Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) Page 16

“Damn!” Milo exclaimed. “This guy seems to be real. What the hell kind of urgent business is he talking about? Or is this a touch-the-bases kind of thing?”

  “Don’t ask me. I’m just the messenger.”

  “I’ll bet he tried to call my cell while I was fishing,” my husband muttered. “I’m glad I turn it off when I’m on the river.” He went into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee.

  “Are you going to call the number he wrote on his card?”

  Milo sat down at the kitchen table. “Yeah, I guess I should.” Reluctantly, he got out his own cell. Glenn took his time answering.

  “Dodge here,” Milo said gruffly. “What’s urgent?”

  I watched my husband’s face change from rigid to perplexed. “Right, I remember the guy, but it’s been a long time.” He paused to look at his watch. “Okay, around eleven-fifteen. I’ll see you there.” He clicked off. “Does the name Aaron Conley ring a bell?” he asked me.

  “Of course,” I replied. “Rosemary’s new boyfriend is living in his cabin. I was talking about him to Des yesterday.”

  “You were?” Milo frowned. “How come?”

  “Des is renting the cabin from him,” I said. “Aaron still owns it.”

  The sheriff leaned back in the chair. “Damn. This is weird. The Feds are trying to find him. He’s wanted for forgery in at least three states. Do you mean he’s still around here somewhere?”

  “I don’t know. They made the arrangements over the phone. You’d better talk to Des. He has to send his rent somewhere. I have his phone number. I’ll get it for you.”

  Milo checked his watch. “It’s ten-thirty. I wonder if I should drive over to his place before I meet McElroy.”

  “McEl…oh, Glenn. Can’t you just call Des?”

  My husband had stood up, fingering his chin. “Yeah, I could. It makes sense. That cabin was Conley’s last known address, according to McElroy. Frankly, I’d like to check him out first. He still strikes me as a little odd. I’d better head for the office. Can you keep out of trouble?”

  I made a face at my better half. “What do you expect me to do? I plan to weed the garden before it gets too hot.”

  He tipped up my chin. “What you say you’ll do and what you really do are often two different things, little Emma. You worry me.”

  “Quit calling me ‘little’!” I shrieked. “I’m almost average!”

  “For a squirt,” he said, flicking my nose with his finger. “Stay put and figure out how you’re going to deal with Vida come Tuesday.” He headed for the door to the garage.

  The last thing I wanted to do was dwell on my House & Home editor. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how she was spending the long weekend. Maybe she’d left town to visit one of her other daughters—Beth in Tacoma or Meg in Bellingham. Certainly there’d be no danger on this holiday of Roger blowing up himself and the rest of the family with illegal fireworks. Oddly enough, the thought made me a little sad.

  By eleven, I was ready to go out into the garden. Having switched mental gears to Aaron Conley, I thought back to what I remembered about him, other than his being a musician, smoking a lot of weed, and maybe doing other drugs. He’d briefly been a suspect in his estranged wife’s murder, but that was about the extent of my knowledge, other than that he’d inherited the cabin as part of the state’s community-property laws. I put him out of my mind as I started to focus on gardening. Of course the phone rang just as I was at the back door.

  “Emma,” the timorous voice asked, “do you know where Mom is?”

  “Amy?” I said.

  “Yes. I haven’t been able to reach her since yesterday afternoon,” Vida’s daughter replied. “Buck doesn’t know where she is, either. Is she on an out-of-town assignment?”

  “No,” I replied. “Have you been to her house?”

  “Yes, Ted drove by last night and this morning. There’s no sign of her or her car. She wouldn’t leave Cupcake overnight without telling us. She always lets us know where she’s going.” Amy started to sob.

  “I’ve no idea,” I said. “If I had to guess, I’d say maybe she went to visit Roger. It’s a long drive. She may’ve spent the night somewhere.”

  “No!” Amy exclaimed in a choking voice. “She wouldn’t do that! Should I call the sheriff?”

