The Alpine Recluse Part 27

"She was asleep," Bill said, taking off his regulation hat and mopping his brow with a blue and white handkerchief. "It was the dog who found her, actually. Your mother was under some of those big rhododendron and azalea bushes."

"Where is she now?" Beth asked.

"In the nursing home infirmary. Just to make sure she's okay," Bill explained. "Doc Dewey's checking her out."

Doc was having a busy Sunday. Bill finally took a long look at me. "What happened? You look like you've been in a brawl."

"Just a dumb fall," I said. "Where's Milo?"

"Doing paperwork," Bill replied. "Eriks is locked up, Cookie finally went home, and Fleetwood got tired of waiting for news that wasn't going to break. Oh," he added as an afterthought, "Toni Andreas called to say she's quitting her job. In fact, she's moving to Alaska."

I shook my head. "That's sort of precipitous. But I'm not surprised."

Beth obviously didn't care if Toni moved to Mozambique. "I'm going to the nursing home," she said, getting into her car. "Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate your help." She drove off before I could respond.

"Poor Beth," Bill said. "Well, I'm glad I found you two together. That made things simpler." He nodded in the direction of the rubble. "It looks like we've got this whole thing pretty well wrapped up. Gosh, who would've thought Wayne Eriks would kill his own son-in-law?"

"People are very complex," I said.

But I wasn't convinced that Wayne had done it.

LOOKING BACK, I'M not sure why I had doubts about Wayne's guilt. He had been so eager to report that he'd seen Old Nick-or maybe I should start calling him Craig-near the crime scene. But Wayne had gone to the sheriff after the fact, and his story had sounded contrived. Wayne certainly wasn't one of my favorite local citizens since he'd made a pa.s.s at me, but that hardly qualified him as a murderer-just a jerk. I couldn't even envision him in a rage, quarreling with Tim and coming to blows that resulted in death.

All these thoughts went through my head as I drove to the sheriff's headquarters. That short trip wasn't easy. It hurt every time I put my right foot on the gas pedal or the brake. By chance, I reached my destination just as Toni Andreas was getting out of her car.

"Toni," I called out, limping toward her. "I heard you quit."

Toni frowned and peered at me over the top of her sungla.s.ses. "How did you learn that so fast?"

"I ran into Bill Blatt," I replied.

"Oh." Toni proceeded to the main entrance. "I've come to collect my personal stuff. I'm leaving for Fairbanks tomorrow."

"That soon?" I was surprised. "Don't you have to give notice?"

"I guess not," she said, going through the door.

Dustin was still behind the counter, talking on the phone. When he saw us enter, he rang off abruptly. "Hi," he said to both of us, but his gaze was fixed on Toni. "Are you sure about this? Don't you want to talk it over with Dodge?"

Toni shook her head. "I got a last-minute cheap fare. It's almost the end of the month, so I won't lose much on my rent, if I get my damage deposit back. I've made up my mind." She went behind the counter to her desk. "This won't take long."

"Toni," Dustin pleaded, "this is crazy. How do you know you'll like Alaska? Do you have a job up there? Have you any friends?"

Toni gave him a baleful look. "I'm not sure I have any friends here. And I'm sick of this job. I'm sick of Alpine." She began to pull out drawers. "Have you got a carton around here somewhere?"

"Yes." Dustin sighed and headed down the corridor.

I considered arguing with Toni, but knew it was hopeless. Furthermore, the only person she seemed to take advice from was my son. I knew he'd been cautious, but Toni must have taken his lack of negativism for tacit approval. Besides, I had other matters on my mind.

I'd seen Milo's Grand Cherokee parked outside, so I a.s.sumed he was still in his office. Toni paid no attention to me as I went through the counter's swinging gate and limped over to Milo's closed door. I knocked twice and announced myself.

I heard him tell me to come in.

"Jeez, Emma, what's with you? Did you get in a fight at Mugs Ahoy?"

I flopped into his visitor's chair. "I fell down. Old Nick helped me get up."

"Right." Milo pushed his chair back a few inches from the desk. "Man, your arm's turning some funny colors. Do you want an ice bag?"

I glanced at the bruise. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't hurt as much as my ankle. Or even my knees. "I'm not kidding," I declared. "Old Nick is definitely Craig Laurentis. I met him in the woods above the cul-de-sac."

Milo turned serious. "No s.h.i.t. When?"

"About twenty minutes ago. I was with Beth, looking for her mother."

"They found her in the park," Milo said absently. "Did Beth meet this guy, too?"

"No. She'd gone on ahead back down the trail that leads up from the Rafferty property."

He got out his cigarettes and offered me one. I took it, wishing he were the kind of lawman who kept a bottle of booze in the desk drawer. "So what happened?" he inquired.

