The Alpine Kindred (33 page)

“Yes.” I puffed away on the cigarette, feeling a bit decadent. “But they'd also band together to keep a secret. Thyra would see to that. As far as I can tell, she still rules the family with an iron hand.” Suddenly I remembered my previous cigarette of the day, with Mary Jane Bourgette. I recounted how Mary Jane had approached her sister-in-law at the cemetery and Marlys had only mumbled something incomprehensible. “Don't forget, Mary Jane hasn't seen Marlys for going on forty years. She might not recognize her without all those veils and the hat.”

“Weird.” Milo finished both his drink and his cigarette. “I've got to stop by the office.” He paused. “You want to come along?”

I was startled. “Sure. I'll meet you there.”

The Sheriff was standing, putting his hat back on. “You know something?” he said in a wistful voice. “What I
really wonder is if I was trying to appease the public or trying to please you.”

I stubbed out my half-smoked cigarette. “Please me?” I shook my head. “Maybe you were trying to show me.”

“Show you?” Milo seemed puzzled.

I gave the Sheriff a wry glance. “Show me up.”

Milo didn't respond.

The Sheriff's deputies were wet, dirty, tired, and out of sorts. Dwight said they'd found all sorts of junk between the highway and the Rasmussens' front yard.

“People are frigging pigs,” Dwight declared. “They drive through all this beautiful country and toss everything out the car window except their kids.”

“We couldn't get lucky and have the Rasmussens live by one of the marshy areas along the river,” Sam complained. “Rain or not, we might have found a fresh, clear footprint. As it is, we found about two dozen, including deer and cougar tracks. There're plenty of fishermen, hikers, and wildflower gatherers, especially this time of year, even if it's against the law.”

“The river's kind of slow in there,” Dwight noted. “Fishermen come up toward the highway because there aren't any good holes and they don't want to get yelled at for walking through people's front yards.”

“We're already getting casts of the prints made,” Sam put in. “Most of them look like men's shoes.”

We were standing inside the counter area, with Milo resting a foot on the edge of Torti Andreas's empty desk. Dustin Fong was handling the phones and I guessed that Bill Blatt was out on patrol. No doubt Bill was checking in frequently to keep abreast of his aunt's condition.

“First thing tomorrow,” Milo said, “we get a search warrant for the house. What about tire tracks along the highway?”

Dwight and Sam exchanged sullen looks. “You know the road, chief,” said Sam. “There's an actual shoulder in that stretch. You could pull over anything but a big rig and it'd fit on the pavement.”

Milo swore under his breath, then scowled. “That's the point. Why pull over?”

I understood what Milo meant. “There's about a quarter mile of straightaway in there,” I said. “If you were driving through, you could see a car turn in the road to the Rasmussen place.”

Milo and the three deputies were all looking at me. “So,” Dwight drawled, “you just happen to be coming along and you see Vida's big Buick pull off the highway and you decide to stop and shoot her?”

I was unfazed by the implied criticism. “It's not as haphazard as that. You might be headed for the same destination. Or maybe you just left.”

Milo scratched his head. “Vida doesn't remember seeing another car, parked or otherwise.”

I thought about the way Vida drove: she was a real rubbernecker, especially in town. She'd definitely notice another vehicle in the vicinity. But given what had happened to her, would she remember?

“Maybe,” Milo suggested, “there wasn't any vehicle.”

We all looked at each other. Certainly that was possible. But what did it mean? Unfortunately, I had no answer.

The next morning, I stopped in at the hospital shortly after nine. I'd already called to check on Vida's condition, and had been told she'd spent a restful night. From my own, admittedly limited, sick-bay experiences, that meant that she hadn't fallen out of bed, been attacked by wolves, or set fire to her hair. There is no rest in the hospital, with
nurses and orderlies parading in and out of the room every twenty minutes—except when you need them.

Vida looked much better, however. She was sitting up on her own, her color had returned, and the familiar tortoiseshell glasses made her appearance seem almost normal.

“Such a fuss!” she exclaimed. “You'd think I'd been blown up by an atom bomb! I've told them to screen my calls. Eleven people have already phoned this morning. I scarcely got through breakfast.”

