The Alpine Yeoman (36 page)

The sheriff finally loped over to join me. “The rain’s starting to let up,” he said, squinting skyward.

“Skip the forecast. Why was this car being chased?”

“Damn. I knew I should’ve ignored you,” he said, adjusting the hood of my jacket. “But I have to pretend you’re official.”

“I am official,” I said. “I’m the press. What’s Spence supposed to be? An FBI agent?”

“I didn’t see him arrive. Oh, hell, I don’t give a shit, but Godfrey over there is a stickler for keeping out anybody who doesn’t belong.”

“The press always belongs,” I said in my most formal voice.

“Tell that to Godfrey. He thinks the press is a bunch of ghouls.”

“Then I won’t give him credit for this. Whatever this may be, which I sure as hell don’t know because you’re being a jerk.”

“No, I’m not. I can’t tell you anything because the ID on the accident victims hasn’t been verified. You think I’d take the word of the state troopers just because they’re law enforcement types?”

“Yes.”

Milo sighed. “The real problem is that they don’t know who the second victim is except that it’s a woman.”

“Oh. That does make a difference, I suppose. Are they local?”

Milo hesitated. “No. That … stop asking questions, okay? You’re being a pain in the ass.” He looked up at the sky again. “That copter should be here in a few minutes.”

“I can’t help being a pain. I’m hungry.”

“So am I. What’s for dinner?”

“Leftovers.”

“Left over from what?”

“The chicken from Leavenworth.”

“Shit. More chicken?”

The sound of copter rotors could be heard, though we couldn’t see anything. The landing strip was out of sight. With all the trees along the highway, we probably wouldn’t be able to watch it land. It’d take the divers a few minutes to cover the ground between there and the accident site. If the traffic didn’t move faster, they might have to walk.

“As long as we have time to kill,” I said, “so to speak, tell me what you learned from Yakima County.”

Milo shot me an annoyed look. “Not here. Stop nagging. Go pester Fleetwood. I have to make sure Fong and Mullins are still awake.” He headed for the cruiser parked on the verge not far from the bridge.

I couldn’t hear the copter, so I assumed it had landed. The unneeded emergency vehicles had headed back into town. The young trooper I’d talked to first was directing traffic in one direction at a time. The vehicles, which included cars, trucks, and a couple of RVs, crept along, either because of the backup or the curiosity of their drivers, who had been caught up in the drama. I thought of the old saw about watching a train wreck: no matter how ghastly it was, onlookers couldn’t stop staring. Human nature is fascinated by horror. Otherwise, there’d be no TV audience for gruesome celebrity murder trials.

Spence had rejoined me. “You’re short,” he said.

“I know that,” I retorted. “So what?”

He grimaced. “May I finish? You probably can’t see over the gathering, but a state patrol car has gone to fetch the divers.”

“Oh.” I offered him a faint smile. “Will they jump right in?”

“I assume so. Not that there’s any rush,” he added grimly. “How squeamish are you?”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

He nodded once. “I recall that your beastlike husband let you off the hook at viewing a heart attack victim not long ago.”

“And you stood in for Rosalie because she was on the point of collapse. Very gallant of you and the sheriff.”

“May I remind you that the corpse was Rosalie’s husband?”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” I said.

“Here come the divers.” Spence took my arm as we retreated a few yards from the river. It had almost stopped raining. A glance at the road revealed that traffic was beginning to move—if slowly—in both directions. I saw Mitch’s lanky figure crossing the bridge and waved at him.

“Your minion,” Spence murmured. “Deal with him as you will while I do another quick remote about the divers’ arrival.”

I brought Mitch up to speed. “That’s all Spence and I know. Law enforcement is being tight-lipped. As usual.”

Mr. Radio had strolled back to join us. “Ever done this before?” he asked my reporter.

Mitch uttered a short laugh. “Often. Ever heard of the Detroit River or the Great Lakes?”

“By Jove, I have,” Spence replied. “I spent some time in Chicago.”

We were standing close to the north end of the bridge, having moved farther away from the official onlookers so that Spence could hear himself think while he did his brief update.

“There they go!” The cry came up from one of the cops. I guessed it might be the young trooper who had accosted me. I
knew it wasn’t Milo. Calling attention to himself was taboo under any circumstances.