  I held my head. “Technically, he can’t do anything until a person’s been missing for forty-eight hours. If her car’s gone, she’s taken it somewhere. Have you talked to Dot Parker? If anybody knows where your mother is, it’d be her. They’re very close friends.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Amy seemed to have gotten control of herself. “I didn’t think of Mrs. Parker. I’ll check with her now. Thank you, Emma.” She hung up before I could ask her to let me know if and when she found out where her mother had gone.

  I took the phone with me out into the backyard. Despite Amy’s protestations, I sensed that Roger was the reason for Vida’s disappearance. Even in jail, the wretch could create chaos. For all I knew, his grandmother might’ve headed for Olympia to beg the governor for clemency. But I still worried about her.

  Not long after noon, the sun was in my eyes as I worked the patch out front next to Viv and Val Marsdens’ property. They appeared to be gone for the day, maybe visiting their recently arrived grandson. I was going to the front door when Milo pulled into the garage. I met him in the kitchen, where he bestowed a quick kiss on the top of my head and reached for the coffeemaker.

  “You should’ve been there,” he grumbled. “You remember more about Conley than I do. The only thing I recall is interrogating him about Crystal Bird’s murder and busting him for forging checks. I guess he didn’t learn his lesson.”

  I poured out the last of the coffee into my own mug. “Did Aaron ever do jail time after you let him out?”

  “Not according to McElroy,” Milo replied, sitting down. “He always made restitution and somehow wriggled out of staying in the slammer. What’s weird is that not only is the Baring cabin his last known address, but there’s no trace of him for the past four, five years until now, when a bunch of bad checks showed up in California, Oregon, and Washington.”

  I joined him at the table. “Maybe he’s been abroad,” I suggested.

  “Only to Canada and Mexico,” the sheriff said. “No passport on file. His last visit to B.C. was six years ago.”

  Maybe the sunshine had gotten to my brain. I had one of my weird ideas buzzing inside my head. “Does McLeroy have any leads on Conley?”

  “It’s McElroy,” Milo said, then scowled at me. “You don’t usually mess up names. What now, little Emma?”

  Why didn’t I marry some guy with a job that didn’t require mind-reading? Milo knew me too well after sixteen years. “Damnit,” I said. “What if I told you I was having a sexual fantasy about Harvey Adcock?”

  “I’d ship you off to RestHaven. Well? What is it?”

  I hesitated. Milo might be able to read my mind, but he didn’t always like what was on it. “What if the dump-site body is Conley?”

  To my surprise, he merely winced. “It occurred to me, but I didn’t say so to McElroy. We could make a match if we found Conley’s DNA at the cabin.” He paused, growing serious. “Of course it’d mean whoever made the deal is an impostor. That seems far-fetched. What’s the point?”

  I didn’t know. We dropped the subject. But unlike the nameless corpse, we couldn’t bury it.

  FOURTEEN

  A my was crying again. “The Parkers aren’t home. They didn’t answer the phone, so Ted finally went up there and the car was gone. I didn’t think Dot drove anymore.”

  “Maybe they sold it,” I said. “Durwood’s license was pulled a couple of years ago. If neither of them drives, why have a car?”

  “B-b-ut they didn’t p-p-pick up when I called. Twice,” Amy blubbered. “Where c-c-could Mom be? I’m frantic!”

  “Maybe she took the Parkers somewhere,” I suggested. “If they both really have given up driving—and Durwood should’ve done t
hat years ago, being so reckless at the wheel—then she may be taking them on errands. If she’s been in a wreck, Milo would know.”

  Amy blew her nose before she spoke again. “Mom hasn’t been herself lately. What if she had a stroke and drove into the river?”

  “Somebody would notice that,” I said. “It’s a sunny day. People are outside. Probably some of them are already in the river.”

  “Not every part of it,” Amy argued.

  Of the three Runkel daughters, I only know Amy fairly well. But while they all resembled their mother in height and build, none of them had inherited her force of will. It was as if the gene pool had run dry with Vida. Or maybe there just wasn’t enough spine to go around. I asked Amy if her mother might have gone to visit one of her sisters.

  “I already called Meg and Beth,” Amy sniveled. “Now they’re worried, too. Neither of them have spoken with her since earlier in the week. Even Dippy seems out of sorts.”

