The Alpine Yeoman (25 page)

“No, not even the dudes who ended up in the ER.” Jay paused. “It’s not that unusual. Toppenish prides itself on maintaining an Old West atmosphere. I take it your Alpine is a bit calmer.”

“It
is
a former logging town,” I said. “We haven’t had anyone killed in a tavern fight since October.”

He laughed. “Not bad. Dare I ask why you’re interested in what goes on over here in this part of the state?”

“Family research,” I replied. “Just getting the facts, Jay, in case it turns into a news story.”

“We’ve got plenty of our own bad news,” he said. “Yakima’s one hell of a big county, second in geographical size to Okanogan. Feel free to ask if I can be of any more help. Not that I found much, I’m afraid.”

I thanked him and rang off. I wondered what had caused the fight—and if it had driven Amos’s brother out of town.

Halibut cheeks on sale cost me twenty-six dollars and eighty cents. Milo’s appetite was wreaking havoc with my meager salary. Having lived mostly on frozen dinners that came in boxes before moving in with me, I realized he had no idea how much real groceries cost. I brought up the subject as he came through the front door, just after five-thirty.

“That’s the welcome I get?” he asked, taking off his jacket and hat. “You’re the one who always expects at least a kiss.”

“I don’t get paid for a week. You already blew my food budget.”

“I didn’t know you had one,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “Hell, I offered to take you out to eat tonight.”

“I know, but …”
Emma Dodge, nagging rival to the first Mrs. Dodge
. I came up behind Milo and put my arms around him as he was about to open the liquor cupboard. “I’m horrid,” I wailed, pressing my cheek against his broad back. “Please kiss me.”

He laughed as he turned to cradle my face in his hands. “Give me all the damned bills, not just half, you little twit. You’re lousy with math anyway.” He leaned down to kiss me—gently. “Still mad?”

I stared up into those mesmerizing hazel eyes. “No. I wasn’t mad, exactly, just … upset. I hate being poor.”

“You’re not poor, you’re just broke.” He let go of me, but not before kissing the top of my head. “Maybe one of these days Doc and I’ll go halibut fishing up in Neah Bay. The season starts in the strait at the end of May. Two, three years ago when Doc and I were there we got one that weighed a hundred and thirty pounds.”

My eyes narrowed as I watched Milo pour our drinks. “Isn’t that a fairly good size for sportfishing?”

“It’s not bad. Why?”

“That’s
news
, you dolt. Two of you locals catching a big halibut? Jeez, Milo, that’s three inches on page four.”

My husband shrugged. “I suppose you’d have wanted pictures.”

“Yes, pictures! I don’t remember you telling me about that trip.”

He handed me my Canadian Club. “I wasn’t seeing much of you back then. You were too busy driving to hell and gone to be with Fisher.”

“Doc didn’t care if I was dating Rolf. He’s as bad as you are.”

“When Doc’s here, he’s got lives to save.”

I just shook my head and led the way into the living room. “Forget it,” I said, sitting on the sofa. “I mean, don’t forget the next time … oh, hell, at least now I’ll know you’ve gone somewhere when you’re not here.”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Milo remarked, still unperturbed.

“Stop before I decide not to tell you about my research.”

“Want to sit on my lap while you do that?”

“No. I’ve got to put the halibut you didn’t catch under the broiler in five minutes. Anyway,” I said, calming down, “I had a visitor today, Carmela Dobles. Why didn’t you tell me she was Joe’s mom?”

Milo’s expression was stoic. “Because we’re not sure who he is.”

“Hasn’t Mrs. Dobles seen the body?”

My husband shrugged. “Could be. That’s up to Driggers. Did she say she had?”

“No.” I grimaced, still beating myself up for not asking Carmela all sorts of pertinent questions. Maybe I felt a bond with her as the mother of an only son. Maybe somewhere along the way she’d lost the first love of her life, too. Or maybe I’d just responded to her as one woman to another. “Was she your visitor here?”

“No.” Milo seemed to sense that I was upset. He changed the subject. “Get any research done?”

I nodded. “I didn’t find out much background, except that
Sam’s brother, Amos, was killed in a Toppenish tavern brawl back in 1978. He was only twenty-four. No arrests, no names of the other participants.”

My husband lighted a cigarette. “Cops involved?”

“Not mentioned in the article, according to my Yakima source.”

“Damn,” Milo swore softly. “Toppenish has its own police department. I’ll check in with them. I wonder if they have records going back that far. If it was just a bunch of drunks, probably not. I’d need somebody with a long memory. Or a grudge.”

