The Alpine Kindred (7 page)

Vic Thorstensen complied. While Carla fidgeted next to the industrial-size range, I peered over Del's shoulder.

There was blood, soaking Einar's sport coat, pooling on the pristine tile floor. Carla screamed and I let out a strange, strangled cry. Jack Mullins moved swiftly between the medics.

“What the hell?” the deputy muttered. “Rasmussen's jacket is torn. It looks like he's been stabbed!”

Carla threw herself at me. “I'm going to faint! I'm going to be sick!”

Fortunately, Carla is even smaller than I am, but her sudden weight knocked me off balance. I staggered against the service counter, trying to hold her up.

“Let's get you out of here,” I said in a ragged voice. “Come on, sit down at one of the cafeteria tables.”

Somehow, I managed to get Carla out into the dining area. She didn't want to be left alone, but I insisted on going back into the kitchen, where I told Del Amundson that my reporter might need some medical attention.

“She's about three months pregnant,” I said, my voice low and still unsteady. “I don't want this to trigger a miscarriage. See if you can do anything for her.”

Since Del obviously couldn't do anything for Einar Jr., he went out into the main part of the cafeteria. Vic Thorstensen remained with Jack, examining the body. I kept my distance, but began to look around the kitchen area. There were no knives or any other sharp instruments visible.

“Who found Rasmussen?” Jack asked, getting to his feet. “You or Carla?”

“Carla,” I answered. “She'd come here to take a picture of him for the RUB dedication issue.”

“We'll have to get her to make a statement,” Jack said, taking off his regulation hat and rubbing at his curly auburn hair. He gave me his slightly cockeyed gaze. “Did you say Carla's knocked up?”

As rattled as I was by the sight of Einar Jr.'s corpse, I took offense. Indeed, Jack's crudeness helped me find my composure. “No, I didn't say that. But she is expecting a baby.”

“Yeah, right, okay.” Jack had the grace to turn red, then he stared down at Einar again. “I've called for Doc Dewey, but I don't know how soon he can get here. Now that he's the only MD in town, his job as medical examiner may take second place.”

Del had returned to the kitchen, where he motioned to his partner. “I think we'd better take the little mother-to-be to the hospital. She's pretty shook up. That okay, Jack?”

Jack gave a single nod. “Sure. Just come back afterward so you can haul Rasmussen away. I'm not going to try to stuff him into my patrol car.”

Now it was Del's turn to look faintly aghast at Jack's attitude. “I hope not. Rasmussen was a big noise around this county. You and Dodge better play this one close to your chests.”

“Right, right, we know our job.” Jack, who is usually easygoing, was getting testy. “I called Dodge. He's on his way over.”

I turned my back so that Jack couldn't see my grimace. “You don't need me,” I said. “I'll go to the hospital with Carla.”

Jack scowled. “Better not. One of you should stay around to explain how Rasmussen got here in the first place. You know what a stickler Dodge is for details.”

I knew it well. With a sigh of resignation, I went out into the dining area to check on Carla before the medics took her away.

“I don't need a stretcher, honest,” she was saying to Del Amundson. “I can walk.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Del said in his kindly manner, “we got it right here. Let's use it. Come on, you never know. First babies can play funny tricks on you. You been seeing Doc Dewey?”

To my surprise, Carla shook her head. “No. I've been going to Dr. Conreid in Sultan.” As she allowed the medics to help her onto the gurney, she turned a wan face to me. “That's where I was last Monday. Ginny went with me. I couldn't get an appointment with Doc Dewey until this coming Wednesday.”

I gave Carla a weak little smile. “I know, he's jammed these days. You do what Doc tells you, though. He may want to keep you overnight, so let him.”

Del and Vic wheeled my reporter away. I wandered back into the kitchen area, where Jack Mullins was putting on a pair of plastic gloves. “If you're going to stick around in here, you'd better dress the part,” he said, handing me a second pair. “Have you touched anything yet?”

I tried to remember. “No, I don't think so. I know the drill.”

Jack nodded. “Where the hell's the weapon?”

“I didn't see one,” I said. “Carla and I didn't even realize Einar had been stabbed until the medics rolled him over.”

A siren sounded in the background, either the ambulance leaving or Milo arriving. I also heard other noises, then voices. Jack and I looked out into the cafeteria. A half-dozen students and President Ignacio Cardenas were marching into the dining area.

