The Alpine Vengeance: An Emma Lord Mystery (21 page)

“Oh. It’s over there on your end table.” Milo yawned, picked up the remote, and muted the sound. “What happened with Fleetwood and the rest of the gang?”

“They’re all dead,” I said, still annoyed. And cold. “How was your damned pie?”

“Good. I tried some of that French cheese with it.” He made a face. “Not as good as local cheddar. You want a piece?”

“No.” I took a deep breath and sank onto the sofa. “I have to call Kip. Or do I? I’m not sure we can add anything to our online edition.”

Milo was on his haunches, banking up the fire. “Are you talking to me or the sofa cushions?” he asked over his shoulder.

I sighed. “Who knows? Strom took off right after you left.”

Milo nodded. “I saw him get into his Lexus as I pulled out.” He stood up and stretched. “What’d Fleetwood do? Make Cole sing solo?”

“Exactly,” I replied. “All things considered, Cole did a decent job. Spence is going to play the interview tomorrow, probably after the six o’clock news. I assume you’ll want to hear it before then.”

Milo leaned on the back of the easy chair. “I’d better. It might be evidence.” He saw my curious expression and shook his head. “Don’t get excited. I’m guessing, but I’ll bet Cole repeated what Larry told him about being innocent.”

“He did,” I said, “and elaborated on his reaction at the time. He still doesn’t know what to make of it.”

The sheriff looked rueful. “I don’t either. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more to all this than some oddball trying to make trouble. I’m not sure Fleetwood should air the damned thing—unless it’d make the creep crawl out of the woodwork.”
He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “I wonder if I should go listen to that tape now. I wouldn’t put it past Fleetwood to pull a fast one and broadcast it sooner.”

With some effort, I hauled myself off the sofa. “Did you ever check with anyone at SnoCo to find out if they’d gotten any strange letters?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I got stonewalled by some halfwit assistant to the judge who tried the case. I have the name of the jury foreman, but it turns out that the guy is out of town until just before Christmas. I’ll call the judge again tomorrow. Not that I expect to hear anything helpful. Sometimes those big shots in SnoCo treat us like stepchildren. Screw ’em. If anybody did get a letter over there, they should’ve let us know. Since they didn’t, I figure no news is bad news—for us.”

“Are you that worried about the chance you actually did arrest the wrong suspect?”

Milo scowled at me. “It happens. Did you lose your memory between here and the radio station? I arrested the wrong guy less than two months ago in the De Muth homicide, for God’s sake. You don’t think that still bugs the hell out of me? I hear all kinds of morons making cracks about that, even on my own staff. It may be a joke to them, but it sure as shit isn’t to me.”

“Clive confessed after the two of them got into the tavern fight and De Muth dropped dead,” I reminded him. “You had no choice.”

“Bull. You think anybody else remembers that part? All they know is that Clive ended up spending jail time before the whole mess got squared away.” Milo was pacing in front of the fireplace, rubbing his head as if he could erase the memory. “People around here probably think I’m losing it, been too long on the job, gotten soft—and old.”

“Oh, good grief!” I cried. “That’s crazy! Maybe whoever is
writing the letters picked up on the Berentsen arrest and it gave them some nutty idea. Or else it’s just bad timing.”

The sheriff stopped moving a couple of feet from me. “Don’t try to whitewash it. It is what it is.”

“And what the hell does that mean? I hate that phrase,” I said in disgust. “If you don’t want Spence to play the tape, confiscate it.”

Milo’s expression was mocking. “You want me to get into a free-speech war with Fleetwood? That’s all I need. Get your head screwed on straight and come up with something that’s not a bunch of crap.”

“Hey,” I yelled, “I’m only trying to help. Don’t be such a jackass! What do you want me to do, write an editorial about how terrific you are and anybody in SkyCo who criticizes you is mad as a hatter?”

“Go ahead. It sounds like some of your other shit-brained ideas.” He glared at me with a fierceness that should have been frightening, but only made me angrier. I turned my back on him and stomped off toward the kitchen. Just as I got to the open doorway between the two rooms, Milo grabbed me by both shoulders and turned me around so fast that my neck squeaked.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he said, his voice suddenly low as he leaned down so that his face almost touched mine. And then it did, and the next thing I knew we were on the floor by the fireplace and I couldn’t remember anything except that this wasn’t the Milo Dodge I thought I knew so well and it wasn’t Emma Lord, either. It was two wild, ravenous, fierce human animals suddenly risking pride for passion and not giving a damn. The past wasn’t present; the future didn’t matter. There was only us, no babes in the woods, no orphans of the storm, just two scarred veterans of love’s bittersweet wars. I couldn’t think, and I didn’t want to. It was enough to lose myself

in this stranger named Milo and let whoever he was lose himself in the me I didn’t recognize.

