The Alpine Recluse Part 24

SEVENTEEN.

BETH, WHO WAS nibbling on a piece of toast, stared at me. I must have looked shocked. I certainly felt that way. For her benefit-and to make sure I'd heard Milo correctly-I repeated what he'd told me.

"You arrested Wayne for killing Tim?"

Beth dropped the toast and collapsed.

"Gotta go," Milo shouted.

"Wait! Send an ambulance to the diner!"

"What?"

"Beth just pa.s.sed out."

"You need-" The connection was lost.

The Starrs, who had just been seated in the I Love Lucy booth across the aisle, were already at Beth's side. Clare came up behind them, followed by Terri Bourgette. Beth was lying at an awkward angle, half on the vinyl seat, half under the table.

"What happened?" Terri demanded, looking apprehensive.

"I think she fainted," I said.

Dr. Starr was bending over Beth, trying to see if she was conscious.

"Pour water on her," Carrie Starr said.

"No!" cried Deputy Mayor Richie Magruder, who had suddenly appeared in the aisle. "Pinch her!"

"You're crazy, Richie," said his wife, Stella. "Put her head between her knees."

"I think she's coming around," Dr. Starr murmured.

"Should I call 911?" Terri asked, her hands trembling.

"I think I already did," I said, sounding stupid. "I mean . . ."

Terri, however, was now engaged in trying to keep some of the other customers away from the area. "It's fine, it's nothing serious. Please, go back to your places. Everything's under control."

Dr. Starr had Beth sitting up. Her eyelids were fluttering and her lips were moving, although she made no sound. Clare offered a gla.s.s of water, but Beth shook her head.

"I'm . . . okay," she murmured. "I don't think I even blacked out."

The gawkers were reluctantly returning to their seats. Terri stood guard in the middle of the aisle. She had stopped shaking and seemed in control of herself as well as the situation. I still felt stunned, but pulled myself together. My appet.i.te had fled, however. I glanced at my half-eaten breakfast with a tinge of regret. Beth hadn't eaten anything except a bite or two of toast. The two eggs had been broken in a lost cause. Poor Beth didn't seem able to share a meal with me.

The ambulance siren announced its approach. Beth heard it and went rigid. "Is that for me?" she asked with a stricken expression.

I nodded. "Let the medics tend to you. Frankly, you're a nervous wreck. You may be suffering from exhaustion-not to mention this d.a.m.ned heat."

Beth looked as if she wanted to argue, but maybe she lacked the strength. She merely pressed her lips together and hung her head.

"I'll get out of the way," I said, scooting across the seat. "I'll check in with you later, okay?"

Beth nodded once. The familiar medics were already headed toward our booth. I turned tail and took the longer route out of the dining area. Terri met me at the front.

"What made Beth collapse?" she asked. "It couldn't have been anything she ate."

"No. It's nerves," I said. "Here." I handed her my overworked Visa card. "Run it through, I'll sign it, and you can figure out the total later. Add a tip for Clare. She looked sort of pale, too."

"Forget the bill," Terri said. "Besides, I have to go back to the kitchen and bring my brothers up to speed. They can't leave the food cooking. The poor guys must wonder what's going on."

I didn't argue. I was in too much of a hurry to get to the sheriff's office. Before I started the car, I called Vida to tell her what had happened. But Vida wasn't home. Maybe she'd stayed for the fellowship hour at the Presbyterian church. It was a good place to pick up gossip.

I spotted Milo's Grand Cherokee in front of the sheriff's office, but saw no sign of Spencer Fleetwood's BMW. Maybe my archrival hadn't been contacted. Not that it mattered-Spence would still beat me with the story. Whoever was manning the radio station would pick up the arrest on the police scanner.

The only person in the reception area was Dustin Fong. Whoever else had been called for extra Sunday duty must be in the back, either in the interrogation room or the waiting area for friends and relatives of suspects and witnesses.

