Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) (23 page)

I laughed. “Say—I heard somebody broke into the church, but nothing was taken. Is that accurate?”

Den shook his head. “It was the rectory, but Mimi Barton was so upset that she told the sheriff's office it was the church. She's an efficient secretary, but…emotional.” He smiled wryly. “The only sign of anyone getting inside was that some of the books in my study seemed to be out of order. Maybe whoever broke in thought we were the library.”

“It might've been Crazy Eights Neffel,” I suggested. “He may've decided to stop driving Edna Mae crazy. His current fetish could be books.”

We parted on that whimsical note. It was after two-thirty by the time I reached the sheriff's office. All appeared to be calm, with Dustin talking on the phone and Lori at her computer. She smiled at me wanly and asked if I'd be at her grandmother's funeral.

“I'll have to see what's going on with the newspaper,” I hedged. “It's a short workweek. I'm sure Vida will be there, though.”

Lori looked peeved. “Mrs. Runkel was very late to Grandpa's funeral. We were all surprised. She's usually so punctual.”

I assumed Lori had forgotten that Milo and I were escaping death just before Alf Cobb's services began. Doc Dewey had been called away from the Baptist Church to tend to me, and Vida had come with him. “We were in crisis mode that day,” I said. “Is your boss busy?”

She sighed. “He always is. But go ahead. He probably won't mind if it's you. A man was shot, you know.”

“Yes, that's why I'm here. Mitch is involved in another story,” I added, lest Lori think I was co-opting my reporter's assignment.

The sheriff looked up from some of the paperwork he despised. “Why are you loaded down?” he asked, noting my heavy shopping bags. “You look like the village peddler.”

“Better than the village idiot,” I muttered, slumping into a chair. “I've been buying household supplies. Mitch's information on McElroy is vague. When can we elaborate?”

“When I get it all sorted out with the frigging Feds in Seattle,” Milo replied. “They're sending somebody up here.” He checked his watch. “Whoever it is should've arrived by now. He probably got stuck on the Evergreen Point Bridge. And no, you can't be here to meet him.”

“Did I ask?”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Stop reading my mind. Sometimes you're wrong.”

“Not often. You want to eat out tonight? Somebody said it could hit ninety. We could drive down to the Cascadia for a change of pace.”

I considered the suggestion. “You sure you want to drive there and back after a busy day?”

Milo shrugged. “I can avoid the locals bugging me with a bunch of dumb questions about McElroy.”

“You're avoiding
my
questions, Sheriff.”

“So I am. Why don't you leave that stuff with me? I'll put it in the Yukon. Your little arms might fall off if you have to carry it to your office.”

“You're trying to get rid of me,” I asserted. “I have news for you.”

“About how much you spent at Parker's? Skip—”

“About the Ridleys. The lurker showed up at their place and they got a good look at him. If you want a description, call Rip. He doesn't want to admit he fell down trying to catch the guy.”

Milo chuckled. “Sounds like Coach Two-and-Ten. I'll call
him. I like giving Rip a hard time. Maybe I'll buy him a beer after work. That's it?”

“Yes. Did you ask Donna to leave a message for Craig?”

My husband grimaced. “Damn. I forgot. Good-bye, Little Emma.”

“Stop calling me ‘little'!” I yelled. But I left. At least I'd gotten rid of the blasted shopping bags.

—

I'd forgotten to ask Milo if Dr. Reed and Kay Burns had given their statements about the set-to at RestHaven. I told Mitch to follow up on that part of the story. Meanwhile, I decided to write two brief editorials instead of a longer one. The first would be Fuzzy putting his plan before the electorate and the other on violence, both abroad and on the home front. Naturally, I was opposed. I wondered if I came out with a pro-violence stance, more people might actually read my editorials. Probably not.

Vida and Dippy weren't around when I returned. Alison told me they'd gone to the retirement home so she could catch up on news from the weekend. I shuddered at the havoc Dippy might create. Many of the residents, of course, were from the Greatest Generation. They'd need all of their Depression-era and World War II skills to survive the little terror.

I called Milo at four-thirty. Kay Burns was stopping by his office when she got off work at five. Rosalie was still recovering from being hit by Farrell. She'd release her statement after conferring with Dr. Woo and Kay in the morning. I couldn't use one statement without the other. Their versions could be very different. Mitch agreed, and he had to write the story. We were stuck with the bare facts in the current edition.

