Part 25 (1/2)

I was about to pour more coffee when I heard someone yelling in the front office. The shrill sound came from a woman and sounded familiar, but it wasn't Vida or Amanda. I set the mug down on Mitch's desk and hurried to the reception area.

Patti Marsh leaned over the counter, screaming at Amanda, who was cowering behind her chair. Patti's fingers were curled into claws as if she intended to go for the other woman's throat.

”Hey!” I shouted, stretching out an arm to prevent Patti from trying to get at Amanda. ”What's all this?”

Patti stepped back a few paces, switching her angry eyes from Amanda to me. ”I didn't know you hired wh.o.r.es,” she screeched. ”Look at her! She thinks she's such a hottie, but she's just another tramp.”

”You ought to know,” Amanda snarled, keeping her voice down. ”You're not just a tart, but an old tart. You're pathetic.” With one last withering look, she came out from behind the counter and walked purposefully down the hall to the back shop.

”Go ahead,” Patti yelled, ”you can run, but you can't hide!”

I took a deep breath. ”Okay, Patti, what's going on with you two?”

Patti slumped against the counter. ”Amanda's a real nasty piece of work.” Her lower lip trembled as she struggled for composure. ”I'm no angel, but ...” Tears welled up in her eyes. ”Oh, what the h.e.l.l-maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not just an old tart, but an old fool.”

Despite my p.r.i.c.kly relations.h.i.+p with Patti over the years, this wasn't the first time I'd felt sorry for her. She'd had plenty of b.u.mps in the road, too. Subtlety was pointless. ”Is she carrying on with Jack?”

Taking a Kleenex out of her corduroy jacket, Patti nodded. ”She wants to marry him. Can you beat that?”

”Ah-no.” I paused while Patti used the tissue to dab at her eyes. ”Jack's a bit ...” I stopped, trying to be tactful. ”He's several years older,” I finally said, unable to come up with a more flattering word.

Patti nodded. ”He's sixty, she's not yet forty. Or so she claims.” Her face looked unusually haggard. Maybe, I realized, it was because Patti's only makeup was a haphazard smear of pink lipstick. ”Why Jack? Why not some other woman's man?”

It was a valid question, though I could understand his attraction for women. Age hadn't erased all of his appeal. Jack was good looking in a dark, saturnine kind of way; he was shrewd, even smart, having steered his mill through precarious times; he had money; and he was single. With two failed marriages behind him, I figured Jack wouldn't want to strike out with a third try. He preferred to go down swinging-and had found a patsy in Patti. The live-in arrangement suited him fine.

I asked the obvious, if touchy, question. ”How does Jack feel about Amanda?”

Patti made a disgusted noise. ”She's fairly young, fairly good looking, and more than fairly easy. Last night I caught him with her at the house. Jack thought I wouldn't get back from Snohomish until later in the evening, but I didn't feel so good. Oh, s.h.i.+t!” She slammed her fist on the counter. ”You can tell Amanda that if she wants Jack, she can have him. I'm outta here.”

I watched Patti stalk out through the front door. The phone on Amanda's desk rang, so I took the call.

”Emma?”

”Janet?”

”Yes. Why are you answering the phone?” Janet Driggers asked.

”Our receptionist has stepped away. What's up?”

”I was calling Vida,” Janet replied. ”I'm working at the funeral home today instead of at the travel agency. Is Vida around?”

”No. Can I take a message?”

”Sure. Alvin De Muth has left the building. The SnoCo ME sent the final autopsy results late yesterday, and the body was claimed last night. De Muth's on his way to ... someplace. Where'd I put that form?”

”Whoa! Who claimed him?”

”Just a sec ... Here it is.” Janet cleared her throat. ”His wife. You know, it's one thing to want a guy's body while he's still alive, but why bother when he's dead? Unless, of course, you're into that sort of-”

”Janet,” I all but shouted, ”stop! Are you telling me that De Muth was married?”

She laughed in her throaty manner. ”I guess I am. Apparently, they were estranged. Or maybe just strange. Her name is Lorna Irene De Muth and she's from the Denver area. Al did the paperwork. My Al, that is. The other Al's handwriting is worse. He's a bit stiff these days.”

”Mrs. De Muth came all the way here to collect the body?”

”No. She sent us a signed affidavit and a copy of their marriage certificate,” Janet explained. ”We s.h.i.+pped De Muth out this morning. If you know anybody ready for the Grim Reaper, we have a vacancy. Two, in fact, after poor Mike O'Toole's service.”

I was accustomed to Janet's gallows humor and uninhibited s.e.xual comments that kept her sane while earning a living off the dead. ”We could use a respite from tragedy around here,” I remarked.

”Speak for yourself,” Janet shot back. ”Al and I have bills to pay. Shall I e-mail this info to Vida?”

”Go ahead. She'll be back before lunchtime. I don't suppose Mrs. De Muth sent a photo of her husband?”

”No. Don't you have one on file?”

”We might,” I said as Amanda entered the hallway from the back shop. ”Scott Chamoud did a short article on De Muth a few years ago. Got to dash. Thanks, Janet.”

Amanda peered out into the front office. ”Is that b.i.t.c.h gone?”

”Yes,” I replied. ”There's not much room here for hiding. Did you expect her to jump out of the broom closet and pounce on you?”

”It wouldn't surprise me.” She uttered a truncated laugh. ”Sorry about that. Is Patti a head case or what?”

I made eye contact with Amanda. ”Why do you ask?”

”Why do you think?” She shrugged. ”Patti walks in here and starts screaming and looks as if she's going to physically attack me. Is that normal around this place?”

”Of course not.” I could've added that upon occasion, an irate reader would make threats, but that was an on-the-job hazard. ”Look,” I went on, deliberately blocking Amanda's path to her chair, ”I'm not sure you're suited for this job. I realize this is only your third-”

”Hey!” Amanda cried. ”I'm doing the work, right? What more do you want?”

”No disruptions,” I said. ”No face-offs in the front office. No disappearing acts. No having to wonder what the h.e.l.l is going to happen next. No phone calls at home from worried husbands. In short, I don't want any more muss and fuss. Your att.i.tude and your disruptions aren't professional. In other words, I want you gone.”

”Fine.” Amanda reached over the counter to s.n.a.t.c.h up her handbag and jacket. ”Fine. I'm gone.”

She got as far as the door, dropped her purse, and burst into tears.

My shoulders sagged. ”For G.o.d's sake, what now?”

”Jimmy,” Amanda blubbered, or at least that's what it sounded like. She was leaning against the door, shaking and sobbing. Maybe Amanda and Patti would meet outside and have a cry-off. Or kill each other. Either way would work for me.

I'd misheard. ”Ginny!” she yelled. ”Ginny and her d.a.m.ned baby!”

I gaped at Amanda. ”Ginny's baby? What're you talking about?”

”It's ...” She squeezed her eyes shut, wildly waved a hand, and uttered a few agonized, meaningless sounds.