The Alpine Pursuit (26 page)

Halfway through my bourbon and water, I managed to give the sheriff my full attention. He deserved it, especially since he’d offered to pick up the check. By the time we’d ordered our entrées as well as a second cocktail, he’d covered the pitching rotation and I’d assessed the bullpen. Milo ate a New York steak and I dined on halibut cheeks while considering the outfield, the catchers, and the bench. By the time his slice of chocolate decadence cake arrived along with my mocha, we were appraising the strengths and weaknesses of the other American League West teams. Midway through the Anaheim Angels, I set my coffee cup down and looked bleakly at Milo.

“What happened to the drugs?” I asked.

Milo scowled. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but the theory about Darryl Ivan Eckstrom has some holes in it. When did he have time to deliver the goods? If he came to Alpine to sell drugs to Hans Berenger, what happened to them? They weren’t in the car, were they? Would Eckstrom head for a tavern in a town he didn’t know with the drugs still on him?”

“The guy’s stupid.” Milo looked peeved. “Hell, Emma, you’re going off on some tangent. I want to kick back.”

I wasn’t giving up. “Furthermore, why would Eckstrom write a threatening letter telling Hans he planned to kill him? And even if he did, why didn’t Hans tell you? Look,” I went on, taking a pen and a small notepad out of my purse. “Let’s make a time line.”

“Sheesh.” Milo ran a hand across his brow. “What next, flip charts?”

“Bear with me. Please.”

Milo didn’t say anything. He ate the last bite of cake while I began to write. “Tuesday—letter,” I scribbled. “DIE Friday,” I added. “Hans had almost four days to alert you—or somebody else, like Cardenas—about the threat. Why didn’t he act to protect himself?”

“Because,” Milo said in a weary voice, “he didn’t want anybody to know he was mixed up in drugs. How hard is that to figure out?”

The sheriff had a point. “Yes. Well, it still doesn’t make sense. If Eckstrom came to the theater”—I paused to write: “Friday—play”—“why didn’t Hans watch for the guy? Or get him out of the backstage area?”

“Maybe Berenger hadn’t ever seen Eckstrom before,” Milo said.

“Hmm. Maybe he hadn’t.” I frowned at my brief notes. “Oh, good God!” I exclaimed, and waved the notepad at Milo. A young couple at the next table stared. They looked like weekend skiers and probably didn’t expect anyone in a small town to get excited. “It wasn’t a death threat!”

The sheriff stopped in the act of lighting a cigarette. “Emma, have you gone nuts?”

I held up a hand in a pleading gesture. “Be patient, please. Tamara quoted the part of the letter she saw as saying ‘you are going to DIE’—cap letters—’Friday.’ Carla mentioned something last night about how sometimes people leave out a word, especially when they type. I think whoever wrote that letter to Hans meant to say, ‘You are going to
meet
DIE Friday’.”

Sadly Milo shook his head. “Poor Emma. She always seemed so sane.”

I tapped the notepad. “
DIE
is capitalized because it’s initials. Darryl Ivan Eckstrom.” I sat back in my chair, waiting for Milo’s response.

Milo smoked and stared at my notes. The young couple at the adjoining table was giving us dirty looks. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the dining room. The sheriff invariably ignored such rules, which was probably the only time he ever bent a so-called law in his life.

“You could be right,” he finally said as our server brought the bill. “So what? That doesn’t change what happened.”

But to me it did. The only problem was that I couldn’t figure out how. “Okay,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll sleep on it.”

Milo looked up from counting money. “I don’t suppose you want company?”

I opened my mouth to say no. But Milo’s eyes were begging me not to reject him. It had been a tough week for both of us. As always, it had been a lonely week.

I smiled. “Why not?”

∗ ∗ ∗

Milo got lucky in more ways than one. For a fisherman, the only thing as good as sex and maybe sometimes better is an early-morning outing on the river. The Sky had held steady overnight, and although it was off-color, there was a chance of catching a steelhead. Like most ardent anglers, Milo carried his fishing gear in his vehicle. Thus, he left my bed and my house before first light. I didn’t mind. I could sleep in.

We hadn’t talked about crime or baseball that night. In fact, we didn’t talk much at all. I finally woke up just before ten, with murder still on my mind. I wanted to discuss my theories with Vida, but she’d gone to Bellingham for a weekend visit with one of her other daughters.

As I stared out the front window, I felt antsy. There was still a foot of snow on the ground, but at least I didn’t have to worry about Destiny Parsons’s dog leaving unwanted additions to my property.

