The Alpine Pursuit (27 page)

“It’s me,” Jack said. “I pulled into the cul-de-sac down the street. I’m going to wait a couple of minutes and then I’ll hoof it to your place. I want to see who moves those vehicles in front of Destiny’s house.”

“A stakeout in my very own living room?” I said. “Come ahead. I’m building a fire.”

Three minutes later, Jack knocked on my back door. He had cut through the woods and climbed over the neighbors’ fence in order not to be seen in the street.

“Anybody leave yet?” he asked.

I told him I’d peeked through the drapes when I went into the living room to start the fire. “I’m guessing that Roger and Davin—assuming they were the ones I saw running out the back way—are still hiding in the bushes. They probably want to make sure you’re gone.”

Jack removed his leather gloves and rubbed his hands together. “You got any coffee?”

“I can make some.”

“Thanks.” He remained at his post by the front window while I went into the kitchen. “There they are!” he called to me. “God, they look like a couple of spies from a B movie.”

I hurried to join him. Sure enough, Roger and Davin were creeping along the side of Destiny’s house, checking in every direction. Then they made a sudden run for it, jumped into the car, and roared off without bothering to turn on their headlights.

Jack laughed and shook his head. “Crazy kids. If I’d still been in the squad car I could’ve picked them up on a traffic violation.”

“Would you have charged them with illegal possession?” I inquired.

Jack shook his head. “I couldn’t. The stuff’s probably still in Destiny’s house. Jeez, Emma, if we charged everybody who smokes a little weed, Dodge would have to build an annex for the jail.”

“So you did smell pot?”

“Oh, yeah. As soon as Destiny opened the door. Hang on—here come Boots Overholt and one of the Hedstroms and some kid I don’t recognize. They’re getting into the pickup, no rush, no panic.”

“Keep me posted,” I said, returning to the kitchen.

While I got out a pair of mugs and waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Jack reported that two girls and three more boys had left the Parsons house.

“I guess the party’s over,” he said as I brought the coffee into the living room. “The street’s clear.” Jack sat down in one of my armchairs. “So how are you going to maintain an armed truce with Destiny?”

Sitting on the sofa, I sighed. “That’s up to her. As long as she doesn’t make more trouble, I’ll pretend she’s not there.”

Jack grimaced. “Maybe she won’t be.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack fingered his upper lip. “I should keep my mouth shut.”

“About what?” I leaned forward. “Come on, Jack. You can’t say something like that to a journalist and then turn into a clam.”

Jack looked as if he’d gone to war with his conscience. “Sometimes,” he finally said, “I’m not sure how fine the lines are drawn between public record and confidential information.”

“The lines often wobble,” I replied. “For instance, if a murderer tells Father Den, he can’t break the seal of the confessional. But if a therapist or an M.D.—”

“I know all that,” Jack interrupted. “Okay.” He folded his hands tightly on his knee. “You were there yesterday when Dodge heard from SnoCo about Eckstrom’s list of contacts. Dodge told you that Berenger was on it, right?”

“Yes. You were there, too.”

“So if he gave you one name, why shouldn’t you know about the others?”

I realized that Jack was stating his case for his benefit as much as for mine. “Right,” I said.

“Today we got a fax from SnoCo with the full list,” Jack said. “I called Milo about it over the phone. Has he mentioned it to you?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t talk to him very long. I was in a hurry to get somebody to Destiny’s house.”

Jack nodded. “Dodge might not have told you anyway. He might have been embarrassed. But the other local name on Eckstrom’s list was Destiny Parsons.”

SEVENTEEN

“So Eckstrom was dealing to Destiny,” I said. “That makes sense.” I
had
seen Eckstrom at Destiny’s house after all. Roger had probably spotted him at the theater but didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t likely that Roger or any of the other pot party invitees had ever met the dealer. Destiny wouldn’t want any witnesses to an actual sale, especially young people who might be indiscreet.

Since Eckstrom didn’t sound very bright, he may have thought the deal could be made during the play. Heedless or high, he apparently had ignored the problem of trying to sell drugs in front of an entire cast and crew. He also hadn’t considered that Destiny would be preoccupied directing her masterpiece. So Eckstrom had left to wait for a better time.