Even as we spoke, a deliveryman wearing blue jeans and a metallic leather jacket arrived with two big bouquets. Under Vida's guidance, he placed the flowers on the windowsill. “Marje Blatt, my niece,” she said, opening one of the accompanying cards. “How sweet.” She paused, reading the other card. “The Runkel contingent. Lovely glads, so many colors. I can never get the chartreuse ones to winter.”

I'd settled into one of the modular plastic chairs. “Have you remembered anything else about yesterday afternoon?” I asked.

Vida made a sour face. “Not really. What I do recall has come into focus, but there's not much I can add. I saw no one, heard nothing, didn't notice any cars or trucks where they shouldn't be. Still, I'm sure of one thing—that is definitely Marlys Rasmussen's face in that drawing. Those remarkable teeth—didn't I tell you she had a wonderful smile?”

I nodded. “Perfect teeth, no dental charts. But,” I went on, growing serious, “who pretended to be Marlys at the funeral? And why kill her?”

“Marlys
and
Einar,” Vida replied grimly. “The question becomes, who wanted to get rid of them both? Who benefits? The obvious answer is Beau, Deirdre, and Davin. Harold and Gladys to a lesser extent. But don't forget the
Bourgettes. And,” she added with a dark look, “Birgitta Lindholm.”

“But if that was Marlys at the warehouse site, she was killed before the fire last October,” I pointed out. “Birgitta arrived in Alpine less than a month ago. Plus, she claims not to have known about the connection between herself and the Rasmussens.”

Vida examined the dressing on her shoulder. “So she says. The word
claim
seems to apply to Ms. lindholm in many ways. What if she had been here before? What better way to come back than as an au pair to the Bronskys?” My House & Home editor made a face. “Ugh. There
should
be a better way, but Birgitta might not have known of it.”

The deliveryman reappeared with another batch of flowers, including a large white azalea. “My, my,” she murmured after reading the cards, “people are so very kind.”

“You have lots of friends,” I noted. “And relatives.”

“Relatives.” Vida grew thoughtful. “How strange. Everything in this case seems to be family-oriented, though it certainly didn't look that way in the beginning. It was all about Ron and Maylene, and seemed to center on the college. Then there was Mr. Yoshida and the nuggets, but even that was a blind. It's the Rasmussens, everywhere you look. So typical.”

“I wonder if Milo will release Ron,” I mused.

“Perhaps,” Vida said. “If I were Milo, I wouldn't wait until the real killer is found.”

“Milo won't like admitting in public that he was wrong,” I said. “Ron intends to sue the county.”

“Very embarrassing.” Vida nodded. “But Milo will do the right thing.”

A chunky nurse with rosy cheeks and graying black hair stepped into the room. “Bath time,” she announced. “Shall I bring the rubber ducky?”

Vida looked horrified. “Good heavens! This doesn't sound at all dignified. Couldn't you wait a few minutes? I have a visitor.”

The nurse, who I recalled was a Peterson or a Petersen, glanced at her watch. “It'll be at least a half hour. I'm going on break.”

“Then go, Constance,” Vida commanded. “I haven't done much to get dirty. And do spare me the duck.”

I asked Vida who was taking care of Cupcake in her absence. As usual when Vida isn't at home, Amy took over the household duties. “Roger is going to mow the lawn.” She beamed. “So responsible, so conscientious, such a hard little worker.”

If Vida was going to sing Roger's praises, I decided I might as well leave. “I'll be back later today,” I promised. “I'll let you know what's going on with Milo. Maybe the SnoCo Sheriff will have talked to the Rasmussens. I hope whoever questions them has a copy of that drawing.”

On my way out, I stopped around the corner of the hallway by the nurses' station, which was temporarily vacant. I realized that Milo hadn't said anything about the bullet that had wounded Vida. Maybe he'd told her the caliber and what type of gun might have fired it. I decided to go back and ask her.

I was just turning around when I heard the scream. It was coming from down the corridor, and I was sure it was Vida.

As I
TORE
around the corner I saw Doc Dewey running after someone at the end of the hall. Doc was a good ten feet behind his prey, and came to a sudden stop when he reached the stairway exit.

“Goddamn it,” Doc yelled as he gave the door a fierce kick. “The sonuvabitch locked it! Quick, somebody! Press the alarm!”

Two nurses, an orderly, a cleaning woman, and three patients had erupted into the hall. My first thought was for Vida. I ran into her room and found her gasping against the pillows.