  “Be reasonable,” I said, knowing the advice wouldn’t be taken. “Your mother is a very competent person. Are you absolutely certain she didn’t leave a message on your phone or a note by the door?”

  “I get a signal when I have a message,” Amy replied, no longer crying but sounding peevish. “No one’s left any messages lately. Mom wouldn’t write a note. Why would she? I haven’t been out of the house since yesterday morning.”

  At least Amy could be as stubborn as her mother. I surrendered. “She’ll show up. Your mom would never leave Cupcake untended.”

  “That’s what I mean!” Amy screeched. “Unless she told one of the Gustavson relations who live across the street from her.”

  “Do you have a key to her house?”

  “Yes. Somewhere. You know how Mom is—she rarely leaves Alpine.”

  True enough. “Okay, but let me know when you hear from her.”

  Amy promised she would. I put the phone down and joined Milo out in the backyard, where he was digging up a bunch of roots that had grown under the fence from my rotten Nelson neighbors’ property.

  “I should’ve waited until either Doyle Nelson or his kids got out of prison and let them do this,” Milo griped. “Hell, if I had a big enough jail, they could’ve stayed in town so I could put them on a work release program to do the job.” He leaned on the shovel and looked at me. “What now? You look worried.”

  “Well…a little.” I explained to him about Amy’s concern over Vida’s alleged disappearance. “I still think she went to see Roger,” I added.

  “Not your problem on a weekend. Oh—Mulehide called. The dinner’s off. Zach’s in the ER. She’s there with him, holding his hand. Or foot. He fell off his bike and broke something.”

  “How old is this new boyfriend?” I inquired.

  “No clue. But you know how everybody rides bikes in and around Seattle. It’s supposed to help traffic, but instead it creates more problems with drivers trying to avoid hitting the bicyclists when they’re peddling outside the bike lanes or on residential streets.”

  I regarded my husband with a bemused expression. “How am I ever going to get you into Seattle for a cultural event?”

  “You’ll have to drug me,” Milo replied. “Take Fleetwood with you. He likes that stuff. You’ve gone with him to concerts.”

  “Once, a long time ago. It was The Messiah. He had free tickets. You were jealous.”

  “I sure as hell was. You spent the night there with him.”

  “Not with him. We had separate rooms.”

  The hazel eyes glared at me. “You never told me that at the time.”

  “It was none of your damned business. You and I weren’t a couple.”

  “We were sleeping together. Sometimes.”

  I laughed. “We often were. Honestly, Milo, why didn’t you save us both a lot of trouble and sweep me off my feet when I first met you?”

  “Mulehide had scarred me and you scared me.” He let the shovel fall to the ground and took me in his arms. “I didn’t know what to make of you. I’ve told you that. All I knew was that you were damned cute, and before I could do anything about it, Cavanaugh showed up. I saw how you looked at him and realized I didn’t stand a chance. That’s when I met Honoria. The rest is history, most of it goofy.”

  I looked up at him. “You left out the years I was being an idiot. That was then and this is now. Did you check McElroy’s status?”

  “Yeah, as much as I could without fingerprinting him. Being a Saturday and an official holiday weekend, even the Feds aren’t around in the Seattle office. They definitely have a guy by that name and he’s active, as they put it. When I met with him today he seemed all business. I guess he was winding down last night.”

  I traced Milo’s profile. He just missed biting my finger. “I’ve still got the pork chops,” I said. “Can you barbecue them?”

  “Sure.” He kissed me lightly and let go. “Hell, I’m relieved we aren’t going into Bellevue. Even if Highway 2 isn’t clogged today, traffic is always a hassle on the Eastside.”

  By three o’clock, it was too hot to work in the garden even under the shade of the evergreens. Milo had already settled into a chair on the patio. I noticed he was staring off into space. “What’s wrong?” I asked, brushing dirt from my knees.

  “I should go over to…what’s Des’s last name?”

  “Ellerbee. You mean to look for DNA?”