The connection also explained why no large quantities of drugs were found in the car and why—aside from stupidity—Eckstrom wasn’t afraid to go around town with marijuana on his person. For Destiny’s cozy little gatherings her supplier could have put the stuff in a sandwich bag from the Grocery Basket.

What still didn’t fit was Hans Berenger’s name on Eckstrom’s list. The man was multiflawed, but dealing or using drugs simply didn’t seem like part of his personality profile. It was easier to envision him as a murderer, not a victim. But I didn’t say so to Jack Mullins.

“Are you going to go after Destiny?” I asked.

Jack winced. “That’s up to Dodge. Damn, but that man has had lousy luck with women. Why can’t he find one who isn’t screwed up?”

I stiffened. Jack noticed. “Oh, shit, Emma, I’m sorry,” he said, getting red in the face. “I didn’t mean
you
.”

I smiled wryly. “But I
am
screwed up. I’m just not a crook.”

∗ ∗ ∗

We said good-bye to Rome on a golden autumn day, the kind of afternoon that Botticelli and Raphael and Titian had been inspired by sun and sky. Our final tourist stop was St. Paul’s Basilica. I tried to admire the portico’s columns and the statuary that lined the roof, but the light was so bright that it was difficult to focus, even with sunglasses. I squinted upward, at the outline in the center of the magnificent structure. To me, the shape looked like a large
T
. A
T
for
Tom
, I thought, and then I realized I was gazing at a cross. Of course it was a cross. What, in front of this holy place, was I thinking of? My priorities were in shambles. I couldn’t look at Ben. I was too ashamed.

∗ ∗ ∗

Jack was gone, I’d eaten chicken curry for dinner, and the long evening stretched before me. I made up my mind. There was only one thing to do. I was going to pay a call on Julia Blair Berenger’s survivor.

It was foolish. It was rude. It was probably going to get me into trouble. Maybe I’d be thrown out into the night, like the unwanted guest I knew I would be.

I got no farther than the carport. Destiny was stomping across the street. Seeing me, she took a detour and headed straight up the driveway instead of veering off to the front porch.

“It’s time we had a talk,” she declared, sounding strident. “My place or yours?”

“Mine’s closer,” I said, gesturing at the back door.

I let her go ahead of me. It didn’t seem wise to turn my back on Destiny Parsons. The wind had come up again, and it blew the door shut behind us. Maybe March wasn’t coming in like a lamb after all.

Destiny sat down at the kitchen table. I followed her lead but didn’t offer coffee. This wasn’t a social visit.

“Let’s not mince words,” she said. “You and I don’t get along. It’s too bad. I think everybody should get along. That’s what my play was about.”

I didn’t say anything, though I could have pointed out that Destiny didn’t seem to practice what she preached.

“You’re in tight with the sheriff,” she went on, then flipped her long gray hair away from her face and gave me a smile that was more of a sneer. “I’m not jealous. He’s not my type. But I’m willing to strike a bargain with you.”

This wasn’t the conversation I’d expected. I sensed that the worst was yet to come. “What kind of bargain?”

Destiny tapped the table with a long, thin finger. “Kids—not just kids, of course—are going to smoke pot. It should be legalized. But since it’s not, I figure that if young people are going to do it, they should have a safe haven. They shouldn’t have to steal to get money to buy it and they shouldn’t have to deal with criminals. You say I’m setting a bad example for students. I say I’m protecting them. I’d rather let them smoke the stuff in a safe environment than see them get mixed up in crime and ruin their futures.”

Destiny had a point. “So what’s the deal?” I retorted. “Am I supposed to host pot parties, too?”

Destiny looked at me as if I were the class moron. “Of course not. All I want from you is to stop bitching about me to Dodge.”

“My problem with you isn’t personal,” I asserted. “I’m trying to follow up on a story line that includes murder and drugs. You buy drugs. That’s part of my investigative reporting. I’m looking for a tie-in with Darryl Eckstrom. You seem to be it.”