"Sheriff Dodge said he called you," Dustin said, polite and calm as ever. "He thought you'd want to know."

"Of course." I smiled, always amazed that even after several years as a deputy, Dustin never seemed to grow callous or indifferent. "What happened?"

He also remained discreet. "I'd better let Dodge tell you," he said. "He and Bill Blatt made the actual arrest about an hour ago."

"Is Cookie with Wayne? What about Tiffany?"

"Cookie's here," Dustin replied, looking troubled. "She's pretty distraught. Tiffany's still at the Erikses' house."

"That's just as well." But I didn't like the idea of her being alone. "Do you know if she's okay?"

Dustin's expression changed only slightly. "I believe Mrs. Runkel is with her."

"Vida?" I cried. Before Dustin could respond, I waved a hand. "Of course. Bill, her nephew, was one of the arresting officers." I had no idea how Vida had found that out, but didn't doubt for a moment that she'd gotten the news before I did.

I leaned on the mahogany counter. "How soon before I can talk to Milo?"

Dustin shook his head. "I've no idea. Eriks claims he's innocent."

"I suppose he would," I said thoughtfully. "I'm trying to figure out the motive."

"Who knows?" Dustin looked as skeptical as I'd ever seen him. "One thing I've learned in law enforcement is that people can be unpredictable. Sometimes they just go off their heads for no reason, especially when drugs or alcohol are involved."

"Yes." I, too, had encountered murderers who didn't fit the popular profile of jealous lovers, blackmail victims, or just plain crooks. Some were people I'd known for years, with reputations above reproach. But they'd snapped. And neither substance abuse nor addictions had influenced their homicidal actions.

"Does Toni Andreas know?" I asked.

Dustin looked surprised. "No. I mean, I doubt it. There was no reason to call her in on a Sunday. Besides, she hasn't been feeling very good lately." He frowned slightly. "Why do you ask?"

I hedged. "She seemed very upset about Tim's death. I thought she might want to know that an arrest had been made."

Dustin looked beyond me to the entrance. "She'll know soon enough," he murmured. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Fleetwood."

Spencer Fleetwood had brought along some of his remote equipment. He flashed me a big smile-of triumph, I a.s.sumed-and nodded at Dustin. "Rey Fernandez just heard the news on the police scanner. It only seems fitting that we should break the story, since Tim worked for KSKY."

That was true enough. "Didn't you threaten to fire him at one point?" I said in a sarcastic tone.

Spence chuckled. "Station owners always threaten to fire their people. Sometimes they actually do it. But even if Tim did screw up a while back, he made the mistake newsworthy. We got more listener response to his apology than to any other program-except for Vida's, of course."

I recalled the incident only too well. Tim had gotten himself involved in a murder investigation and although he was innocent, he'd managed to tamper with evidence-and lie about it. It had been cowardly, but he'd never been charged with a crime. He'd been scared, and insisted he was protecting Tiffany's sensibilities.

"You're right," I said softly. "Tim was never what you'd call heroic."

Spence shot me a quizzical look, but said nothing. He started to set up his equipment, a process Dustin seemed to find fascinating. I remained leaning against the counter, my stomach growling again, and wishing I'd brought the rest of my breakfast with me.

"You don't seem to need much except a microphone and headphones," Dustin remarked to Spence.

"Technology," Spence replied. "This is radio, not TV. Rey's at the other end in the studio." He pinned the tiny mike to his safari shirt. "Rey? I'm all set. Five, four, three . . ."

Dustin and I looked at each other.

"This is Spencer Fleetwood, broadcasting live with breaking news over KSKY-AM, the voice of Skykomish County," Spence began, his usually mellow voice charged with just the right amount of urgency. "We're here at the sheriff's headquarters in Alpine, where a suspect has been arrested in the homicide death of Tim Rafferty. Wayne Eriks of Alpine was taken into custody this morning by Sheriff Milo Dodge and Deputy Bill Blatt. Eriks, fifty-four, and a longtime employee of SkyCo PUD, is the victim's father-in-law."