When I started out of the office, Vida informed me that she—and Dippy—were staying late to get her copy in before
deadline. “By the way,” she said, oblivious to her great-grandson, who was up on the table by the unplugged coffee urn, “Mitch and Leo were both gone over the weekend so I'm short on ‘Scene' items. Do give me something for my column.”

As usual, I initially drew a blank. “Oh—Rosemary Bourgette and her new boyfriend, Des Ellerbee, chasing small children at the picnic.”

“Rosemary has a new beau?” Vida wrinkled her nose. “How could I not know that?”

“Well, I guess it happened while you were being…cross,” I said. “You can read about him in the feature I did for this week.”

“I certainly will,” Vida murmured. “More, please.”

“Sultan teens in town—”

She cut me off. “I already have that. I was at the Burger Barn, as you may recall.”

“Okay. Darla Puckett released from the hospital after a brief stay?”

“Marje gave me that item for my ‘Ailing Alpiners' report. Do try for one more.”

As much as I hated to mention it, I told her about Ed trying to sell his Casa de Bronska souvenirs at the picnic. With a resigned expression, Vida decided to use it. “Really,” she said, “I should never leave town. That is, I'm glad I did just this once, but still…it's amazing how people don't notice what goes on around them.”

Edging toward the door, I glanced at Dippy, who was trying to dismantle the coffee urn. “You might want to make sure your great-grandson doesn't electrocute himself. I think Alison has already prepared the coffee for tomorrow. Have a good weekend.”

I kept going. It had to be ninety degrees. The car felt like a sauna. I turned on the AC. To heck with gas mileage. I wanted comfort, at least for the brief drive to our too-warm house.

Assuming we'd eat out, I opened all the windows and doors before heading outside. When Milo hadn't shown up by five-thirty, I decided to make myself a drink. When he hadn't arrived by six-fifty, I began to worry. But five minutes later when I went indoors to check in with Kip, I saw the Yukon pull into the driveway.

“What happened?” I asked as my husband loped inside.

“No big news for you,” Milo replied, bestowing a quick kiss on me. “Rip figures they'll have a five-hundred season. He's dreaming.”

“You've been out guzzling beer!” I yipped.

My husband looked puzzled. “I told you I was going to do that.”

I made a face. “I thought you were kidding.” I put my arms around him. “I sound like a…wife.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said, hugging me. “Try paying attention when I tell you something, okay?”

I looked up at him. “Did the Fed from Seattle show up?”

Milo frowned and let go of me. “No. His car broke down by Woodinville. He had to get towed and by then it was too late with all the damned traffic. He'll be here tomorrow.”

“Do you think he'd let Mitch…never mind,” I mumbled. The Fed wouldn't cooperate with a small-town weekly. Milo had already gone off to change. I soothed myself by looking at
Sky Autumn
. It never failed to lighten my mood. It also gave me an idea.

I was still in the living room when my husband came out from the hall. “We should've run a picture of that painting in the paper. Where is it? It's not too late.”

“It's at headquarters.” Milo looked pained. “You don't really want me to go get it, do you?”

“I'll go in to get it,” I said. “Then we can drop it off for Kip before we go to dinner. Someone may recognize it.”

“Nobody recognized the stiff.”

“But you've probably ID'd him anyway. I can have Kip put the painting next to the story about the body. Or maybe inside…the front page is full…we could pull—”

“Damn! Quit dithering. Let's just do it before I decide the Cascadia's a bad idea.”

“Fine. I'm ready. Let's go.” I stomped off to the garage. I was inside the Yukon when I realized Milo hadn't followed me. I leaned over and honked the horn. A full minute passed before he came out of the house.

“What's with you?” he bellowed. “You didn't bother to close the doors. Have you got something going on with the lurker?”

I held my head. “No. I'm sorry. This weather makes me crazy.”

“You can't change the weather.” Angrily, he turned the ignition key and backed out at warp speed. We pulled up at headquarters in less than two minutes. I think I held my breath for almost half the time. “Go get the frigging painting. Tell Mullins I okayed it.”

Jack looked amused when I entered. “Has the big bad boss sent you to tell me I'm fired? Whoa—you look fit to spit.”

“I'm hot,” I declared, trying to collect my wits.

“The boss obviously thinks so.” Jack sobered. “How can I help?”