“Damn it,” Jack breathed. “We should have locked the frigging doors. Hey,” he called, hurrying out of the kitchen, “this place is off-limits.”

President Cardenas, who preferred to be called Nat, stopped halfway between the cafeteria door and the serving counter. “Mullins, is it?” His darkly handsome face looked troubled. “What's going on? I just saw an ambulance leave.”

Jack gestured at the students. “Get these kids out of here. There's been an accident. Go on, clear out.”

The students, four girls and a boy probably not yet twenty, stared at Jack, then at each other. Cardenas put his hand on the boy's shoulder. “Go on, Angel. Do as Deputy Mullins tells you.”

With obvious reluctance, the half-dozen students moved off just as Milo Dodge came into the cafeteria. Seeing the young people, he called after them: “You! Lock those doors as you leave. You got that?”

I couldn't see from my place behind the counter, but assumed that the unmistakable authority in Milo's voice would be obeyed. At last I edged forward and saw both the college president and the Sheriff look at me in surprise.

“Emma Lord,” Nat Cardenas said with a shadow of his usual brilliant, if aloof smile.

“What're you doing here?” demanded Milo with a deep scowl.

But the Sheriff didn't really want to know, not yet at any rate. He was through the swinging half doors and into the kitchen with Cardenas at his heels.

“Good God Almighty!” Nat Cardenas cried when he saw Einar's body. “What's happened?”

“Somebody whacked your big benefactor,” Jack responded, then softened his stance. “He's been stabbed, sir. Please stand back.”

Nat Cardenas looked stricken. “Rasmussen? No! That's …” He couldn't seem to finish the sentence. “Who did this?” Suddenly Cardenas was angry, wheeling around to face Milo.

“In case you didn't notice, Nat, I just got here,” Milo said, his jaw set in that familiar manner which didn't take guff from anybody. “You got any ideas?”

Nat Cardenas glanced at me, and I could have sworn that
I'd become Suspect Number One. The black eyes were hard and the finely etched mouth was set in a grim line.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his tone cold as January ice.

“Good question,” Milo said, also putting on plastic gloves. “Go ahead, Emma, explain yourself.”

I did, briefly, also relating how Carla had come to meet Einar Jr. and retake his picture for our special section. “All we know is that he was dead when she got here shortly after seven-thirty. She didn't see anyone or hear anything.”

The suspicion was ebbing from Cardenas's eyes, but Milo was still frowning. “Are you sure about that? The body's still warm. From what I can tell, Rasmussen hasn't been dead for more than half an hour. The crime must have been committed right before Carla arrived.”

“I only know what she told me,” I said, trying not to get impatient. But I had to agree with Milo; Einar Jr. didn't strike me as the sort of man who would arrive early and have to wait around.

“So what happened to Carla?” Milo asked, now bent over the body. “I heard on the emergency-band radio that she was being taken to the hospital.”

“She's pregnant,” I replied, and heard a sharp intake of breath from Cardenas. “She was pretty upset. The medics and I thought Doc Dewey should check her out.”

“Jesus.” The word was whispered by Cardenas, who had his fingers pressed against his forehead and was pacing the kitchen. He must have sensed my watchful gaze because he stopped and turned around. “This is a terrible thing. For the college. And for Einar Rasmussen Jr.,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Jack Mullins, who had been searching the work space, called to Milo from the sink area. “Have a look. I think I found the weapon.”

Milo straightened up and loped over to Jack, who had pried open a big drain cover. “There's a knife in here, wrapped in a towel,” the deputy informed the Sheriff. “There's blood, too.”

“Okay. Bag it.” Milo gazed all around him, to the counters, the sinks, the cupboards, the floor, and the ceiling. A closed door stood by the refrigeration units. “What's in there?” he asked of Cardenas.

“Storage,” the college president replied. “It should be locked.”

It was. “You got a key?” Milo asked.

Cardenas made a face. “I don't think so. Not here, anyway. Where's security? Why aren't they here?”

“Probably,” Milo replied in that semidrawl he reserved for fools, morons, and college presidents, “because we haven't notified them. Go ahead, call them in. We can use someone to keep people away until we're done here.”

“Christ.” Cardenas threw up his hands. “There's no phone … Christ!” he repeated. “Can I leave so I can call from my office?”

