Authors: Mary Daheim
As usual, I was skittering around taller fellow Catholics to avoid an Ed and Shirley Bronsky encounter. I’d managed to hide behind Brendan Shaw’s broad back when Jack Mullins tapped my shoulder. I gave a start before turning around to greet the deputy and his wife, Nina.
Jack looked unusually serious. “Nina ran out of milk this morning,” he said, keeping his voice down and putting an arm around his oft-maligned wife, “so I ran over to the 7-Eleven. I saw Sam coming out of the store, and I yelled to him. He took one look at me, jumped into his Jeep, and roared off toward the Icicle Creek Road.”
“Poor Sam,” Nina murmured before I could say anything. “I think he has a fatal illness and doesn’t want to tell anyone.”
“He’s got something bothering him,” I said, unsure of how much Milo’s staff knew about Sam’s defection. “Did he look as if he was sick?”
Jack ran a hand through his red hair, a futile gesture that never made it behave. “He moved fast enough. I didn’t see him up close, but he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days.”
“Depression,” Nina said softly, her sweet face troubled. “It often accompanies a serious illness.”
Jack was the flakiest of the deputies, but I’ve always felt he was also the smartest. He’d given his wife a swift, skeptical glance, but he didn’t argue her diagnosis, misguided as it might
be. Obviously, the sheriff’s underlings were clueless about their fellow deputy’s personal life.
“Did you want me to mention this to Milo for some reason?” I asked, feigning innocence.
Jack and Nina exchanged conflicted glances. “Oh,” he began, “probably not. Sam’s a peculiar guy. Maybe just the sight of me reminded him of work. He hasn’t taken time off in … I don’t even remember when. Maybe a three-day weekend to fish or hunt, but that’s about it. Don’t bother the boss. He’s under the gun right now.”
Nina, however, disagreed. “I think you should say something, Emma. If Sam’s ill, he needs to see Doc Dewey. After all, he missed work last Tuesday because he wasn’t feeling well. That’s not like him.”
“I’ll think on it,” I said, smiling, and not just because the Bronskys had driven off in their only remaining Mercedes. “Enjoy your Sunday.” On that Pollyanna note, I headed for my Honda and went home.
“That didn’t take long,” my husband said from his easy chair. “Did your sub priest forget to show up?”
“Visiting priests are in a hurry,” I replied, hanging my jacket on a peg. “This one is the regular at St. Mary of the Valley in Monroe.”
Milo set the Northwest section of
The Seattle Times
aside. “Did you grill him about paying a call on Dobles at the hospital?”
“I thought about it,” I said, sitting on the easy chair’s arm. “Maybe the admission form didn’t state that Dobles was Catholic. I talked to Jack and Nina Mullins. He saw Heppner this morning at the 7-Eleven.”
“He did?” Milo paused in the act of caressing my back. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Sam was coming out of the store, saw Jack, and drove off in his Jeep. He’s growing a beard, by the way.” I hopped off the chair. “I need coffee. You want a refill?”
“I just got one.”
“Where’s Tanya?” I asked before I reached the kitchen.
“She went to my place to do some cleaning.”
“Cleaning? As in housecleaning?”
“Right—I forgot to mention she’s been doing some of that lately.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to.” I poured my coffee and returned to the sofa. “She’s showing a lot more spunk these days. I gather Dr. Reed’s a big help.”
“Reed’s got all the right bullshit,” Milo said with a wry expression. “Hell, whatever works. It’s a good thing Tanya has coverage for this shrink stuff.” He rubbed his chin. “So Heppner’s still in civilization. I wonder where he’s hanging out, if not at his own place.”
“With his sister in Sultan? She might not tell you.”
“True. They’re tight. I get that now, after finding out the brother was killed. What do you figure? Amos Heppner went to the tavern to … what? Say his brother wanted to do right by the Hispanic girl?”
“That’s possible,” I allowed. “Or maybe he was trying to make peace with her family. Are we sure she’s Carmela Dobles?”
“It fits. You know I don’t like things that don’t fit.”
“So why do they get into a fight? They’re anti-Anglo?”
Milo shrugged. “Could be. Prejudice comes in all forms and shades. Maybe it wasn’t racial. How about religious? Catholic versus Protestant or, in the elder Heppner’s case, Pentecostal?”
“Gee, big guy, you’re speculating?”
“I can do that with you. You’re the Little Woman.”