I explained in careful detail. "Then he just ambled off, up the trail. Maybe he lives around there."

"Hunh." Milo stared off into s.p.a.ce. "I thought you were nuts when you told me your theory. It makes sense, though. Reclusive artist, probably a hippie dropout, antisocial, antigovernment, antiestablishment-the whole bit. I wonder if his family knows where he is and what he's doing."

"They probably gave up on him years ago," I said. "Or they think he's dead, probably from an overdose."

"Could be. It wouldn't be the first time." Milo tapped ash into his Marlboro Man ashtray. "He still could be a witness."

"Not a suspect?"

Milo grunted. "We've got our man." He gestured behind him. "Eriks is locked up and feeling very sorry for himself."

"He still claims he's innocent?"

"Oh, yeah. Cookie is his alibi. You know what that means."

I didn't express my doubts. They were too ill-founded. "Motive?"

"I figure Tim wasn't a very good husband," Milo said. "He may have been physically as well as verbally abusive. I suppose Wayne and Tim got into it, a fight broke out, and Wayne cracked him with a baseball bat. I'll admit, he probably didn't mean to kill him. It may even be self-defense. Once he's got an attorney, that could be the plea. It might even work. Of course, there's still the arson charge. Wayne started the fire to cover the murder. It all fits."

"Evidence?"

"The burns on his arms," Milo said. "The flimsy alibi. We'll find more, like traces of kerosene on his shoes or some other signs of how the fire started. That's up to the crime lab folks."

"What if Wayne destroyed what he was wearing that night?"

Milo shrugged. "Why didn't he have those burns treated if he got them on the job? Why was he coughing a day or so after the murder and fire?"

I remembered how Wayne had coughed and blown his nose when he'd come into the Advocate office. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time-a cold, allergies, a chronic condition. People who work outdoors often have allergies year-round, whether from pollen or mold or whatever other natural source agitates their respiratory systems.

"That's true," I murmured. "It could have been from smoke inhalation. Maybe one of the doctors should check his lungs. Could there still be some signs of the smoke?"

Milo gazed at his cigarette. "Wayne's a smoker. I honestly don't know if the docs could tell at this late date. I'll ask."

I put my own cigarette out even though I'd smoked only half of it. What I really needed was some aspirin. "Will you look for Old Nick-I mean Craig-in the area above the cul-de-sac?"

Milo nodded. "We'll give it a go. It gets pretty rugged up there, but at least we won't have to fight the snow this time of year." The sheriff pulled his chair up closer to the desk and peered at me. "You sure you're okay?"

I made a face. "I'm not in pieces. I'm just banged up. By the way, I think Craig's been tromping around in the Rafferty rubble. I saw some footprints there today. Bare feet. I wonder why he did that."

Milo shrugged. "He's not the only one who goes barefoot around here in this weather."

That was true. I frequently shed my shoes when I was home, even when I went outside. "I'd better go," I said, getting up from the chair and discovering that I felt stiff all over. "Let me know what you find out."

"I'll do what I can," Milo replied. "Take care of yourself, Emma."

He sounded as if he meant it.

Dustin was on the phone again as I went through the reception area. He nodded politely. There was no sign of Toni. She must have made short work of her task. Maybe there were few souvenirs she wanted to keep; maybe she had too many bad memories.

My cell phone rang as soon as I got in the Honda. "Goodness," Vida cried in my ear, "I've been trying to reach you for ages! I heard you had a bad fall. You'd better come over here and see Doc Dewey."

"Come over where?" I asked in a puzzled tone.

"To the Erikses', of course. I'm still here." Vida lowered her voice. "I've been trying to call you at home. That's where I thought you'd go after you found out Beth's mother was all right."

I was still confused. "What's that got to do with Doc Dewey? He's supposed to be at the nursing home, looking after Delia Rafferty."

"He is. He was. She's fine. But he's on his way here now to give Cookie a sedative. She's an absolute mess. No emotional stamina. Good grief, whatever happened to backbone?"

"What about Tiffany?" I inquired.

"What about her?" Vida sounded disgusted. "She's fine. Whining about her father being arrested, of course. Whining about her backache. Whining about not having any potato chips in the house. Honestly! I'm sick of listening to her."

"Can't you leave now?" I asked, flexing my ankle before turning on the ignition.

"Not until Doc gets here," Vida replied. "Do come. I need to be restrained, or the next homicide in Alpine will be committed by me on Tiffany."

I couldn't refuse. Doc might have some proper bandages for my knees. They were still bleeding a little through the inadequate Band-Aids I'd used from my emergency kit in the glove compartment.

