Authors: Mary Daheim
“It’s been two, three months since Darryl Gustavson took over the Gas ’N Go.”
“I wonder why Mickey’s here,” I said, reaching over to
brush some pie crust off Milo’s chin. “Do you think he dealt drugs at the mini-mart?”
Milo chewed his pie, looking thoughtful. “If he did, Roger never mentioned him when he unloaded about who was doing what with the drug traffic. Neither did Holly, for that matter.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t if he was the father of her two older kids.”
“Hell, with people like that, they’ll rat each other out at the drop of a misdemeanor charge.” He paused to eat the last bite of pie. “On the other hand, if Holly thought she could get some money out of Mickey for his two kids, she might’ve kept quiet. She sure isn’t getting anything out of that jackass Roger. Hey, did you say he had a real job?”
“Incredibly, yes.” As we cleared the table, I told Milo about Roger’s new career with Party Animals.
“I saw that van go by when I was coming back from River Road,” Milo said as we went back to the living room to resume our research. “Party Animals—sounds about right for Roger. Move over. We might as well sit together while we do this stuff. It might make it more interesting.”
“Only if you keep your hands to yourself, Sheriff,” I said in mock reproach. “Where were we?”
“Marriage licenses,” Milo replied. “That’d be the Yakima County courthouse. If Carmela was only seventeen, she’d have to get parental consent. You do it. These keys are too small for my fingers.”
“Then keep your fingers off my butt,” I said, feeling his hand on my backside. “I have to concentrate.”
“Okay, okay.” He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “I thought you’d have more fun doing research with me than with Vida.”
“That’s the problem,” I said, squinting at the screen. “We’d
both have so much fun we’d never be able to see the … damn, I think I need glasses. What does this say? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Milo took the laptop from me. “It’s pet licenses, goofy. Let me do it. I can’t screw it up any worse than you did.” Cussing under his breath, my husband finally found the right screen—and after more cussing, he came up with the May 2 marriage license between Carmela Diaz and Carlos Fernandez. “Now let’s see if we can find a marriage certificate,” he said, switching to another site. Only minor cussing ensued, but Milo found it—May 6, 1978, St. Aloysius Catholic Church, Toppenish.
“That would’ve been the weekend of the big Hispanic celebration of Cinco de Mayo,” I said. “Nice timing for a wedding.”
“Carmela had to get her parents’ consent, being under eighteen,” Milo noted. “I wonder what happened to Carlos.”
“They divorced later.” I tried to recall Carmela’s exact words. “She obviously dumped Fernandez and later married Dobles. Or maybe Carlos died.”
Milo closed the laptop. “Does any of this mean anything? It’s Sam’s hometown, his brother got killed there, Joe Fernandez was born there, and Carmela lived in Toppenish at the time of her first marriage. I don’t know what the population was back then, but the town’s about the size of SkyCo. You’re good at these guessing games. What’s your take on it?”
“The coincidence of them both being in the area really bothers me. Can I go
way
out into left field?”
“Why not? You usually do.”
“Maybe this sounds weird, but it’s all I can think of: they arranged to meet for some reason. What if they quarreled? And Dobles killed Joe.”
Milo put a hand to his head. “Jesus. You’re way up in the bleachers this time.” He lowered his hand and looked at me.
“So Dobles sticks around until late the next afternoon to make sure the guy’s dead? The wreck didn’t occur until around four-thirty. Fernandez died sometime during the middle of the night.”
I grimaced. “But the body hadn’t been found until just before the wreck.” Milo looked at me without blinking—always a bad sign. “Okay,” I went on, “it doesn’t make much sense. But people do odd things. I don’t suppose anyone spotted him in his fancy sports car? What kind was it?”
“A 2003 Boxster Porsche. It’s damned near totaled. We’ve still got it in impound.” Milo sighed. “I guess we’d better process it.”
I was surprised. “You don’t think I’m nuts?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re nuts, but sometimes you come up with something that’s worth checking out, if only to prove you’re wrong.”
“I’ve been right about a lot of things over the years,” I asserted.
“Like getting me to arrest the wrong guy ten years ago?”
“You thought he did it,” I said. “He didn’t deny doing it. You had evidence. It’s not our fault he was covering for somebody else.”
“It’s still a pain in the ass.” He put the laptop on the coffee table. The hazel eyes sparked. “You want to roll around on the floor for a while? I need to work off that pie.”