“I have his approval to remove the picture found at the dump site,” I said, regaining my aplomb. “Do you know where it's stashed?”

“It's gone,” Jack replied.

“Gone?” I goggled at him. “What do you mean?”

“Kay Burns came in awhile ago to give her statement about the brawl at RestHaven,” Jack replied. “Lori couldn't figure out if the picture was actual evidence, so she'd left it on the counter. Kay claimed it belonged to her. I thought she was full of it, so I asked her what the other side of the frame looked like. She had to think about it, but when she finally said it didn't have wires, but a brass hanger, I decided it must be hers.” He shrugged. “Does Dodge want it back?”

“No.” I frowned. “If he does, he can talk to Kay.”

I wanted to talk to her, too. But I wasn't sure how to approach Kay. The questions I had for her were the type that might make
her
slug
me
.

“W
ell?” Milo said when I got back in the Yukon. “Did Mullins pull one of his dumb stunts and refuse to hand over the painting? Do I have to go in and kick his ass?”

I explained about Kay taking it. “She could describe the back of the frame.”

“Shit. Now I'll have to talk to her.” He pulled away from the curb. “We're skipping the Cascadia. After we eat, I'm calling on Ms. Burns.”

I opened my mouth to ask if I could go with him, but thought better of it. To my surprise, my husband told me I could come along.

“You and Donna think it's a Laurentis. Kay probably figures I don't know squat about art. She's right. You can even ask some questions. Does that cheer you up, my ornery little twerp?”

“I'm stunned. And I told you I'm almost average,” I added.

Milo ignored the comment as he took the turn to the ski lodge. “Let's just hope she's not getting it on with Gould when we show up. That could be embarrassing. It's still kind of unbelievable.”

“Have you been to her townhouse?” I asked.

“Nope. Why would I?”

We ate in the coffee shop, having already had our preprandial beverages. We both ordered the steak sandwiches. By seven-fifteen, we were on our way to Kay's townhouse on Second Hill. To our surprise, Vida's Buick was parked out front.

“What's she doing here?” Milo muttered.

“Don't ask me. I'm merely her boss.”

My husband sighed. “Hell. Let's do it. At least we won't be walking in on a three-way with Vida, Gould, and Kay.”

“Don't say things like that,” I scolded. “I've got a vivid imagination and it just scared me.”

After we got out of the Yukon, Milo hit the buzzer while I admired Kay's small garden plot of asters and various kinds of daisies. I don't think either of us was really surprised when Vida opened the door.

“My, my!” she exclaimed with her toothy grin. “I was just leaving. Good night, Kay,” she called over her shoulder. “Clam,” Vida whispered as she stalked past us. “Honestly!” Kay was smiling, albeit not convincingly. “Suddenly I'm very popular. I can't think why. Or did I make a hash of my statement?”

“I haven't seen it yet,” Milo replied, parking himself on the sleek dark green sofa. I joined him. “Mullins says that painting from the dump site belongs to you. Where did you get it?”

Kay sat down in the matching armchair. “You mean originally?”

“Right.”

Kay was no longer smiling. “It was a gift from a friend. Years ago, actually. He was an amateur painter. Dwight told me about some teenagers who found it at the dump site. It sounded familiar. I asked to see it when I was at headquarters earlier this evening. To my astonishment, it was the one that
had gone missing somewhere in between my moves over the years. A minor miracle, really.”

I felt Milo lean back and realized I was supposed to speak. “Who painted it?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“His name was Bob Jenkins,” Kay replied and uttered a small laugh. “I suppose it still is. I lost touch with him thirty years ago. That was after I moved to Seattle. He lived in the University District. Typical grad student.”

“I knew a Bob Jenkins when I was at the UDub,” I said. It was true, though he wasn't a student, but had been a high school friend of Ben's. “What did he look like?”

Kay gazed up at the ceiling. “He was a little over average height, dark hair, kind of long, majoring in…fine arts, I think. Very much into Buddhism back then. In fact, he got me interested in the subject, including haiku poetry. Does that ring a bell?”

“No,” I replied. “The Bob Jenkins I knew was short, redheaded, and had no interest in the arts. It's not an uncommon name. Did you have it framed?”

She nodded. “I took it to one of those U-Frame It places.”

“Will you hang up the painting?” I asked.