“Oh!” I gasped after we were both spent and my head rested on Milo’s chest. “Guess you can forget the ‘old’ part.”

“I can’t hear you. You’re all fuzzy. Or else my ears are ringing.”

“Mmm.”

Neither of us said anything for a long time. I didn’t move, content to feel the rhythm of his breathing, and vaguely wondering if he’d gone to sleep. But after a while, I realized I was cold. I lifted my head to look at the fireplace. There were no flames, just a scattering of orange embers in the grate. I checked my watch, the only thing I was still wearing.

“My God,” I said in shock, “it’s going on eleven!”

Milo opened his eyes. “What?” He raised his head. “Jesus. It can’t be.” His left arm was still around me. “I can’t see my watch.”

“I can move.”

“Don’t. You feel good like this.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“Can’t we?” He ruffled my hair with his free hand. “Why not? The rest of the world’s a bunch of crap.”

“It’s also winter out in that crappy world. Aren’t you chilly?”

“No. Want me to warm you up again?”

I smiled at him. “I’m sure you could, but one of us has to act like a responsible adult or else we’ll never get off the floor.”

His hazel eyes studied my face for a long moment. Then he pulled me closer and kissed my nose. “You’re right. Roll over so I can get up.”

I scooted off of him and put a hand on the side table next to the easy chair to steady myself. I felt shaky, a discovery that made me giggle. The sheriff was sitting up, his back to me.

“If you want something funny,” he said in faint dismay, “my watch says it’s nine-fifteen. The damned thing’s stopped.”

“I’m not surprised. If I can walk, I’m going to get my bathrobe.”

When I returned, Milo had put all of his clothes back on except for his socks and boots. “I’d better head on out,” he said wistfully.

I peeked between the drapes to see what the weather was doing. “It’s sticking. An inch, maybe.”

“No problem.” He sat down to put on his boots. “You’re right. It is cold in here now.”

“My furnace turns off at ten every night, then comes back on at seven in the morning.”

He gestured at the end table by the sofa. “Don’t forget your key.”

“I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that now.” I picked up the key, clasping it in my hand.

Boots on, the sheriff stood up. “I’ll talk to Fleetwood first thing tomorrow. I want to hear that tape.”

“You should,” I said as he put on his all-weather jacket. “Take the rest of the pie with you.”

“Don’t you want some?”

“I’ll cut out a slice. Come on, you can leave through the kitchen.”

Milo stood by the window over the sink, looking out to the carport. “It’s still blowing, coming in from the north.”

“It could get bad by morning,” I said, taking a fairly generous piece of pie and putting it on a plate. I covered the rest with the plastic lid and handed it over. “I do have regular cheddar, extra sharp. It’s in one of the crisper drawers.”

The sheriff nodded absently. I knew what he was thinking—the same thing that was going through my mind. Whatever we’d
had there on the living room floor had evaporated once we covered ourselves. I felt close to tears and had to turn away. “I’d better put the key on my loop right now. Be careful.”

“You too. Thanks for everything.”

A burst of icy air filled the kitchen as he went out the door. I’d never felt so cold—or so alone.

K
IP CONFRONTED ME FIRST THING THE NEXT MORNING AS
soon as I walked through the
Advocate’s
front door. “I waited up until after eleven, but I never heard back. Did I miss a call from you?”

I tried to act as if I hadn’t forgotten Kip existed during the hour or more that he’d waited for the phone to ring. “There wasn’t anything to add. Spence is supposed to let us know when he’s going to air the interview, but Milo wants to hear it first.”

Kip looked puzzled. “Dodge wasn’t there at headquarters?”

“He’d already finished talking to the Petersens,” I explained. “Strom didn’t stick around, either. He took off for Seattle. It was a one-on-one between Spence and Cole.” I forced an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve called to let you know there was nothing new.”

Kip shrugged. “No big deal. Did the original posting look okay?”

