The Alpine Xanadu (11 page)

“Nobody knows but us—and Irene Baugh.”

Milo grinned. “What do you bet it was Irene’s idea?”

“I never thought of that. You’re right—she’s always been as good a politician as Fuzzy. Maybe smarter, too.”

“So’s a two-by-four.”

I got up to put the salmon in the oven. “You never told me who you thought was threatening Blackwell.”

Milo followed me out to the kitchen in search of a refill for his drink. “I wonder if he’s doing it himself. But why?”

I
SLEPT IN THE NEXT MORNING
. W
HEN
I
WOKE UP AROUND NINE-THIRTY
, I didn’t see any sign of Milo, but the Yukon was in the driveway blocking my Honda. So was a third vehicle, a silver SUV that looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. After showering and getting dressed, I went into the carport, where the sheriff was talking to Scott Melville.

“Hey,” Milo called to me, “Scott’s got an idea on how to enlarge the carport and find some easier ground for the addition.”

“Hi, Scott. I haven’t had coffee. Come in and I’ll find my brain.”

Both men followed me into the kitchen. There were two used mugs on the counter. There wasn’t much coffee left, but I poured enough for myself and told the Pig Pair they’d have to wait for a new pot to perk.

“The plan,” Scott began, “was to add on out back. But now I think it would be better to extend the east side of the house in order to balance off the west-side carport extension. The ground’s softer on the sides, too.”

“But,” I said in dismay, “we want to keep the cabin’s look intact.”

“We will,” Scott said with his easy, still-boyish smile. “Instead of making the addition a mere frame, it’ll match the rest of the dwelling.”

I took another swig of coffee. “Won’t that cost more?”

Milo was rinsing out the mugs he and Scott had used. “We’ll do it right. When was the last time you did maintenance around here? You’re supposed to clean and recaulk the logs every so often. I offered to do it a couple of years ago and you turned me down.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” I said.

The sheriff sat down. “It’s a wonder the place doesn’t fall apart.”

“It’s got a stone foundation,” I snapped. “The logs look fine to me.”

“They look like crap,” Milo said, glancing at Scott. “You saw them.”

Scott’s expression was apologetic. “You’re overdue for caulking and staining, but that can be done with the rest of the job. Arnie Nyquist can give you a quote when I finalize my own plans.”

Milo’s hazel eyes sparked. “No, he can’t. I won’t let that bastard near here. Hire somebody else—from out of town, if necessary.”

For years, Arnie and the sheriff had gone head-to-head over various issues, including a remodel of Milo’s office. Arnie—whose nickname was “Tinker Toy”—had savaged the sheriff at every opportunity. The Nyquist males tended to be arrogant. And Milo was stubborn. He had never forgiven Arnie. Maybe I’d acquired a small-town mentality, too. I couldn’t stand him, either.

But I had a more valid reason. “Years ago, Arnie built thirty houses in Ptarmigan Tract. Three fell down and many of the others had problems. That’s when he began focusing on commercial properties.”

Scott nodded. “That’s okay. I’ve worked with other contractors. Nyquist made a mint off of RestHaven, so he’s not hurting.”

The coffee was ready. Milo did the honors and sat down again. “Better explain how this side addition will work,” he said to Scott. “Emma doesn’t want to screw with the bathroom if we can help it.”

“No problem,” Scott said. “The new bathroom will be next to
the present one with a wall between them. Access will be via Milo’s work area and the spare bedroom, which we’ll extend, as it’s quite small.”

“But,” I protested, “that means removing all the logs on the side of the house instead of just some at the back.”

Scott nodded. “As long as they’re still in good shape, we can use those and add a few more.”

“How much is this going to cost?” I asked in a weak voice.

“Emma,” Milo intervened, “Scott hasn’t added up all the numbers. We just came up with the plan this morning.”

“But—”

He put a finger to my lips. “Stop fussing. You’re driving me nuts.”

I failed to bite his finger as he withdrew it. “I’ll shut up. I haven’t eaten. I’ll go out and graze in the yard. I doubt we can afford food.”

“Before you do that,” Milo said, “sign off on the release for Scott to put the quote together. You own this place, including the grazing land.”

I took a pen from Scott and scribbled my name. Milo set his mug aside. “I have to head for the office, Scott. Two of my deputies are working security for the RestHaven opening, so I have to hold down the fort at headquarters. If I can get away, maybe I’ll see you at the facility.”