“That’s work?” I said—and giggled.
Later that night as Milo was reading in bed and I was doing a crossword puzzle, he closed his book and turned to look at me. “I forget—where did Holly go after she collected her two kids from the foster parents in Sultan?”
“Centralia or Chehalis,” I said. “I get them mixed up, because
they’re so close together off I-5. That’s where Holly’s sister lives.”
“Right, Centralia.” He chuckled. “I’ve stopped there a few times when I’ve been fishing the Cowlitz and the Toutle Rivers. They’ve got a hotel that used to be a brothel. The rooms are named after prominent citizens. One was for Floyd Duell, who was the mill superintendent here around 1920. I remember Grandpa Dodge talking about him.”
“You went there because you thought it was still a brothel?”
Milo made a face at me. “I stayed overnight. It was a three-day trip. They’ve got a bar and a restaurant, too.”
“We could go there on the honeymoon we’ve never had.”
Milo set Tony Hillerman on the nightstand. “Too soon. The summer steelhead run won’t be in for a while. You going to be all night figuring out what a three-letter word for a barking domestic animal is?”
I glared at him. “Are you timing me?”
“No, but I think I’ll start.”
I sighed in annoyance, put the crossword aside, and turned out the light. “Satisfied, you big jerk?”
“Yeah,” he said, putting his arms around me. “How about you?”
I snuggled up closer. “I’m in my safe place. How could I not be?”
“Just doing my job, keeping you in protective custody. Good night, little Emma.”
“Goodnight, Sheriff.”
We both slept in the next morning. The Bourgettes didn’t work on the weekends, and with any luck, neither Milo nor I would have to, either. Except, of course, that we probably couldn’t stop thinking about the current homicide investigation.
Around ten o’clock, I was sufficiently awake to make coherent sounds. My husband had been up a half hour ahead of me and had just come inside from surveying the area where the carport had once stood.
“You’d better start picking out appliances and whatever else we’re going to need. You want to pay Lloyd Campbell a visit or go online?”
“I got dizzy looking at bathroom stuff online a while ago,” I replied as I loaded the dishwasher. “It’d be easier to go to Lloyd’s store. Do you want to come with me?”
Milo winced. “You have a hell of a time making up your mind. I don’t think I could stand the aggravation. I’ll do some fishing research. Trout season’s coming up. I could use some new gear.”
“Go for it. You have money to spend.”
“Compared to what you’re going to put out for new appliances?”
“Well … no. But … never mind. Maybe I’m not as awake as I thought I was.” I offered Milo a feeble smile. “Should I actually order the stuff?”
Milo frowned. “Gosh, Emma, that’s probably the only way it can get here to be installed.” He reached into his back pocket. “Use this,” he said, pulling out a credit card.
I was a bit tentative taking the plastic from him. “I feel like a kept woman.”
“You are. I’m keeping you. You’re kind of undersized, but I won’t throw you back.” He kissed the top of my head before heading to the front door. “I’m going to check out my fishing stuff at my place. If you need me, call. Lloyd might have a nervous breakdown while you’re trying to make decisions. And don’t go cheap. Quality lasts longer.”
I made a growling noise in my throat, but I didn’t think Milo heard me. Just as well. But it seemed strange not to be
frugal. Unless, of course, it came to my wardrobe. I had an image to keep up, after all. Or so I told myself.
Half an hour later, I was ready to head for the appliance store. The phone rang just as I grabbed my purse.
“I’m at headquarters,” Milo said. “Bill’s car was parked in the driveway, so I didn’t bother them. I figure they spent the night there. Anyway, I decided to come here and start processing Dobles’s Porsche. Gould’s helping me. Go for stainless steel in the kitchen.”
“Why can’t …” I realized my husband had already hung up. I headed along Fir to Alpine Appliance, which had expanded in the past couple of years to fill the block between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Lloyd’s son, Shane, was on duty.
“Hey,” he said, greeting me as I came inside, “I hear you and the sheriff are remodeling. How’s it coming?”
“Far enough that I have to order new appliances,” I replied, not sounding very excited over the prospect. “I made a list.”
Shane’s fair skin seemed to glow as he studied the items, which also included the new plumbing fixtures. “This is quite a redo, huh? Are you going to Sky Blue Bath for this other stuff?”