The Erikses' house in Icicle Creek looked the same as when I last visited. But of course it had changed. Tragedy had buffeted the place, lending it a defeated air. If the exterior's beige paint had been peeling before, I hadn't noticed; if a couple of shingles were missing from the roof, I'd missed seeing the bare spots; if the camellia bush near the front door had already withered, I'd paid no attention. But now I did, and the property almost looked abandoned. In a way it was-abandoned by happiness and hope. Houses were built on sale value. Homes were created by love. If love was here, it seemed to have turned to ash-not unlike what was left of the Raffertys' burned-out bungalow.

Wearily, I trudged to the door. Vida opened it almost immediately. I suspected that she'd been watching for my arrival.

"Doc's not here yet," she announced grimly. "Cookie's drinking tea in the kitchen and crying. Tiffany's on the sofa in the living room, complaining. They should have a sign out front, 'Beware of Family.' "

Tiffany scarcely glanced at me when I came into the living room. "Jake O'Toole just called," she said in a petulant voice. "He wanted to know if I was coming to work tomorrow. What a jerk!"

"It would do you good," Vida declared. "When Doc gets here, you must ask him what's best for you-lying around doing nothing, or getting back to the store to take your mind off yourself."

Tiffany ignored the advice and turned a page in the copy of Us magazine that she'd been reading. In the distance, I could hear Cookie sobbing softly.

"She won't stop," Vida lamented just as the doorbell chimed. "Ah. It must be Doc. Thank heavens."

Vida went off to answer the door. I considered talking to Tiffany, decided it was useless, and hobbled out to the kitchen. Cookie was standing by the sink, shoulders hunched, head down, still sobbing.

She didn't turn around, but she must have heard me approach. "I want to kill myself," she moaned.

"How would that help?"

Startled, she looked at me. "Oh! I thought you were Vida."

"Vida's still here," I said. "I think Doc Dewey just arrived, too." I put my hand on one of the kitchen chairs. "Sit down, Cookie. You look like you're about to collapse." The way I felt, maybe I'd beat her to it.

With an air of despondency, Cookie moved to a chair by a mug of tea that looked as if it hadn't been touched. She picked up a crumpled table napkin and wiped her eyes. I could hear Vida and Doc talking to Tiffany in the living room. Hopefully-probably foolishly-I thought they might be able to convince Tiffany that spending almost a week on the sofa wasn't healthy for her or her baby.

The lecture might not last long, which meant my conversation with Cookie would have to be brief. "Look," I said, sitting down, "you can't give in to your emotions. Wayne and Tiffany both need you. If Wayne didn't commit this crime, he won't be convicted. You know the truth, Cookie. You told the sheriff Wayne was with you all of Monday evening. Of course," I continued as she stared into the tea mug, "the two of you will have to account for every moment. Can you remember what happened that night?"

She kept staring. Maybe there were tea leaves in the mug; maybe she was trying to read the future.

If so, it must have looked as bleak as the present. "It was just the usual," she murmured. "We watched TV, we went to bed around eleven. That's our routine."

"Just like you usually do?" I remarked, hearing Vida raise her voice in annoyance.

Cookie nodded. "We don't socialize much, except to visit Tiff and Tim sometimes, or they come over here. But we hadn't left the house at night for several days."

Vida appeared in the doorway, looking disgusted. "Doc wants to see you, Cookie. Shall I bring him in here or would you rather go out into the living room?"

"I don't care," Cookie said listlessly, but she rose from the chair.

Vida remained by the door. "f.e.c.kless," she said. "Tiffany is lazy, self-centered, and utterly worthless. Doc can't talk any sense into her. I'm leaving."

"You've done your duty," I said. "Maybe I should leave, too. I've got some things I want to tell you."

"Oh?" Vida looked intrigued. "Let me get my hat. I intend to go see Delia Rafferty. This is Sunday, my day to do good works. Doc says Delia's none the worse for her little adventure, but I still feel obligated to call on her. Do you want to come with me?"

"No, thanks. I need to rest my beat-up body." Another trip to the nursing home was the last thing I wanted to do.

Tiffany was still on the sofa, once again reading her magazine. Cookie was sitting in a side chair, while Doc asked her some questions. He smiled and nodded at me.

"Busy day," I remarked as I pa.s.sed him.

"Very." Doc stopped smiling.

Vida picked up her hat from a side table. I'd never seen this particular model before, but guessed that it was one she reserved for going to church. It was definitely a spring or summer hat, a net confection with a nest on the crown and a trio of baby birds poking their heads out of small blue eggs. I a.s.sumed that Vida had bought it on an Easter whim.

I said goodbye to everybody in general, but Vida wordlessly tromped out of the living room and down the short flight of stairs to the front door.