“
Shut up
. If you don’t stop it, I may become an abusive wife.” I glared at Milo just for the hell of it. “You’re right that religion might’ve been a big deal. But I’ve got a quibble. We know Carmela married another man, a Hispanic named Fernandez who put his name on the birth certificate. Is that legal if he wasn’t the father?”
“Who’d know? I mean, that’d go through the courthouse in Yakima. Nobody there would pay any attention.” Milo lighted a cigarette. “But how did Sam know what Joe Fernandez looked like so that he recognized his corpse and went semi-nuts?”
“Good point. He wouldn’t. Unless they’d met later in life.”
Milo took a drink of coffee and sat back in the easy chair.
“Damn. This is when I wished I pried into my staff’s private lives.”
“No, you don’t.”
Milo chuckled. “You’re right. I’d have to listen to Mullins tell me how he and Nina have their discussions over every little damned thing that comes along. I might even have to hear how Blatt wishes his aunt didn’t pin him to the wall and make him break every law enforcement rule on the books.”
“Maybe,” I said with a straight face, “Sam and Joe were Facebook friends.”
“God. Now you’re in Fantasyland. But you’re right about technology. They could communicate in some form, and with pictures. It just doesn’t sound like something Sam would do, though.”
“You know what we’re missing?” I said—and bit my lip.
Milo frowned. “What? You sitting on my lap?”
“No. Vida. I’m used to tossing ideas back and forth with her and … stop looking at me like that. She and I’ve come up with some loony stuff, but you know damned well we’ve also
figured out a few things over the years. That happened because we colored outside the lines.”
“Your office should look like a hallucinogenic nightmare by now.”
“You know it’s true,” I said, just short of pouting.
Milo sighed. “Yeah, you’ve saved my butt a few times. But you have to admit, you always came at it sideways.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Usually. Maybe. I guess.” He sighed again. “So you want to bring her into the loop?”
“No. I don’t think she cares about this one. The victim’s not local.”
“That didn’t stop her before.”
“But Vida’s in a different place now. She’s mad at you, so she doesn’t want to help. More to the point, she really hasn’t been interested in the murder investigation. I thought she was worrying about Roger, but he’s got a job and she’s glowing all over the place about that. She even wants to put him on a float in the Summer Solstice Parade.”
“Oh, God!” Milo held his head. “That’s worse than when Bronsky and his gang had the Mr. Pig farm float.”
“Don’t say that out loud,” I cautioned. “He might do the same thing with his latest venture into idiocy and self-aggrandizement.”
“Is it too soon for us to retire and move to … Index?”
I took that as a rhetorical comment. “I guess I miss—excuse the word—speculating with her.”
The phone rang. I picked it up. To my surprise, it was Vida. Maybe she really did have every house in Alpine wired for surveillance.
“I just returned from church,” she said in an excited voice. “Amy and Ted told me that Roger and Ainsley have made up. Isn’t that heartwarming news? I couldn’t wait to tell you.”
“Gosh, Vida, I didn’t know Roger and Ainsley had broken up,” I said, for Milo’s benefit. “Was it just a spat?”
“Oh, certainly! Young love—so tender, so fragile, yet not easily discarded when it’s deep and true. I won’t keep you, but I knew you’d want to know. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Yes, we’ll do that,” I said, hoping to convey at least a modicum of enthusiasm. “I’m happy that … you’re happy.” We rang off.
“Christ,” Milo groaned. “So that’s where Ainsley was—with Roger. I feel like arresting Bob Sigurdson for ruining my Saturday afternoon.”
“At least Bob and Caroline should be pleased that Roger has a job,” I said. “I translated ‘unmotivated’ as ‘lazy, worthless, feckless jerk.’ ”
“Let’s see how long it lasts before Roger screws up. I hope he doesn’t trash the van the company gave him.”
“It doesn’t belong to the company,” I said. “Ted and Amy bought it for him secondhand.”
“It’s got a sign on it,” Milo said. “I figured it belonged to Party Animals.”
“Vida’s been a little unclear about all of this. It seems to be sort of a freelance job.”
“No kidding. Maybe I should check their business license to see if Roger hasn’t made up the whole thing just to get some new wheels.”
“Roger doesn’t have that much imagination.”
“You’re right about that. You want to drive over to Leavenworth for dinner tonight?”