The men shook hands. I’d turned away from the fridge to glare at the sheriff. “Hey, big guy, you didn’t tell me you had to work today.”

“I didn’t?” Milo looked faintly sheepish. “Well—now you know. Got to change into my uniform.” He left the kitchen.

“I’d better go,” Scott said, getting up. “My SUV’s blocking Dodge’s Yukon.” He paused at the kitchen door. “He’s right, Emma. You won’t go broke. I did his headquarters remodel and he was satisfied with the final cost. I’ve gotten to know him as a neighbor.
I still remember how kind you both were to us when Bev’s brother was killed.” He smiled. “That was ten years ago. We thought you made a good couple even then.”

“You did? I mean, we weren’t. A couple.” I needed food to clear my fuzzy brain. “We started going together later, but …” My voice trailed off.

Scott laughed. “Don’t try to explain. You and Dodge have always provided a lot of buzz. It livens up the community. Coming from L.A., Bev and I prefer it to gang warfare and other unsavory aspects of city life. The grapevine is local entertainment. Now that you’re engaged, people may lose interest. Maybe the RestHaven newcomers will provide some gossip.”

“You expect them to do that?”

Scott shrugged. “They’ve already had a dead body virtually in their front yard. It’s a start.” He suddenly broke into a trot. “Here comes Dodge. I’d better move my SUV.”

The sheriff waved at Scott but kept heading for the carport. “Don’t I get a kiss good-bye?” he asked, approaching the carport steps.

“Honestly, Milo,” I said in exasperation, “you’re too used to living alone. You should tell me what your plans are before you spring them on me. I didn’t know you had to work today.”

“I forgot.” He looked a trifle abject.

“It does take getting used to, doesn’t it?” I said softly.

“Yeah.” He lifted me off the top step and kissed me. “But I like it.”

I had not forgotten that Milo’s birthday was coming up the first of March. We had never given each other presents, not even when we’d been a couple a decade earlier. Maybe that was because he never remembered my November birthday. I had often treated him
to drinks or dinner over the years, and if I did remind him about my birthday, it was only after the fact, and then he’d apologize—and forget again.

But this year I was going to buy him a present. The sheriff’s wardrobe needed refurbishing. A new men’s shop had opened recently in a vacant space next to Francine’s Fine Apparel. It was owned by Francine’s husband, Warren—a couple with a track record as rocky as our own. After the Wells remarried, he’d worked at Harvey’s Hardware. It was assumed that when Harvey Adcock retired, Warren would take over the store. But over time, the college had created a need for a better selection of men’s clothing than Alpine Inner & Outerwear could provide.

I was finishing breakfast when the phone rang. I hurried into the living room before it trunked over to voicemail.

“Where were you?” my brother asked in his crackling voice. “Not at St. Mildred’s helping Father Den with his Lenten soup kitchen, I gather?”

“You know Father Den doesn’t have a soup kitchen,” I said. “The Lutherans do because there are so many of them. God prevent the Presbyterians from having one. Vida might donate a casserole.”

“Stop! As you may recall, Adam and I were forced to eat one of those things. I didn’t know you could bake Elmer’s Glue.”

“It was that good? I’m shocked. Where are you?”

“Still in Biloxi, helping the local Redemptorist with his flock. I’m moving on at the end of the month. The Home Missions finally caught up with me, and I’m needed in El Paso to help with the influx from Mexico.”

“That’s a long way from here,” I said.

Ben chuckled. “You and Dodge don’t need me to chaperone. Any chance you’re going to make it legal? I’d think he’d want to, being an officer of the law.”

“Um … he would. I mean, he does. We’ve talked about it.”

Ben sighed audibly. “Damn, the Lord family curse of not being able to make up your mind. Don’t say it. I suffer from the same disease. That’s why I’m glad I have a job where I have to take orders, holy and otherwise. Just do it. By the way, Dodge should be getting a bunch of forms soon from the Archdiocese. He’ll pitch a five-star fit, but try to keep him from throwing something—like you—through your picture window.”

“He hates paperwork.”

“He’ll really hate this. It involves having his ex fill out a bunch of stuff, too. Have you ever met her?”

“No.”

Ben paused. “Maybe you should.”

“No.”

“Sluggly,” my brother said, reverting to his childhood nickname for me, “swallow your pride. You’re the other woman. Show—what’s her name besides Mulehide?”