“Should I call instead?”

Milo shook his head. “No. Maybe the Ol’ Boy Cop Network won’t be as tight-assed as the county sheriff’s office. I shouldn’t jump them too much. If they’ve got the Feds involved, they’re in a bind. I remember how that goes from when I had to deal with them after …” His voice trailed off as he drank some Scotch.

“Go ahead. You know I don’t burst into tears anymore at the mention of Tom’s name.” I smiled at my husband. “I got you instead.”

“Even if I don’t blab about an ongoing investigation or forget to tell you I caught some fish?”

“I understand the former, and the latter’s different.” I stood up. “Speaking of fish, I have to put the expensive halibut under the broiler.”

“Don’t set it on fire,” Milo called after me.

I ignored him. When I returned to the living room, I asked where he’d gone during the afternoon.

“I took a call about an abandoned car on River Road, so while I was out there, I checked Sam’s place to see if there was any sign of him. There wasn’t. In fact, his mailbox was stuffed, but it was the usual junk. I happened to see Marlowe Whipp
on the way back from his route. He figured Sam hadn’t checked his mail since Tuesday. He could’ve taken off later that day. His call to the funeral home may not have been from town. Did Mrs. Dobles ask you about the other request for the body?”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell her who it was. I guard my sources.”

“Good. Al tried to call Sam back but got no answer. He and Janet thought I’d had Sam make the call. I told him I hadn’t.”

I sipped my drink before I spoke again. “So why would Sam want Joe Fernandez’s body? He’d have to give Al a valid reason, right?”

“Al doesn’t make money on the side with body snatchers.” Milo frowned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I have to wonder. Carmela must’ve been married before she became Mrs. Dobles. What happened to Mr. Fernandez?”

The sheriff’s expression was wry. “Maybe he never existed.”

“W
E COULD CHECK THAT OUT ON THE COMPUTER,
” I suggested.

“Hell, how long would that take?” Milo responded. “It’s like looking up somebody named Smith. Birth records would narrow it down. Damn, let me call Doe and ask her to give me the date on the vic’s driver’s license. She’s working the desk tonight.” He started to take his cell out of his shirt pocket. “Hey, guess who I saw at Gas ’N Go on my way back from River Road—Mickey Borg.”

I was surprised. “Did you talk to him?”

“Are you kidding? He must have seen me in the Yukon first. He jumped in his car and took off. We aren’t exactly pals. I wasn’t stopping there anyway. You know I always go to Cal’s Chevron.”

“Me, too,” I said and shut up while Milo called Doe. It took a little over a minute for him to get the information about Fernandez’s date of birth. It was August 10, 1978.

“Six months after Sam’s brother was killed,” my husband murmured. “Maybe Amos was the kid’s dad? Sam would be his uncle. It makes sense for him to claim the body if nobody else did.”

“But Carmela showed up.” I tried to sort through what little we knew so far. “Why would Dobles and Fernandez be in
the same area at almost the same time? Come on, big guy, speculate a little for me.”

“I am,” Milo said. “Isn’t that what we were just doing? Shouldn’t you check the million-dollar halibut before it goes up in smoke?”

“Oh. Right.” I hurried out to the kitchen. I flipped the fish over, grabbed my laptop off the bookcase, and resumed my place on the sofa. “Birth records in Toppenish, right?”

“Best place to start,” Milo allowed.

I had some problems logging onto the site. “Damn! This is more complicated than it should be.” I got up and handed the laptop to Milo. “You do this. I have to get the rest of dinner ready.”

“I have to do all the work around here,” he muttered as I headed back to the kitchen. “What’s your password?”

“EMULARD95,” I called back to him.

He muttered some more, but I couldn’t hear him. Just as I was about to announce dinner, I heard him bellow, “Son of a bitch!”

“What?” I asked from the doorway.

Milo closed the laptop and hoisted himself from the easy chair. “Mother was Carmela Fernandez. Father was Carlos Fernandez. That doesn’t tell us a damned thing.”

“Then we know that Sam’s brother wasn’t the father, right?”

Milo sat down at the table and polished off his drink. “Not necessarily. They might’ve lied. The site does give the ages of Carmela and Carlos.” He paused while I dished up the halibut. “She was seventeen. He was thirty-four.”

“That’s quite an age difference,” I said, serving us each the scalloped potatoes and the asparagus before sitting down. “You look … dubious?”