Spence was back on the air; Mitch had snapped several photos in rapid succession; I stood like a dummy in the window of Francine’s Fine Apparel. Except that I wasn’t nearly as well dressed. I did, however, notify Kip that the divers were in the river. Now we’d play the waiting game, except for the young trooper and Jack Mullins, who were hustling the gawkers off the bridge. Maybe they were afraid it’d fall down. To my dismay, I saw that one of them was Ed Bronsky. He could cause an overload all by himself. Naturally, he was protesting to Jack, but he lost the argument.

After dispersing the pedestrians, Jack stopped when he saw me. “Ed claimed he was part of the media. What’s the deal with Sheriff Pig?”

“Don’t ask,” I said.

Jack laughed, shook his head, and moved on.

The divers suddenly resurfaced and came ashore. They were talking to Milo and the state patrol captain. All four of them turned around to look at what seemed to be some kind of crane on a flatbed truck. I hadn’t seen it pull up.

“They’re going to get the car out,” Spence said in an unusually solemn tone. “I assume there’s no rush, so no need to pry open the doors. I should’ve guessed as much.”

“I wonder how long that will take?” I murmured.

“Maybe half an hour,” Mitch said. “I’ll stick around if you want to go back to the office.”

I was undecided. “Let me see if I can talk to Milo.”

Taking my time, I headed toward where the law enforcement group had gathered near the divers. After another minute or two had passed, the sheriff broke away and came over to where I was standing.

“What now?” he asked. “I’m not giving you any quotes.”

“Guess what? I don’t want one. All I want to know is how long it’ll be before they raise the car.”

“Depends.” He glanced at the river. “Could be days.”

I refrained from stamping my foot. “Come on, big guy. I’m up against a deadline.”

“Today?”

“Milo …”

He started to reach out to me, then stopped and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m not sure. They have to set up. When that drug dealer let his car roll into the river a couple of years ago, it took close to an hour, but we had a snowstorm back then. If you’ve got a deadline, you might as well go back to the office. Mitch, too. I’ll call when they’re ready to bring up the car, okay?”

I smiled up at him. “Thanks … Sheriff.”

“No problem.” He turned around and walked away.

I relayed the message to Mitch. “I drove,” I told him. “My car’s at the diner.” I suddenly realized I couldn’t see Spence. “Where’d Mr. Radio go? Don’t tell me he’s interviewing the state patrol captain.”

“No,” Mitch said as we started walking across the bridge. “He decided to track down some of the locals who were watching the spectacle. Names make news, even on the radio.”

“Not a bad idea. I just hope Ed doesn’t offer himself.”

“Ed,” Mitch said under his breath. “He’s a character.”

“He is. Especially as Mr. Pig.” On that more jocular note, I got into my Honda and returned to the
Advocate
.

Amanda was agog when we arrived, asking a barrage of questions before she suddenly rushed off to the restroom. Both Leo and Vida were out, but Kip came into the newsroom to ask
how soon we could post an update. I told him we were waiting to hear from the sheriff.

Only twenty minutes passed before Milo called. “I’ll make this quick. Two dead, driver and passenger, both from Centralia. Mickey Borg and Holly Gross. Details to follow. I’ve got work to do.” He hung up.

I
WAS STUNNED
. B
UT
I
ALSO HAD WORK TO DO
. I
CALLED
Mitch into my office and gave him the shocking news.

He was incredulous. “You mean the hooker from the trailer park standoff? And who’s this Borg guy? The name sounds familiar.”

I glanced into the newsroom. Vida was still gone, but Leo was back and on his phone. “Mickey was another of Holly’s customers and also the father of her two older kids. She’s been living in Centralia with her sister since she got out on bond. Mickey was in town recently and bought a Corvette from the Nordby Brothers.”

Mitch was still looking slightly dazed. “Are you going to write the story, or should I?”

I hesitated. Mitch didn’t know as much of the background as I did, but on the other hand, if there was more coming from the sheriff’s office about whatever Milo had learned from Yakima, maybe I should do that one and let my reporter take on the river tragedy. The priority, of course, was for Mitch to get photos. He took off as soon as I told him the story was his.

Fifteen minutes later, Vida exploded into the newsroom, shrieking her head off. Leo was so startled that he dropped his cigarette and had to pick it up before it burned a hole in his
pants. I rushed out of my office, trying to figure out if Vida was having a fit.