“Eventually,” I said. “Ever since Lee Amundson took it over, they’ve expanded quite a bit.”
Shane nodded. “They’ve got more space, too, after moving to the old used-car lot on River Road. Okay,” he went on, taking a ballpoint pen out of his pocket and clicking it a few times in what I hoped wasn’t a mental calculation of the amount I was about to spend. “Let’s start with refrigerators. They take up the most room. You want side-by-side or top or bottom freezing compartments?”
“I haven’t thought much about it,” I confessed. “Maybe
side-by-side? It might be easier to get at things I bury behind each other.”
Shane led me to a half dozen stainless steel models. “Speaking of burying, what happened to that guy who was in the wreck last Monday? That looked pretty bad. And a Porsche! That’s really awful.”
“He’s improving,” I said. “You drove by after it happened?”
“I sort of saw how it happened,” Shane said, opening one of the fridge’s doors. “Maybe I’m nuts, but I could have sworn that poor guy was forced off the road. Now, this is average size, so you might …”
“Forced?” I interrupted. “You mean … what?”
“I was coming back from making a delivery in Skykomish,” Shane replied, petting the stainless steel as if it were the family dog. “The Porsche was ahead of me. You know just before that little curve on 2 after the ranger station?” He saw me nod. “A black sedan passed me going way too fast and cut in between my van and the Porsche. By the time I caught up, the sedan was gone and all three cars were still sort of going every which way. I was the one who called in the wreck.”
“Did you stop?”
“Sure. But I was kind of shaken up, and a couple of other cars were already stopped coming from the other direction. Then one of the deputies pulled onto the highway—Sam Heppner—motioned for me to turn into town. I guess I was partially blocking the right-hand lane.”
“Did Sam have you fill out a report?”
Shane shook his head. “I didn’t actually see the collision, so all I could say was that the sedan was going really fast. Too many people who don’t live around here do that all the time. I figured if Heppner wanted to find out if I did see anything, he’d have asked me later.”
“Right,” I murmured, wondering why Sam hadn’t contacted Shane. “Is this on sale?”
“No, but the bigger one next to it is. Marked down two hundred bucks.” He grinned at me. “Didn’t you read our ad?”
“That’s Leo’s job,” I replied. “Frankly, I didn’t know I’d be buying appliances this weekend. I’ll take it.” After looking at only two models, I was already kind of dizzy. Or maybe it was Shane’s account of the wreck that had set me off.
“Have you decided on a range or a cooktop and maybe built-in double ovens?” he asked, leading the way to another part of the store.
“I’ve always had a range,” I said.
“Have you got the dimensions of your new kitchen?”
“No.” I grimaced. “It’s about twice the size of the one I have now.” That was a guess, of course. “Maybe a bit bigger,” I added lamely.
Shane ran a hand through his fair hair. “Well, cooktops are so easy to wipe up. Self-cleaning double ovens, of course. Stainless?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take them.”
“You’ll … which ones?”
“Whatever you think is the best deal. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, as you’ve probably noticed.”
“Gosh, it usually takes customers a long time to make up their minds.” He grinned at me again. “I recommend the Whirlpool ones. They’re on sale now, too.”
“Fine. Now I need a built-in dishwasher. Are those Whirlpools on sale, too?”
“No, but the Maytags are.”
“Okay. What about washers and dryers?”
“We’re back to Whirlpool if you want the sale price.”
“I do.”
“Color?”
“Ah … do they come in stainless?”
“Sure.”
“On sale, right?”
“You got it.”
I sure do
, I thought, and wondered if Shane had smelling salts on hand. “I don’t know how soon they should be delivered,” I said. “Probably not for another week or two.”
“That’s okay. I have to order the dishwasher and the washer and dryer. We sold out yesterday. The sale, you know.”
I fumbled in my purse, trying to find Milo’s credit card. I couldn’t. Shane waited patiently, while I searched in the recesses of my big and overloaded handbag.
“No rush,” he said kindly. “The Vardis just came in. Be right back.”
I nodded vaguely at Professor and Mrs. Vardi before stepping out of sight to dump everything in my purse on top of whichever appliance I was standing by. It might’ve been an air conditioner. Or a trash compactor. Or one of Averill Fairbanks’s spaceships. I was too rattled to know the difference. But the credit card finally surfaced, having been at the very bottom of my purse. I was putting everything back in place when Shane returned.