“Go ahead.” Milo didn't bother to look at the college president, but turned to Jack. “Dustman's on his way with a camera,” he said, referring to the county's youngest and newest deputy, Dustin Fong. “He got tied up on the Icicle Creek Road with a couple of campers who swore they got attacked by a bear.”

“Poor bears,” Jack said with feeling. “They've got nowhere to go these days with everybody building up the place.”

Without another word, Nat Cardenas left the cafeteria, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in a rigid line. Milo finally looked at me again. “Prick,” he muttered. “I've never liked that guy. He acts like a little king in his kingdom.”

“That's what he is,” I said, more to annoy Milo than to excuse Cardenas. “On this campus, Cardenas rules.”

“Bullshit.” Milo watched Jack carefully place the knife and the bloodied towel in a plastic bag. “Ordinary butcher knife, right, Jack?”

“That's what it looks like to me,” Jack responded, then pointed to a drawer under one of the work counters. “There's a bunch of them in there, different sizes, but all sharp as hell.”

“What are you waiting for?” Milo again addressed me, his manner truculent.

“Doc Dewey. I'm covering this story.” I picked Carla's camera up off the service counter. “May I?”

Milo raised his sandy eyebrows. “Isn't this kind of gory for your taste?”

“I want you and Jack to block out most of the body,” I said in my most businesslike voice. “The only thing I'll show in the photo are the feet and maybe some leg.”

The Sheriff tugged at one ear. “I don't think so. For one thing, this is a crime scene, and I'm in charge. I'd rather not see myself posing on page one of
The Advocate
over a victim. For another thing, I don't think the rest of the Ras-mussen family would like it.”

I'd been amiable for about as long as possible. “Tough,” I said, zeroing in on Einar. “This is news, and I'm in charge of
The Advocate.”
I clicked off three shots, but wasn't sure they'd be any good. Unlike Carla, I'm not gifted with camera skills.

“Hey!” Milo made as if to snatch the camera out of my hand. “Stop that! I told you, this is—”

I whirled around and took two more pictures, both of Milo looking angry. Then I backed away, toward the dining area, still shooting off frames. Milo started after me, one fist raised and swearing under his breath.

“Don't you dare touch this camera!” I yelled. “And if you touch me, I'll sue your butt off!”

Stopping at the entrance to the kitchen, Milo's eyes snapped in fury. “You run any of that and I'll haul you up for interfering with a law officer! Now get your ass out of here before I throw you out!”

“Try it.” I forced myself to calm down, to lower my voice. Jack Mullins was standing by the service counter, looking wide-eyed and, I thought, more worried than dismayed.

“Emma.” The Sheriff also dropped his voice a notch. “Don't push me.”

The rational part of my brain was taking over. If I'd managed to make the camera work properly, I had all the shots I needed. There was nothing else to learn until Doc Dewey arrived, which might not be for an hour or more. Campus security still hadn't showed up, and I doubted that they knew anything. I could interview them later, along with anyone else from the college who might have seen or heard something unusual.

“I got what I wanted,” I said, lifting my chin.

“You sure did.” Milo turned his back on me, then spoke over his shoulder. “I wish to hell you knew what it was.”

Vida was agog. I had called her from the hospital with the news of Einar's death and Carla's departure in the ambulance. She had met me in the waiting room shortly after nine. Despite the fact that half of her gray hair was done up in rollers, she still wore a hat, in this case, a bilious green off-the-face straw number.

“Who called Marlys Rasmussen?” she asked in a whisper that could easily have been heard by the half-dozen others in the waiting room. “Where is Doc? Do you think we could find Carla in the emergency area? Who would want to kill Einar Jr.?”

I sorted through the barrage of questions. “Nobody has called Einar Jr.'s wife that I know of, but I'm sure Milo planned to do it soon. Or maybe he's going to drive to their house and give out the bad news in person. As for Doc, I haven't seen him. I suspect he's in emergency receiving with Carla.”

“Hmm.” Vida rested her chin on one hand, then gazed quickly around the waiting room. She nodded at a young couple who were coping with a fractious toddler. The other three, also young people, were strangers. “Motive?” Vida whispered. “Who? What? Why?”

“Good grief,” I said with a faint laugh, “how should I know? A nut, maybe, prowling around the RUB. A vagrant, looking for food.” I noted that the others, including the young couple I recognized as Sue Ann Daley and her husband, whose name I'd forgotten, were staring. “Let's wait to discuss this,” I said, and picked up an outdated magazine from the nearby table.