I didn’t want to admit that I’d never bothered to check. “Fine,” I said, and hoped it was true. “I always trust your judgment.” That
was
true. “Where’s Denise?”

“Not here yet,” Kip replied. “Maybe she’s still sick. She left the reception area in kind of a mess. I had to shut down her computer, wash her coffee mug, empty the wastebasket, and rescue a copy of this week’s paper from under her chair.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I can give you a five-dollar bonus. Oh! I forgot that she has the bakery run.”

“I’ll bet she didn’t plug the coffee in before she left,” Kip said. “Or did you tell her about that?”

“No, I figured Amanda did.”

We both went into the newsroom. Leo was coming out of the back shop. “If you’re in search of coffee, you’ll have to wait. It wasn’t set up and I plugged it in about three minutes ago.”

“No sign of Denise?” I asked.

Leo shook his head. “Maybe she’s skiing to work. There must be four inches out there, but at least it’s stopped now.”

“It’s ten after eight,” I pointed out. “Did she call?”

“I got here about ten to,” Kip replied. “No messages from her. A bunch for Vida about her show last night.” He grinned. “You’d expect that, though. She gets plenty of calls even when somebody has a new chocolate cake recipe on
Cupboard
.”

At least he hadn’t said “apple pie,” I thought to myself. “Then I’ll call her. Denise, I mean.”

Even as I spoke, my eye was caught by a pretty, breathless blonde coming through the front door. I went out to greet the newcomer, leaving Leo and Kip to stare at the coffeemaker.

“Ms. Lord?” the newcomer said with a tentative smile. “You don’t remember me, but I’m Alison Lindahl.”

“Oh, Alison!” I exclaimed, taking her hand. “You’re beautiful! How are you?”

She laughed. “How am I beautiful? It’s all smoke and mirrors, which is why I’m teaching cosmetology now.” Alison quickly sobered. “In fact, I’m not teaching today. My students are
working on their finals projects. But my cousin Denise called to say that Aunt JoAnne is coming to town this morning and could I fill in here for her. I didn’t know what to say, so I thought I’d better come by to see if you’d want me to take her place for the day.”

If Alison’s physical transformation wasn’t as natural as it looked, I remembered that her brain was inborn. “That’d be great,” I assured her, “but do you want to do it?”

“It’s better than staying home and watching Denise’s brother play kissy-face with my roommate, Lori. She’s taking the day off, too. If Cole stays through the weekend, I’ll spend more time at Donna’s art gallery to keep my distance.”

I’d also forgotten about the Alison-Lori-Cole connection. “Has Cole recovered from being on Vida’s program last night?”

Alison shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him or Lori this morning. Anyway, I worked as a temp, usually a receptionist, while I was going to college. Oh! I just remembered—I brought the legacy book or whatever it’s called from my mom’s funeral. Mrs. Runkel wanted to see it for some reason. Is she here yet?”

“No, but she will be.” I stepped aside so Alison could go behind the counter. “In fact, she’s running a bit late.”

“Maybe she’s worn out from listening to my cousins.” Alison suddenly looked wistful. “Frankly, I could barely stand it. I don’t remember Uncle Larry all that well, but he seemed like a nice man. It’s weird he’d say he hadn’t killed my mother. If he
did
say that, and Cole isn’t making it up.” She looked at me as if I had some kind of answer for her. I considered telling her about the letters Milo and I had received, but decided against it—for now.

“Cole sounded sincere,” I said.

“He seems like a good guy, but you never know, do you?”
Alison sighed. “Maybe Uncle Larry realized he wasn’t well or maybe he wasn’t in his right mind when Cole saw him. Who knows? After all those years in prison, Uncle Larry might’ve been out of his head and wanted to believe he hadn’t murdered his own sister.” She paused again, her face frozen. “Wouldn’t you think that after all this time since my mother died, I could finally put the past behind me? It wasn’t as if we were really close.” Her artfully mauve-colored lips barely moved.

“I marvel that you’ve done so well despite undergoing such traumatic circumstances at a very impressionable age,” I said. “But you always were a brave as well as a smart girl.”

“Brave?” Alison shrugged. “No, just worried about my dad getting railroaded as the ex-husband turned prime suspect. As for smart, at least I was able to understand early on that my stepmother was the real deal when it came to mothering.”