Destiny looked faintly amused. “You’re off the mark. I’m not worried about Dodge. The most he could charge me with is illegal possession. That’s more trouble than it’s worth. It’s your meddling that drives me crazy. I want to live in peace. I want the whole world to live in peace.”

It was a commendable thought but sadly, impractical. “So what’s this bargain you’re offering me?”

Again Destiny tapped the table. “I want everyone to know what a swine Hans Berenger really was.”

“Are you saying Hans actually dealt drugs, too? Hard stuff, I mean.”

Destiny leaned back in her chair. “Hardly. Hans abhorred drugs and anything else that might make people happy.”

“But—” I stopped. It wouldn’t be right to breach what I assumed was a confidence. Instead, I hedged. “I’ve heard something about Darryl Eckstrom coming to Alpine to meet Hans.”

To my surprise, Destiny nodded. “Darryl came here for two purposes—to deliver pot to me and to see Hans about a much different kind of business arrangement. It’s because of Darryl that Hans killed my poor Azbug. Hans had found out that I was letting students smoke weed at my house. He intended to tell Nat Cardenas, hoping I’d get fired. But I knew from Darryl what Hans was up to. I told him if he talked to Nat, I’d talk, too. Then Clea got into the act and insisted I use Hans in the play. I’m still not sure why, since I don’t think she liked him, either. Anyway, Hans kept his mouth shut but got revenge by killing Azbug. A warning, too, I suppose.”

“You’re sure it was Hans?”

“Of course.” Destiny’s eyes narrowed. “He admitted it. He even boasted about it. I considered going to the sheriff but was afraid Hans would retaliate by tipping Dodge off about the kids and the pot.”

“What about Boots Overholt?” I asked. “He wasn’t at your house the night I saw Darryl Eckstrom, was he?”

Destiny looked faintly sheepish. “Boots didn’t know what to do. He’s got a huge crush on Clea Bhuj. He asked her advice, and she insisted that he owed his loyalty to the faculty, especially to me, since I’d helped him with some extra tutoring. Boots isn’t exactly a genius, but he tries.”

“I see.” But I still didn’t know why we two adversaries were sitting in my kitchen while the wind whirled through the evergreens in my backyard. “Are you going to tell me what terrible thing Hans was doing that involved Darryl Eckstrom?”

“I certainly am.” Destiny sat up straight. “I want you to put it in the paper. I want everyone to know.” She took a deep breath. “Hans wanted to buy that dog place down the highway. If you’ve noticed, the house and kennels can’t be seen from the road. It’s very secluded, especially for someone like Hans who intended to breed and train German shepherds to be killers. After all, he’d done it once before.”

I wasn’t really shocked. My mind had already been traveling that route. Even Milo had allowed for the possibility. Not that there was anything he could do about it: Hans was dead, the property was still for sale, and Darryl Eckstrom was under arrest.

“I assume the dogs would serve as security,” I said.

Destiny nodded. “Darryl told me about it a month or so ago. He was pretty high at the time. He usually was, which I suppose is why that stolen car ended up in the river. It’s a wonder he didn’t kill himself and some innocent parties on his way to Alpine. There’s plenty of treacherous highway along the route, especially in winter.”

“Would the dogs have been for Darryl’s own use?” I asked. “He sounds pretty small-time.”

“He mentioned he’d like one. But mainly, the dogs were to be raised for some big-time drug lords with big bucks to pay for them,” Destiny explained. “Darryl was the go-between. Frankly, I didn’t believe him at first, especially since Hans was so against drugs. But somehow he must have disassociated himself from the product involved and seen only how he could make some money. I did some research on Hans’s background and discovered how his wife had died. I knew she’d come from a wealthy family. I’m certain that’s why he killed her. Or, should I say, trained his dog to kill her. Of course the authorities couldn’t prove it, so he got off, and inherited a small fortune besides.”

“Why,” I asked, “did he need to make more money?”

“Hans was a miser,” Destiny replied. “He was a genuine Scrooge. I think it was sheer greed that made him train that dog to kill his wife.”

“What a horrible thing to do to someone,” I declared.