“Oh…I don't know.” Her eyes darted around the room. The only art Kay had on the walls was a couple of retro posters of Paris. “I'll see. I suppose the only value is sentimental. Not that I had a thing for Bob, but I did like him. He was very soulful, in his way.”

Milo got to his feet. “Thanks, Kay. Just in case, don't toss the picture. It should've been in the evidence room, though I can't see how it ties in to the dead man.”

Kay and I had also stood. She looked faintly alarmed as she turned to the sheriff. “I gather you know who he is.”

“We think so,” he replied. “We're trying to track down relatives. Mullins is working on that this evening.”

“Oh,” I said at the door, “I didn't get a chance to ask Vida why she was here. Is she doing an article on you?”

Kay smiled diffidently. “She's helping your Mr. Laskey with his stories on different ethnic groups. Apparently my cousin Simon didn't offer much information about our side of the family. Typical of him, of course. He doesn't approve of so-called defectors. Not that he often takes the trouble to attend Greek Orthodox services out of town.”

“I suppose he'd have to go to Seattle to do that,” I said, despite not liking to defend Simon under any circumstances.

We made our farewells and left. Starting back down Second Hill, we passed the Dithers sisters' horse pasture. I noticed they'd painted their barn purple. I should phone that in for Vida's “Scene.”

“Kay's lying,” Milo said as we turned on to Disappointment Avenue. “But I'm not sure what she's lying about.”

“Why would she lie?”

“How the hell do I know?” He glanced at me, slowing for the zigzag across Spark Plug Road on to Fir Street by the high school. “I suppose you're wondering if Laurentis is Bob Jenkins.”

“I am,” I admitted. “I wonder if we could check through the UDub. We might be able to prove if he isn't, but not if he is.”

“I think that almost makes sense. Maybe we've been together long enough that I'm figuring out how to understand whatever language you sometimes speak that sounds a lot like English.”

“You always were kind of slow on the uptake,” I said.

“Deliberate,” Milo murmured. “I like that better. I remember when you thought I was dumb.”

“I never thought that! But sometimes it took you a long time to…deliberate over stuff.”

My husband chuckled. “I kind of liked seeing you squirm around while I deliberated over what you asked me. You never could sit still for very long. It was like watching a kitten try to catch a bug.”

“Jackass,” I muttered as we pulled into the garage. “Will you check with Mullins to see if he found out anything about Conley's family?”

“Maybe I should, just to see if he's awake,” Milo replied after we'd gravitated to the patio.

As it turned out, Jack hadn't had much luck. There were lots of Aaron Conleys, along with variations of the last name. “No mention of one who had a band,” my husband informed me. “The only time his name came up was in the
Advocate
when I busted him for bum checks.”

“
The Oregonian
or the
Statesman Journal
in Salem should have references,” I said, “but probably only listings of where Aaron's band was playing. Those items wouldn't be archived. Have Jack check for Aaron and Crystal's marriage license in Salem, Marion County.”

Milo held out a big hand. “See? You're trying to tell me how to do my job. You still think I'm dumb.”

“I do not! We talked about this before. Now you're the one who's not paying attention to things I tell you.”

The sheriff stood up. “I can do it myself. I'll go get my laptop.”

I smiled as I watched him amble off to his den. Maybe it was because the sun was going down and I was cooling off. Or because Vida was not only back in town, but being herself again. It could be marriage to Milo. Whatever the reason, I felt much better. I'd called Kip and everything was going smoothly in the back shop. That was always good news. I'd considered checking in with Vida about her visit to Kay, but I could catch up on that in the morning.

I was still musing when Milo returned. “It's getting dark earlier,” he murmured. “We should put in some patio lights. Why didn't I think of that before?”

“Because you're dumb?”

“That must be it.” He peered at the laptop. “What year?”

“What…oh, when Crystal and Aaron got married. Let me think. Mid-nineties. It wasn't long before she moved here in…ninety-eight?”

“That sounds right,” Milo agreed. “I'll try ninety-four.”

“Her last name would've been Ramsey, not Bird.”

Milo looked at me. “That's right—she was married to Dean Ramsey first. Could he and Conley have been more different? I'm surprised she didn't keep her maiden name. I thought she was an All-World Feminist.”

“Not back then. That came later.”

“No luck…I'll go back…ah! Crystal Ramsey and—” He stared at the screen. “Wesley Ellerbee. What the hell…?”

“
Wesley
Ellerbee?” I repeated. “No!”