  “Yeah. I should’ve done that after I left the office, but I couldn’t remember the new boyfriend’s name. Do you think he’d be around this afternoon or would he be out somewhere with Rosemary?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  My husband started to scowl, but stopped. “Hell, why not? You already know the guy. I’ll deputize you, and you can help me look for anything that might belong to Conley. You’re good at that kind of stuff.”

  “Gee, thanks, Sheriff. I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Neither did I,” Milo muttered, getting out of the chair. “You want to change? You’re kind of a mess.”

  “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t have thought of that all by myself.”

  Ten minutes later, we were on Highway 2 in reasonably sparse traffic for a holiday weekend. Milo remarked that it was better than driving I-405 into Bellevue. I didn’t argue. After sixteen years in Alpine and the explosive growth in the Seattle metro area during the last decades of the twentieth century, I’d almost stopped missing city life. Or maybe I’d merely grown content with age—and being married.

  Milo didn’t have to be reminded of how to get to the Baring cabin. Pulling up behind the Avalon, he remarked that Rosemary seemed to have arrived early. I informed him that she and Des not only owned the same model car, but that was how they met.

  “That’s a start,” he noted. “At least they have the same taste in cars. You had to show up in a used Jag when you arrived in town.”

  “My dream car,” I said. “The repair jobs were a nightmare.”

  As we approached the cabin, I noticed that the front door was closed. That struck me as odd, given the hot weather. Then I realized there was no screen door. Des must’ve been trying to keep out the bugs that flitted among the wild salmonberry and thimbleberry vines by the porch. I stared at the glass inset with its calla lily motif that Crystal had added to the otherwise austere door. The native plant was highly toxic—and prophetic. My former nemesis had been poisoned.

  Despite Milo’s hard knocking, it took a couple of minutes before the door opened. “Hello,” Des greeted us, looking surprised, no doubt wondering who my companion was. “Have you come to show me the draft of your story about my humble status as a screenwriter?”

  “No,” I said. “This is my husband, Sheriff Milo Dodge.”

  Des looked even more startled as he looked up at Milo. “Is something wrong? Or is everyone from L.A. a suspicious character?”

  Milo put out a big hand. I winced, knowing that Des was about to get his bones crushed. “No big dea
l,” my husband said. “I’m out of uniform, but on the job. I’m checking on the cabin’s owner, Aaron Conley. It’s not a local issue, but an outside request.”

  Des tucked his mangled hand in his Dockers and stepped aside. “By all means, come in. I trust Conley isn’t wanted by the FBI?”

  “It’s a routine inquiry,” Milo replied as we went inside. “Emma says you never met him face-to-face.”

  “That’s true,” Des said. “Would you care for a drink?”

  Milo shook his head. “No, thanks. I need Conley’s DNA. Do you know of anything he left behind that might have it?”

  Des grinned. “Ah! Just like the movies and TV. This is a first for me. Research on the premises. Let me think…” He stood in the middle of the small living room, tapping his dimpled chin. “A hairbrush would be ideal, I suppose. Unfortunately, I haven’t yet come across one. Feel free to look around. Offhand, I don’t recall any personal items.”

  The sheriff merely nodded again before heading into the bedroom. I’d only been in the kitchen and living room on previous occasions, but guessed from the exterior that there was probably only one bedroom and a bath off the open area, which was divided by a counter.

  “I’ll start in the kitchen,” I told Des. “How was your dinner with Rosemary last night?”

  “Enchanting.” His eyes twinkled. “She’s returning the favor tonight at her condo. Grilled yearling oysters from south Puget Sound. They sound exquisite. I told her that would be even better than what I called my California cool collation.”

  I wondered what Milo was thinking about Des’s entrée. Not much, I figured, from his grim expression. But I merely smiled and started for the kitchen drawers. There was nothing of interest: maps, camp site information, a small 1999 almanac, a couple of flyers advertising Conley’s band, which had been renamed Tye Dyed. I noted that the dates were from 1997 and 1998. The venues were in Monroe and at Lake Chelan. I opened five other drawers, but they all held kitchen utensils and bakeware. A glance in the cupboards showed canned goods, china, and more cooking items.

  “Any luck?” Des inquired.