Destiny’s expression was full of compassion. “What a horrible thing to do to a dog.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Before she went home, I told Destiny I honestly wasn’t sure how much of her information I could use in the
Advocate
. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her, but we had only the word of a small-time drug dealer. If Milo didn’t like to speculate in his job, I didn’t like to when it came to mine. At least not in print.

Destiny had grumbled a bit, but she seemed far less hostile. Maybe airing the tale aloud had helped her disposition.

The lights had flickered a couple of times before I headed out again a little after eight. I’d almost reconsidered my original intention, but if I put it off, I might never carry through. I was determined to confront the survivor who had been named in Julia Blair Berenger’s obituary.

A few branches had blown across the road, but there was no rain or snow. As long as a ninety-year-old Western red cedar didn’t fall on my Honda, I should be safe. At least while I was still driving.

The black wreath on the front door was swaying in the wind as I rang the bell. It took Justine Cardenas a couple of minutes to respond. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Come in,” she offered, bracing herself against the door to keep it from blowing shut. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thanks.” I followed her into the handsome, sterile living room.

“I finished the footstool cover just an hour ago,” Justine said after we were seated. “It was very peaceful this evening with Nat attending the Board of Trustees meeting. Would you like to see the finished product?”

“Yes, I would,” I said.

Justine got up and went over to a lowboy next to the French doors that led outside. “Here,” she said, picking up the piece and coming to the uncomfortable muslin-covered armchair I’d sat in during my previous visit. “What do you think?”

I thought it was beautiful, and I said so. The intricate design was of two fair-haired women in eighteenth-century dress gathering flowers in a pastoral setting. In the lower right-hand corner I spotted the initials
JBC
. Underneath was another trio of letters—
JBB
.

I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “The figures represent you and your sister, Julia, don’t they?”

“Yes.” Justine moved the needlepoint so she could see it more closely. “Yes,” she repeated. “We were twins. That’s Julia on the right. I’m on the left. She’s the one who looks as if she’s laughing. I’m more solemn. But there was a time when we both laughed frequently. I haven’t laughed since she died.”

“Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know what to say.”

Justine shrugged before returning her handiwork to the lowboy. “There’s nothing to say.” Slowly, and with great dignity, she returned to her chair. “I knew you’d figure it out. You’re very intelligent. But there’s nothing you can do about it, is there?”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant. I chose the safest response. “I can offer you my sympathy and understanding.”

Justine gave a quick shake of her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t reply. I merely waited and listened to the wind. It seemed to be blowing all the way up the coast from San Diego.

“I didn’t know Nat was hiring Hans Berenger until after the fact,” Justine finally said. “Nat doesn’t talk to me much about his work. And we never talked about Julia after she died. Nat had only met Julia twice after our wedding. He’d forgotten what her married name was—you know how men are—and he had no idea that Hans was Julia’s husband. I never told him.”

I was feeling bleak. And apprehensive. “Not even after Hans was killed?”

“No. What was the point?” Justine smiled sadly. “Nat has other things on his mind. He still hasn’t decided whether or not to accept one of the positions he’s been offered. You know about that. He did mention his lunch with you. He felt you could be trusted.”

Which, I assumed, was why Justine was speaking so freely to me. Or maybe, as with Destiny, this was the night for Emma to sit behind the screen in the confessional.

“But you shared your grief with him over Julia’s loss, didn’t you?”

“I’ve tried very hard not to burden him with my sorrow. He has to concentrate on his career. It’s been very difficult for me to bottle it all up inside. Yet I’ve done little but grieve for the past eight years. Eight years ago on the twentieth of February.” She turned in the direction of the front door. “I almost went to pieces when you saw the wreath on the front door and insinuated that it was for Hans. It was for Julia, of course. But I realized then that you would become suspicious. You would also have the skills and the resources to investigate.”

I didn’t comment on her observations. Instead, I pointed out that she and Nat had children. “You have a role not only as a wife but as a mother. Surely you could involve yourself—” I stopped. It was futile to suggest that Justine Blair Cardenas should have put her life to better use. All of her energy had gone into grief and keeping her emotions under iron-clad control.