But I had other worries. There were so many disjointed thoughts and facts pecking at my brain that I had trouble concentrating on even the most routine of weekend household chores. One of the things that bothered me most was Hans Berenger, Drug Dealer. It didn’t fit. According to Rita, Hans didn’t drink, smoke, or, I was fairly sure, use drugs. “Straight arrow” was how she’d described him. So why was he meeting Darryl Eckstrom?

Then there was the name of the survivor in Julia Berenger’s death notice. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe the person who had been listed wasn’t the one I knew. Maybe I was beating my head against a brick wall.

∗ ∗ ∗

I was washing the front window shortly after four o’clock when a car pulled up across the street. Roger emerged from the driver’s side; Davin Rhodes limped out of the passenger seat. I dropped my cleaning rag and went outside.

“Roger!” I called. “Davin!”

The boys, who were heading for Destiny’s house, stopped and looked not at me but at each other.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” I asked.

They moved back to the curb but no farther. It was still cold outside, but I didn’t bother to grab a jacket. I crossed the street, noticing that the boys shifted around in a nervous manner.

“Hi, guys,” I said. “Actually, it’s Davin I wanted to see. I’ve got a question for you.”

Davin cast me a wary look. “Like what?”

“Do you remember a week ago last Monday when you were working at Harvey’s Hardware and you sold those blanks to Dr. Medved?”

Davin glanced at Roger. Roger shrugged.

“Yeah,” Davin replied, “kind of. Why?”

“Had they been opened?” I inquired.

Davin wrinkled his pointy nose. “Opened?”

I nodded.

“They were in a box,” Davin said. “They weren’t like wrapped or anything. None of the ammo stuff comes that way.”

“Where were the blanks kept?”

Davin was beginning to look more annoyed than suspicious. “On the shelf.” He stopped and glanced again at Roger. Apparently “Rhodesy” couldn’t speak without his chum’s approval. “Wait. They weren’t on the shelf. Mr. Adcock had to order them special. They were under the counter by the cash register.”

“How long had they been there?” I asked, chafing my arms to keep warm.

“They just came in that morning,” Davin replied. “An hour or two, maybe? I got there, like, around eleven. I cut study hall and lunch to work a couple of hours because Mr. Adcock was, like, gone. The store gets real busy around lunchtime.”

“I see.” What I saw was that there hadn’t been much opportunity for anyone to tamper with the blanks at Harvey’s Hardware. The timing would have to be perfect. “Okay, that’s what I wanted to know. Thanks.” I started to move away, then stopped. “Are you seeing Ms. Parsons about another play?”

Again Davin looked at Roger. But this time Davin didn’t answer.

“Yeah,” Roger said in his sullen manner. “Another play.”

“What is it this time?” I inquired, hoping Destiny didn’t have a filing cabinet full of her own scripts.

“Umm . . .” Roger stared at his shoes. “I forget.” He slapped a hand on Davin’s shoulder. “Come on, Rhodesy, we gotta go.”

They went. I returned to the house but kept watching through the window. I sprayed and rubbed until my arm got tired. Fifteen minutes later, another vehicle pulled up. I recognized Boots Overholt’s truck. He got out, along with two other young men I didn’t recognize. They, too, disappeared inside Destiny’s house.

I went to the phone and dialed Milo’s home number.

“Any luck?” I inquired.

“No, but it felt good to get out on the river,” the sheriff replied. “I haven’t been fishing for almost a month. I heard some guy say he caught a fourteen-pounder, though. Maybe I’ll go out again tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” I said, forcing enthusiasm. “Do you feel like humoring me?”

“About what?” Milo’s tone had become guarded.

Briefly I’d considered using feminine wiles, but I was aware I didn’t have any. The direct approach had always worked best for me. “I was thinking of luring you back to my bed,” I confessed, “and then somehow encouraging you to apologize to Destiny for having your guys search her house. But you’d know I was up to something, and anyway, that’d take too long. I think there’s a pot party going on at Destiny’s house, with minors involved.”

“Jesus.” Milo either sighed or exhaled. “Have you got it in for her or what?”

“Maybe I’m jealous.”

The sheriff saw through even my most feeble attempt at womanly guile. “No, you’re not. Besides, I couldn’t get to first base with Destiny after that stunt you pulled trying to find the bushy-haired stranger at her place. She was really pissed at both of us.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “What about the underage pot party?”