“Vida!” I cried. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Man,” she wheezed, trying to raise trembling hands to her throat. “Flowers.” Vida was still gasping.

I didn't know what she was talking about. Her face was crimson, the bedclothes were in disarray, and the dressing on her shoulder was pulled partially off. My own hands were shaking as I tried to give her some water. One of the two nurses I'd just glimpsed in the corridor rushed into the room.

“Mrs. Runkel!” she exclaimed, pushing me out of the way. “Hold on. Doc will be here in just a second.”

The next few minutes flew by in a blur. Alarm bells rang, people ran up and down the hall shouting, Doc came chugging into the room to take over. I made myself small,
quivering next to the closet. Then I heard sirens approaching, no doubt Milo or one of his men. It wasn't an ambulance; I can tell the difference.

“Okay,” I heard Doc say. “We've got something in the IV to relax you, Vida. You'll be fine, though you may have a sore throat and neck for a couple of days.” He squeezed her hand. “Don't even think. It's going to be okay.”

Timorously, I moved away from the closet. “What happened?” I repeated, this time to Doc, whose usual unruffled appearance was in wild disarray.

He guided me out of the room, closing the door and leaving the nurse with Vida. “Jesus,” Doc moaned, looking none too steady himself. “That was the damnedest— excuse my language, Emma—but I never …” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “I was coming up to make my rounds,” Doc said, speaking more slowly. “I'd used the stairs instead of the elevator. I usually do, the hospital's only two stories, but that's about all the exercise I get most days. I entered the ward and decided to check on Vida first, even though she's in the middle of the floor.” He gave me a knowing look. “She
is
special. Anyway, here was this guy leaning over Vida. I thought at first he was hugging her, but she screamed, and I realized he was choking her. I grabbed him and we wrestled around, then he broke loose and ran down the hall. I tripped or stumbled or some damned thing, and didn't catch him before he tripped the lock on the stairway door. Damn, damn, damn. I could have had him.”

“Who was he?” I asked, feeling bewildered by this latest turn of events.

Doc shook his head. “I didn't recognize him. I could describe him, though. Sort of.”

Jack Mullins came rushing up to us. “You okay, Doc? How about Vida?” Receiving assurances, Jack relayed
what information he had: “The guy got away, probably on foot. Dot and Durwood Parker were coming out of the senior center down the street. They saw somebody in a leather jacket hightailing it down Pine. They just thought he was in a hurry, and didn't notice where he went.”

“A leather jacket?” I echoed. “The deliveryman had on a leather jacket.” Vida had croaked the
wordflowers;
now I knew what she meant.

Doc and Jack both stared at me. “What deliveryman?” asked Doc.

“From Posies Unlimited, I suppose. He came in twice.” I cursed myself for paying more attention to the flowers than to the bearer.

Doc shook his head. “Delphine has deliveries dropped off at the desk,” he said, referring to Delphine Corson, Posies Unlimited's owner. “The orderlies or the volunteers bring them up later.”

I frowned at Doc. “Then why didn't the nurses notice him?”

Doc looked upset again. “I suppose they thought he was a visitor. Or maybe they didn't see him. They get busy with patients or filling out charts and don't always notice things. Crazy Eights Neffel came in last week with a beaver wearing an argyle sweater. Nobody saw Crazy Eights until he went into the women's rest room.”

“We'll keep looking,” Jack said. “Dodge is on his way. We got hold of him just before he went to search the Ras-mussen house.”

“I should have caught that bastard,” Doc said in chagrin. “I should exercise more. I'm out of shape. Maybe I should ride a bicycle, like the college kids.”

There was nothing I could do for the time being, so I left. I was getting into the Jag when Sandford Clay hailed me from across the street.

“What's all the commotion?” he asked.

I gave Sandy an abridged version of the latest attack on Vida. Naturally, he was aghast. “Who would want to do in Vida? She's an icon.” He shook his head in dismay. “I won't bother Dodge with my little discovery right now.”

“What's that?” I asked politely.

Sandy uttered a little laugh. “It's the dangdest thing. Want a look?”

“At what?” I was growing a bit impatient as the rain started to come down harder.

“That chest. I found something startling in it this morning.”

I couldn't resist. The Clemans Building, which houses Sandy's office, was across the street from the hospital. I accompanied the assayer to the third floor, where he took the chest out of his safe.