But she was jubilant. “Crime does not pay! Justice has been served! God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world!”

I felt like saying that it depended upon your point of view. Or quoting Ben, who did not believe that God ran our lives from some heavenly computer. Life was, after all, about free will.

Vida took notice of my presence and rushed to hug me. “It’s a miracle,” she enthused while I wondered if she’d broken a couple of my ribs. “All our troubles are over,” she went on, letting me go. “What do you wager that Holly had come here to take Dippy?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but she was probably right. “I’m very happy for you, Vida,” I said, and meant it. “I wonder if Holly’s sister will keep the other two children.”

“That doesn’t concern me,” Vida responded, going over to her desk and sitting down. “I already called Amy. I happened to have KSKY on as I was driving back from interviewing Marcella and Dan Thorstensen about their Thailand trip. Spencer announced it just minutes ago. I almost drove off the road.”

I remained standing by her desk. “Does Roger know?”

“Not yet. He’s on another assignment. I think.”

Leo got up to get a coffee refill. “Congratulations, Vida. Are you going to start speaking again to the sheriff, the judge, and the prosecutor?”

I wanted to kiss Leo for asking the question. But Vida frowned. “I’m not sure. We’d never have had to go through all of this had it not been for Holly getting out on bond.”

“But,” Leo said, “if she hadn’t, she’d still be alive and in jail. God works in mysterious ways.”

Vida gave him her most owlish expression. “That’s so. I hadn’t yet thought that through.”

Mitch returned, looking pleased with himself. He paused halfway to his desk, aware that something momentous was going on. Vida repeated her news. I wondered if she’d somehow finagle a way of putting it into the
Advocate
, at least in “Scene.” I flinched at the possibility: “Happy daddy Roger Hibbert has adorable Dippy all to himself,” or some such saccharine drivel. I’d delete it on the grounds that it was too self-serving for the great-grandmother who worked for the
Advocate
.

I returned to my office while Vida regaled Mitch with her big news. After a few minutes, he joined me to say he’d gotten some good shots.

“I focused on the car itself—a Corvette,” he said, showing me the pictures he’d taken. “The body removal was too grim.”

“Not for Vida,” I said quietly.

“Right.” Mitch looked askance. “Anyway, here’s a good one of Dodge watching the car being lowered onto the ground. Think he’ll mind? I know he doesn’t like having his picture taken for the paper, but the state patrol captain is next to him, so it speaks well for law enforcement in general. What do you think?”

Milo stood with his fists on his hips, the stance giving him an air of authority. The burly captain was a good four inches shorter and looked a bit like a bullfrog. “They both appear suitably somber,” I said. “And official.”

“I’ll go with that one, then. Have we got room for the divers? They always make good pictures even if they’re on dry land.”

“Fine. Good work. I’ll see when the sheriff’s available. I still haven’t heard the latest out of Yakima County. If you’re on overload, I’ll handle that one, okay?”

“Your call,” Mitch said, not sounding miffed for a change.

Lori Cobb told me to hold off. The boss was still dealing with the state patrol. She didn’t add that he was probably meaner than cat dirt, as Vida was sometimes prone to say when she was vexed.

I checked with Leo to see how our advertising was coming along. “Just a little over sixty-forty,” he said. “Good news of a sort. Did Amanda tell you about that big classified ad Tiffany Rafferty is running?”

“No. I’ll ask her.”

Amanda had just gotten off the phone. “Tiffany came in person with it,” she said. “She’s a little weak in the writing skills department.”

“No kidding. I heard she’s working part-time at Parker’s Pharmacy, courtesy of her grandparents’ influence in being the original owners. She’s clerking, not dispensing prescriptions. She took over from Jessica Wesley, the current owners’ daughter, who’s attending the University of Washington at the Bothell campus.”

“Tiffany’s selling the sports memorabilia her late husband, Tim, collected,” Amanda explained. “Walt’s a huge baseball fan, so I hope he doesn’t read the ad. Leo told me that some of Tim’s items are worth a lot of money. We can’t afford stuff like that with a baby on the way and looking for a house. Tiffany got them appraised by a guy who was staying at the ski lodge a couple of months ago. You may recall he ran an ad in the paper. She sold a few items to him but saved the rest.”