“You’re damned right I am,” he growled. “I’m checking for
a marriage license after dinner. I guess Carlos knocked her up?”

“Somebody did,” I said.

“Good fish,” Milo remarked. He paused before eating the asparagus he’d forked up and stared at me. “Why’d you say that?”

“Well … obviously, she had a baby. Oh! You mean maybe it wasn’t Carlos’s kid?”

“Could be. Family honor or some damned thing. I’m glad nobody in your family made you marry some guy to make things look good.”

“My parents were dead by then,” I said.

“Right. Car accident after your brother became a priest. Is that why you got engaged to the guy you dumped when Cavanaugh came along?”

I nodded. “Don was older. He’d served in the army and was finishing his engineering degree. Ben was off on his home missions work. I guess I wanted to belong to somebody. Dumb idea.”

Milo’s cell rang. “Screw it. We’re eating.”

“What if there’s a pileup in front of headquarters?”

“Doe can handle it.”

The ringing stopped. “By the way,” I said, “did Fuzzy call you?”

“You mean about the meeting Monday? Yeah. One o’clock. I’ll have to be civil to Blackwell.”

“You might have mentioned that to me earlier.”

“And interrupt your tirade about running out of grocery money?” He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

The cell rang again. Milo swallowed more halibut before looking at the caller’s number. “Damn. It’s Driggers.” He clicked the cell on. “What now, Al? Did you lose the corpse?”

I watched my husband lean back in the chair as Al apparently droned on. “Okay, do what you have to, but if Mrs. Dobles isn’t leaving until Monday, what’s the rush? She’s not buying a seat for the stiff, is she? You could send it on a separate flight. And no, I told you, I have no idea why Heppner … Right, but did he give you a reason? … Keep trying to reach him. If he doesn’t tell you why he wants the body, it goes to the mother.… Sure, I can do that. Good luck.” Milo stuffed the cell back in his pocket. “Nothing further from Sam, and Mrs. Dobles is getting impatient. They’re discharging her husband first thing Monday morning.”

“I hate to say this,” I began slowly, “but do you think something’s happened to Sam?”

“He wouldn’t have called Al last night if he was lying in a pool of blood someplace. My guess is that he’s wandering around the area, maybe doing a little fishing, maybe just … wandering. He likes to do that sometimes. It’s people who drive him nuts.”

I polished off the last of my scalloped potatoes. “Wouldn’t some of the rangers have seen him?”

“They haven’t been looking for him,” Milo replied. “I didn’t announce that he was missing.”

“Maybe you should.”

Milo shook his head. “No. That’d really piss him off. I have to take Heppner at his word. He wanted time off, he’s entitled to it, and I’d be out of line. I can afford to lose Sam for a week or two, but not permanently. I don’t give a shit if he’s not a so-called people person. He’s a hard and thorough worker. Loyal, too. That’s all I ask.”

“Like you, Sam goes by the book,” I remarked. “By the way, why do you think Mickey Borg is back in town?”

“How should I know? I don’t know where he went when he
left town. He never sent me any postcards.” Milo ate a last bite of halibut before speaking again. “I think I’ll take Fred Engelman up on his offer to do some repairs, though. I can deal with his worrywart crap. Being shorthanded right now, I could use him to fill in at night in case whoever is on duty gets called away. As I recall, he can read and write.”

“Good,” I said. “Fred and Janie need the money. Mickey cleaned her out. Besides, Fred works for Blackwell. He can give you some dope on Jack if you ever need it.”

“Blackwell’s mill is just fine. Too bad he’s not. Got any pie left?”

“No. Yes. You had apple pie for lunch. You want blackberry pie for dinner? Jeez, you’re hopeless!”

“Hey—do I look like I’ve gained weight?”

“Well … no, but you will if you … oh, never mind.” I stood up to get the pie out of the fridge. “Do you want it warmed up?”

“Don’t bother. Are you going to have some?”

“There’s only one piece left. Did you eat some of it for breakfast?”

“Hunh. I don’t think so.”

Shaking my head, I handed over the last of the pie and sat down again. “I hope Vida doesn’t find out Mickey Borg’s in town. She might think he’s snooping around here on Holly Gross’s behalf.”

“Why would … oh, I forgot. Mickey’s the father of Holly’s two other kids, right?” He saw me nod. “You think Borg’s been hanging out with Holly since he left Alpine?”

“I’ve no idea,” I admitted. “I don’t remember when he took off.”