“Do you really want to do that? There’ll be weekend traffic going both ways.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Milo said, putting out his cigarette and standing up, coffee mug in hand. “All the time we went together, we talked about going there and we never did. Seeing
that picture of you and Cavanaugh in Leavenworth made me jealous. Or maybe I just felt bad because I never followed through. Now let’s do it.”
“I went to dinner there once with Fleetwood.”
“Great. That makes me feel even worse. We’re going.”
And Milo went—out to the kitchen. I remained on the sofa, smiling.
“S
AUSAGE?
” M
ILO SAID IN DISGUST AS WE STARTED THE DESCENT
from the summit of Stevens Pass. “Is that what
brat
means? I like sausage for breakfast, but I’ll be damned if I’ll have it for dinner.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said, still perusing the AAA guidebook I’d brought along. “I’m not nuts about brats either. I’m trying to remember where I went with Tom. Or with Spence, for that matter. I
think
one of the places was the Café Mozart.”
“
I’d
think you’d remember where you’d gone with Cavanaugh, at least,” Milo pointed out.
“I was in kind of a daze. Don’t you remember that after Tom and I got back some cranks had vandalized my poor Jaguar? You had to come over and, frankly, you seemed pleased to tell me it might be totaled.”
“I was jealous, damn it. That happened the day after I walked in on you and Cavanaugh. I didn’t even know he was in town. Find a place that you haven’t been to with him or Fleetwood. I can’t believe you came clear over here with that guy. Are you sure he didn’t grab your ass?”
“Yes! We were discussing one of the murder investigations and didn’t want to be overheard in Alpine. It was all business and we were home before dark, you big jerk.”
“He must’ve been banging Rosalie even then,” Milo said.
“Maybe. She’d been his shrink, you know.”
“He probably invented being nuts to get her in the sack.”
“Spence has had his own hard times,” I said. “Long before he came to Alpine. The love of his life—back then, anyway—had drowned.”
“He probably stuck her head in the bathtub,” my husband said.
“Here—Andreas Keller. It sounds like hearty food.”
“Good.” Milo slowed down as we followed the Wenatchee River, its riffles touched by gold from the setting sun. “I’ve never had much luck over here in the past few years. Not enough fish planted,” he said as we suddenly lost sight of the river at the edge of town. “Now, how do we find this place?”
“It’s on their Front Street,” I said. “Turn right when we get to the main part. The restaurant’s in the eight hundred block.”
As before, I was charmed by the Bavarian architecture. Like Alpine, Leavenworth had been a logging town and also a railroad hub but had lost both sources of income over the years. In order to keep the town alive, the residents had turned the place into a tourist attraction, with an almost year-long series of festivals, including Oktoberfest and a month-long Christmas celebration that ran special daily trains out of Seattle.
We found Andreas Keller easily, its typical Bavarian exterior decorated with a brightly colored spring garland on the ironwork by the entrance. After we got out of the Yukon, Milo sniffed the air.
“It smells different over here,” he declared. “Even the dirt’s a different color. Sometimes I forget just how foreign the other half of Washington is. People who don’t live around here or never traveled through the state haven’t a clue.”
“Let’s keep them that way,” I said as we entered the restaurant. “Seattle and its suburbs are getting too big.”
“Tell me about it,” Milo said as we got in line behind a half dozen other people. “I hate that drive down to Bellevue. One of these days I have to take those annulment forms to Mulehide. She’ll blow about six fuses.”
“Maybe I should go with you. I’ve only met Tricia once.”
He shook his head. “Not when I bring the stuff from the chancery office. But maybe you should get together with her first. Tanya’s birthday is coming next month. Maybe we can all go down and have dinner. We’ll eat out. Mulehide’s not a great cook. It’s been years since you’ve seen Michelle—damn, I mean Mike, since she changed her name after announcing that she’s gay. You’ll get to see her and Bran. Maybe you can meet his girlfriend Solange and Mike’s partner, Carolyn.” He winced only slightly, still not entirely comfortable that his younger daughter was a lesbian.
“I’d like that,” I said as we were beckoned to a cozy corner table. “I should get acquainted with my other stepchildren.”
“I’ve only met Carolyn once,” he said after we’d been seated. “She seems nice. She’s a nurse at a children’s hospital in Portland.”
“Yes, you mentioned that earlier.” I stopped talking. An accordion player was blasting away only a few feet from us.
“Want to polka?” Milo said, leaning closer to be heard.