to like him,” Rob interrupted. “I thought he’d make a good politician when he learned to listen, and he was an efficient sergeant. I’m glad he resigned, but it leaves us shorthanded. Leaves you shorthanded, Jeff. I need two more days here in bed.”
Jeff nodded. “Better take it easy. If your back’s permanently damaged, you can’t do martial arts.”
Rob winced. Jeff was a little too perceptive. In fact, Rob was scared. He was almost forty-five and bound to slow down sooner rather than later. “I’m sure life would go on without karate.” He cleared his throat. “If you think somebody killed Drinkwater, we need to dig into motives. The obvious one puts slide victims’ friends and relatives in the frame, though they would have had to act fast.”
“Very fast.”
“The McCormicks, the Gautier heirs—we don’t know anything about them. The house sitter who lost her cat.” Rob had the feeling he was overlooking a victim or two.
“Hey, the slide was an act of God.” Jeff rephrased, “A natural disaster.”
Rob rubbed his forehead. “Drinkwater got a landslide hazard warning suppressed. I want to know how.”
“Yeah, okay.” He blinked.
Rob blinked back. “This dope is rotting my brain.” Mack and I were too damned discreet, he thought. Self-disgust left a bad taste in his mouth. He tried to clear his mind. When his thoughts were in order, he gave Jeff a summary of Charlie’s alarm and his own understanding of the geological picture, finishing with his findings about Drinkwater’s business interests. They were sparse.
“And the sheriff knew about the hazard warning?”
“For a few weeks.” Rob hesitated. “He ordered me to drop the investigation,” he added, reluctant. “I didn’t.”
Jeff looked appalled. “But that means—”
“We don’t know what it means, but we’ll find out. I was looking for a connection between Drinkwater and the courthouse, somebody with the opportunity to make the first LHA evaluation disappear.”
“Not the sheriff!”
“Mack could have done it. Maybe he did, but I don’t see him living at the foot of that hill if he knew it could slump at any moment. That does not make sense. He wouldn’t do it to Beth.” I hope, Rob added silently. “And he would not have endangered his children and grandchildren. That’s my opinion, but we’re not going to pay any heed to my opinion. We’re going to go after the evidence, whether or not it incriminates Mack.”
“Will Beth agree to that?”
“If she doesn’t, I’ll resign and send my cousin to talk to the state patrol.” Charlie would want to do that anyway, after what had happened to Kayla.
“Were the Gautiers warned?”
“Mack or Beth may have called them.” Rob explained Meg’s chat with Beth the afternoon before the slide. “They didn’t get official notification, and neither did the other owners. This is going to make a big stink, Jeff.”
Jeff rubbed his hands over his face. “Other than survivors, isn’t there an obvious suspect?”
Rob nodded. “The co-conspirator, covering his ass. Drinkwater couldn’t have got at the first survey himself, and I’m inclined to believe the second geologist, Woodward, the one who said Prune Hill was stable, is just an opportunist. I don’t doubt Drink-water paid him well for his survey, but Woodward would have had a hard time stealing the original report. One of the commissioners could have, or Mack, or a clerk, for God’s sake, or even a janitor who knew what to look for. Somebody with access to the courthouse.”
“Drinkwater sounds like an unappetizing guy,” Jeff mused. “How about personal motives?”
“A courthouse insider’s our best bet, but we should look
into Fred’s life.” Rob’s brain did a Vicodin leap. “Kayla!”
“What?”
“Kayla Graves, the nurse who was injured trying to save her patient from the flood surge.”
“She’s a suspect?”
“No. She knew Drinkwater.” He wondered how much of Kayla’s colorful doings Jeff needed to hear about. “She’s, uh, a neighbor. My cousin’s renting a room from her. She and Drinkwater had a relationship.” Rob made a face. “Dumb word. They’ve had an on-again off-again affair going since Drinkwater moved here. She’s a good observer, so it would be smart to interview her, but she’s in bad shape right now, recovering from surgery in Portland. She lost an eye.” His mind shied away from the thought.
“I could send Linda to talk to her.”
Rob wasn’t sure Kayla would confide in a strange woman. “Why don’t we wait until my cousin gets back, find out what Kayla’s condition is? Maybe we can just call her.” An in-person interview was always better. Meg, he thought. Meg could talk to her.
“Okay.” Jeff stood. “I’d better get cracking. Is it all right, me coming over here? I don’t want to wear you out, but I’ve got a lot of questions.”
Jeff wasn’t the only one with questions. “It’s your case, but you’ve got a house key, and I’m not going anywhere. Keep me up to date.” Rob didn’t insult Jeff by asking him to keep quiet about the courthouse connection.
After his sergeant left, Rob lay still, staring at the ceiling and letting his mind drift through the fog of dope and guilt. Jeff was right. They needed to know everything about Fred Drinkwater. Maybe Kayla held the key.
DARK. KAYLA SWAM in darkness. She reached out for him, touched him fleetingly, lost him. Her ears roared. Her lungs ached. She looked into his mild eyes as they widened with fright, as his fingers slipped from hers. Then darkness, whirling, roaring. She gasped for breath and drew in water. She began to thrash and choke.
“Is she coming around?”
“I think so.”
“Chester! No-o-o-o!”
A warm, rough hand clasped hers. The touch comforted her a little. She gripped hard. That was what she had to do, hold on. She gulped air. Now—under again. She was losing him. She heard a high wail. “No!”
“Hush, love. You’re all right.”
Old Chaos (9781564747136) Page 10