“See for yourself,” he said, handing me the laptop as his cell rang.

I was incredulous. But the disturbed look on my husband's face alarmed me as he talked to his deputy. “That's not good. I'd better go see her. You sit tight, Jack.”

“What?” I asked, almost letting the laptop slip out of my grasp.

“It's Rosemary. The boyfriend's causing a problem. I'm out of here.”

“Not without me,” I said, clutching the laptop and following Milo. “Rosemary's my friend.”

“Damnit…” Milo sighed. “Fine, just don't get in the way. Lose the laptop and lock up the house. I'll be in the driveway.”

I wouldn't put it past my husband to ditch me and take off. But he was waiting in the drive when I flew out of the house.
To my surprise, he didn't turn left on Fir to head for Parc Pines, but to the right.

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Rosemary's in the other direction.”

“She's at the courthouse, working late,” Milo replied. “Or so I gathered. She was kind of incoherent when she called Mullins.”

“This is creepy,” I declared. “Could Des and Wes Ellerbee be related? Is this the link to Aaron Conley?”

The sheriff turned onto Second Street. “Don't ask questions now, okay? I'm working.”

Milo pulled in behind the courthouse, using his master key to go through the rear entrance. He punched in the button for the freight elevator, which opened immediately. It creaked and shuddered, however, as it moved from the basement to the second floor. We ended up in a section I'd never seen before, but after hurrying through what looked like a delivery area, we were out in the hall and heading past the offices of Dean Ramsey and County Clerk Eleanor Jessup, another of Vida's shirttail relations—and a source of information.

Sam Heppner stood in the doorway to Rosemary's cramped quarters. “She's okay,” he said. “Just shaken up. She won't let me call Doc.”

Milo entered the office, Sam at his heels, and me taking up the rear. Rosemary was seated at her desk, hands covering her face. Her client chair was overturned; books, papers, and a legal pad lay on the floor.

“I'm a mess!” she declared, letting her hands fall to her sides. “This is all so crazy!”

“Crazy's not your fault,” Milo said in his laconic manner. “Take it easy. Do you want me to send out for a stiff shot of Scotch?”

Rosemary leaned her head back. “I could use it. Heppner should've asked you to bring some. God, but I feel like a fool!”

“Do you want to talk about it here or…?” The sheriff let the question dangle.

Rosemary sat up straight, looking as if she hadn't noticed I was with Milo. “Emma,” she said. “Can I come to your house? I want to get out of here.”

“Sure,” I replied. “We've got Scotch.”

She looked at Milo. “Is that okay? Can I fill out a report later?”

“No problem,” my husband replied. “Sam, can you do your job of cleanup around here?”

Sam said he could. I sensed that the sheriff implied the office should be processed, just in case it ended up being a crime scene. It took Rosemary a minute to get herself and her belongings together. “Wouldn't you know I have a court appearance tomorrow? That's why I was working late.”

We bade good-bye to Sam and left the way we had come. None of us spoke on the short ride back home. But Rosemary was the first to speak after getting out of the Yukon.

“I should call my parents,” she murmured as Milo opened the side door for us. “They'll think I'm nuts.”

I stayed in the kitchen to make the drinks, but I could overhear Rosemary telling Milo what had happened. She'd finished preparing her judicial request, but had decided to look into Charles and Janice Ellison's query about suing the school district for not locating their daughter, Samantha, after she went off with her boyfriend and got involved in Roger's solicitation caper. It was a frivolous request, since Mrs. Ellison had seemed unconcerned at the time. But while Rosemary was reading through their complaint, Des had showed up.

“He knew I was working late,” Rosemary said as I handed her a glass of Scotch. “He glimpsed the Ellison file. Somehow, Des thought it was ‘Ellerbee,' and accused me of checking up on him. I tried to reason with him, showed him their full names, but he just went ballistic. I honestly believed he was going to get violent. I got scared. I told him I was calling the sheriff. He just looked at me—and ran.”

Milo had his Scotch in hand and I'd sat down next to Rosemary on the sofa with my Canadian Club. “He didn't touch you?” my husband asked in a calm, quiet voice.

She shook her head. “But I thought he would. Did I overreact?”

“No.” Milo sipped from his drink, letting the single word sink into Rosemary's brain. “It appears he made some violent gestures or there wouldn't have been stuff on the floor, right?”