Spence always sounded so d.a.m.ned professional. He could have worked for any number of major-market radio stations, even television, since he was also good-looking in a somewhat hawklike manner. But for reasons of his own, he preferred Alpine. He also liked being his own boss. I understood that part very well.

Spence was motioning to Dustin. "We're here live and direct with Deputy Dustin Fong. What can you tell us about this startling development in the Rafferty case, Deputy Fong?"

Although he had leaned across the counter to face Spence, Dustin looked startled. "I'm afraid," he said carefully, "that I can't say much at this point. Sheriff Dodge is interrogating the suspect right now."

"Has Eriks made a statement?" Spence inquired.

"Not a formal statement, no, sir."

"In other words," Spence went on, "Eriks hasn't confessed to the crime?"

"No, sir. He insists he's innocent."

"Has he contacted an attorney or asked for legal counsel?"

"I don't know."

Spence knew the drill as well as I did, but that didn't stop him from asking questions. "Can you tell us where Eriks was arrested this morning?"

"I believe Mr. Eriks was at home."

"When will the sheriff release any information about the evidence that led to the arrest?"

"I don't know." Dustin was looking very serious, as if he could imagine SkyCo residents leaning into their radios to catch every word, every nuance. "Usually, evidence isn't revealed until the trial or at least a formal hearing."

"Thank you, Deputy." Spence flashed Dustin a big smile. "We're staying right here at the sheriff's office, awaiting further developments. Stay tuned for our next update. Meanwhile, here's a word from one of our friendly Alpine merchants, Barton's Bootery."

Spence clicked off the mike. "Thanks again," he said to Dustin. "I understand the constraints of your job. Of course, I have to do mine, too."

"I know." Dustin looked relieved.

Spence turned to me. "I see you got here first."

The implication was obvious. I didn't say a word.

"Vida?" he asked.

I just stood there, looking innocent.

At that moment, Milo loped into the outer office. He was wearing his civilian clothes-tan pants and a blue summer shirt. "The media," he muttered. "Both of it." He shot a dark look at Spence. "Don't even think about turning on that mike. It's not already on, is it?"

Spence held up his hands in a guiltless gesture. "I've already finished my preliminary broadcast, Sheriff. I was waiting for you."

"Hunh." Milo glanced at Dustin.

"I couldn't tell Mr. Fleetwood anything but what we already announced over the scanner," Dustin said.

"Good." Milo went over to the coffeemaker next to the door of his private office. "s.h.i.t, didn't anybody make coffee?"

"Sorry," Dustin apologized. "I didn't think of it."

I couldn't resist. The sheriff's coffee was too vile for me to keep my mouth shut. "Just pump out some sewer bilge and throw in a little dirt. You won't know the difference."

Milo scowled at me before turning back to Dustin. "Go over to the Burger Barn and get us some coffee, okay?"

Dustin moved quickly. Maybe he was glad to get out of the line of fire.

"Well?" I said after the deputy was gone. "Can you tell us anything?"

"h.e.l.l, no." Milo pulled out a pack of cigarettes, his usual Marlboro Lights. Spence followed suit, with his exotic gold-filtered black brand. "We won't be able to say anything until the arraignment tomorrow," the sheriff said after his first puff.

"Is Eriks still protesting his innocence?" Spence asked.

"Right." Milo looked cynical. "They often do, you know. Sometimes the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds even believe it."

"But you don't?" Spence persisted.

"No comment."

The main door opened. I expected to see Dustin returning with coffee, but it was Doc Dewey instead. He greeted Spence and me before speaking to Milo. "Sorry, Sheriff," Doc apologized, beads of sweat dampening his balding head. "Babies don't wait, and Dr. Sung had an emergency surgery this morning."

"It's not an emergency," Milo said, "but the county doesn't want to be liable. Come on, let's go back so you can tend to the patient."