“Tricia.”

“Show Tricia that you’re a good person. Fake it, if you have to. Let her see you realize why her marriage to Dodge failed without making her look like a villainess. Play on her sympathy, do what it takes, but win her over or there won’t be an annulment until you’re too old to care.”

“Oh, Ben, I … I’m not sure Milo wants me to meet her.”

“You’re not playing by his rules, you’re playing by the Church’s. Here comes my fellow priest. Got to save souls or something. Peace.”

A face-off with Tricia daunted me, if only because she’d speak ill of Milo. I’d get upset—and defensive. I couldn’t think about it. I preferred taking the woman’s way out. I’d go shopping instead.

Wardrobe by Wells was the name of Warren’s shop. I recognized one of the college profs I knew only by sight and, of all people, Iain
Farrell, who was apparently having trouble choosing between a dozen subdued ties. I avoided him by hiding behind the sport coat sale rack. Unfortunately, none of the items was large enough to fit Milo.

Farrell made his choice and his exit. Warren spotted me and came out from behind the counter. “Hi, Emma,” he said, sounding surprised to see me. “Are you sure you’re in the right Wells emporium?”

“Your wife already fleeced me,” I said, and told him what I wanted.

Warren frowned. “I only have a couple of longs in his size. Not many locals are as tall or broad-shouldered as Milo. You’d never believe he used to be a skinny, gawky kid.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I said. Warren and the sheriff had gone to school together. “I do know he’s put on a few pounds since I met him.”

“He needed to fill out,” Warren said, displaying a black sport coat from the non-sale rack. “Here’s a Hugo Boss. Or were you thinking a brighter color?”

“I doubt Milo would go beyond black, brown, or navy.”

Warren’s eyes slid to the college prof, who was holding a couple of dress shirts. “Hang on, Emma. Let me take care of Bo Vardi. Check out that navy Versace—it’d fit Dodge.”

I looked at the price tag on the Hugo Boss first—and almost
had
a fit. It was six hundred dollars. Milo would kick my butt if I spent that much. I never told him what I spent on my clothes. I would, if he’d ask—but he didn’t. I had a professional image to maintain. All Milo had to do was stand around in his uniform and look formidable. It worked for him, but it wouldn’t do the same for me.

“… turned me down,” the prof was saying to Warren. “Odd duck, which was why I thought he’d be an interesting guest lecturer.”

I remembered that Mitch had interviewed Vardi during the fall
quarter. He was new to the college, teaching science, though his true love was genetics. Assuming Vardi referred to Iain Farrell, I sidled up to him.

“Excuse me,” I said, putting on my friendliest face and introducing myself, “I’ve been hoping to meet you. My reporter, Mitch Laskey, wrote a story about you last November.”

Vardi smiled, showing brilliant teeth in a darkly handsome face. “Yes, a very flattering article. He made me sound intelligent.”

I smiled back. “Being a journalist, I’m a professional snoop. Did I hear you say Dr. Farrell refused an invitation to speak to your students?”

Vardi’s limpid dark eyes grew wary. “Is this for publication?”

I shook my head. “I’m curious. I’ve already had a run-in with him. I wondered if it was just me or if he’s unwilling to participate in the community. That seems unwise for a newcomer.”

Vardi sighed. “Maybe I caught him at a bad time. It was early Thursday afternoon and he sounded rushed. They must be swamped at RestHaven, getting ready for the big event later today.”

“Are you attending?”

Vardi frowned. “I should. I’m still a newbie in town, but it’s my wife’s birthday.” He gestured at the shirts that Warren had rung up. “We’re going to Le Gourmand for dinner tonight, but first, we promised our kids to take them to Old Mill Park so they can play on the Big Toy—if it doesn’t rain. At least the river hasn’t risen too much. That’s a relief.”

“So far so good,” I said, and wished the Vardis a happy evening.

“Have you decided?” Warren asked.

“Milo would arrest me for being extravagant if I spent too much. Any chance of getting something in for him that isn’t as pricey?”

He checked his computer. “Would three hundred break the bank?”

“What bank?”

“How much is he worth?”

I stared at Warren. “Oh, hell, go ahead. He never spends any money on himself unless it’s fishing gear.”

“He’s got a fine-looking new SUV,” Warren remarked with a smile.

“The county helps pay for that,” I said. “Milo uses it as his official vehicle. And the Nordby brothers gave him a good deal.”