“Emma—” Milo stopped. I knew he was about to say no, but maybe he hesitated because of our lovemaking the previous night. Or, more likely, he wanted me to stop nagging him. “Okay, I’ll have Jack cruise by. He’s working solo today. Our personnel schedule got all screwed up with the extra duty everybody had to pull last week.”

I thanked Milo and went back to the window. Another car had parked near Destiny’s house. Maybe I was being an alarmist, but journalists—like cops—have to play their hunches.

It was going on five o’clock when I left my post at the window. I usually close the drapes when it starts to get dark, but this evening I left them open. As I went into the carport to get wood for the fireplace, I saw Jack Mullins pull up in his deputy’s car. Concealing myself behind the Honda, I watched Jack head for the front porch.

Only then did the enormity of what I’d done dawn on me. I clapped a hand to my head and leaned against the car’s trunk.
Roger
. If he was caught smoking weed and Vida found out I’d tipped off the sheriff, she’d never forgive me. I’d been so involved with my theories and hunches that I hadn’t bothered to think about long-term consequences.

It was too late. Jack was knocking on Destiny’s door. In desperation, I ran down the driveway and shouted at him. He turned around and saw me.

“Emma? What’s wrong?” Jack called out.

“Wait!” I hurried across the street. No one had yet answered the deputy’s knock, though I heard a door slam somewhere nearby.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jack demanded in an angry voice.

I was out of breath. “Just . . . hold on . . . a minute.”

In the twilight shadows I could see at least two figures racing in the direction of the bushes behind Destiny’s house. I hoped they were Roger and Davin.

“I think I’ve done something awful,” I said in a miserable voice. “I may be wrong. I may—”

“Goddamn it,” Jack swore, “you’re stalling! Stand back! I’m going in!”

I didn’t try to stop him. The debacle was all my fault. Jack was doing his duty, exactly what I’d asked the sheriff to have him do. I slipped behind Boots’s pickup, shivering and upset. Jack was banging on the door with his flashlight, shouting, “Police! Open up!”

Destiny finally appeared, wearing silk pajamas and a nasty expression. “Mullins!” she cried. “What now?”

“It smells funny around here,” Jack remarked in his customary impudent manner. He waved a hand at Destiny’s attire. “Is this your hostess outfit?”

“You bet your butt it is,” Destiny snapped. “It’s a party, and you’re not invited unless you’ve got a warrant.” She started to close the door, but Jack put out his foot.

“All I want to know is if you’ve got any minors at your little get-together.”

“Minors?” Destiny glared at Jack. “What do you mean? Under eighteen? No. I’ve got some students here. We’re studying a script.”

“What script?” Jack asked.

“The Pajama Game,”
Destiny retorted.

“Ah.” He surveyed Destiny’s figure. “With real pajamas. Nice.”

“Take a hike, Mullins,” Destiny said, still trying to shut the door. “If you’re here because the neighborhood crank tattled to her lover boy again, I’m going to sue for harassment.” She stood on tiptoes to peer around the deputy. “I see you, Emma. And don’t think I didn’t see Dodge’s Grand Cherokee at your place last night. I’m not the only one on the neighborhood watch.”

Angrily I came out from behind the pickup. “Whatever we were doing,” I called to her, “wasn’t illegal!” I moved up the walkway. “Does the name Darryl Eckstrom mean anything to you?”

Destiny turned pale but held her ground. “Never heard of him.”

“Shame on you, Destiny,” I said from just below the porch steps. “You’re a teacher. You should set a better example for your students.”

“You ought to mind your own freaking business!” Destiny yelled. “Don’t give me that holier-than-thou crap! You and your stupid little rag are a joke! Stop peddling that piece of junk and save the trees!”

“Stop writing plays and spare the audience!” I shot back. “You suck!”

“Ladies!” Jack, who was obviously trying not to laugh, held out his arms as if he were separating a couple of boxers. “Let’s calm down.” He looked at Destiny. “Go back to your P.J. game or whatever.” His head swiveled in my direction. “Go home. Have a drink.”

“A drink!” Destiny shouted. “What’s the difference between getting drunk and smoking a joint, you damned hypocrite!”

“Hey!” Jack’s tone was sharp. “Get back in the house,” he ordered Destiny. “Get your ass across the street,” he yelled at me. “Now! Both of you. Move!”

Destiny slammed the door; I stomped off, gritting my teeth. Jack followed me down the walk but stopped by his vehicle, apparently to make sure that Destiny and I wouldn’t engage in a rematch. I didn’t look back, but when I got inside I immediately went into the living room and closed the drapes. The phone rang just as I was going to collect the wood from the carport.