Part 8 (1/2)

”Yeah, right.” Milo made a face. ”The problem is, she doesn't like Doe. Toni thinks she's too pushy.”

”Doe is fairly aggressive,” I said.

”h.e.l.l, yes. That's one reason I hired her.” Milo looked pleased with himself. ”You know how I had to pare the budget to get somebody new. I think I got us a winner.”

”Doe seems very competent,” I agreed. ”So what's with Toni?”

Milo shrugged. ”I thought maybe she told you.”

”Stress,” I repeated adamantly. ”She didn't explain.” Hesitating, I wondered if I should pa.s.s on what Janet had said. I wouldn't print hearsay in the paper, and generally I didn't pa.s.s it along in private.

”What?” Milo asked.

I hedged. ”I suppose you can always blame a man.”

”What man?”

”How would I know?” The sheriff was beginning to irk me. ”You're the one who works with her. Surely-being a detective as part of your job-you know who she's dating.”

”She never talks about her love life. Almost never,” Milo added.

”Maybe she talks about it to Doe,” I said.

”I doubt it. Like I told you, Toni isn't chummy with Doe.”

”Who does she hang out with then?”

Milo frowned. ”Heather Bardeen. Heather Bavich, I mean, since she got married. Mandy Gustavson. Mags Patricelli-I forget her married name.”

I didn't remember it offhand, either. Mags was the daughter of Pete Patricelli, who owned a pizza parlor. Heather Bardeen Bavich worked for her father, Henry, at the ski lodge, and was also the niece of Buck Bardeen, Vida's longtime male friend. I recognized Mandy as one of the many Gustavsons in town who were somehow related to Vida. Mandy had always been employed as a waitress, most recently at the Venison Inn. Trying to keep everyone straight was no easy task, not even after thirteen years in Alpine. The best way was to put them into two categories: those who were connected to Vida, and those who weren't.

”Didn't Mags move to Sultan after she got married?” I inquired.

”Could be.” He nodded in Vida's direction. She was still talking on the phone. ”Ask her about Mags.”

”You ask. You're the one who has to work with Toni.”

Milo waved a hand in dismissal. ”Toni'll get over it. She was pretty upset about Rafferty's death. I guess it's the younger generation facing up to their own mortality.”

I recalled Ginny and Kip's reactions. ”Yes. Especially when they grew up with someone who's died. That, and hitting the thirty-year milestone.”

The sheriff removed his foot from the chair. ”I didn't come here just to shoot the breeze about Toni. I talked to Wayne Eriks this afternoon. I'd interviewed him earlier to find out if he knew of any reason why someone would want to murder his son-in-law. He didn't, but today when I ran into him while he was working on a pole by the old water tower, he remembered seeing Nick the recluse the other night.”

”Where?” I noticed that Vida had hung up the phone and was leaning in our direction.

”By the high school football field, across the street from the other side of the cul-de-sac.”

”Ah.” I saw Vida, halfway out of her chair. ”Which night?” I asked.

”Sunday, just before dark,” Milo replied. He raised his voice slightly. ”That's Sunday, Vida, the night before Tim died.”

”Do you think I'm deaf?” she snapped.

”But n.o.body's seen him since?” I inquired.

”Nope.” Milo started backing away from my desk. ”We were pretty sure he'd been at the vacant house in the last few days, though. We could tell from the leftovers. All kinds of leftovers.” He made a disgusted face.

I saw Vida wince. Getting out of my chair, I came around to where Milo was standing. ”Do you think Old Nick has gone back into the woods?”

”I wouldn't be surprised,” he said. ”Even if he wasn't involved, the fire and the sirens and the emergency personnel would've scared him off. His kind doesn't like that sort of commotion. That's why they're hermits.”

”But,” Vida put in, now on her feet, but remaining by her desk, ”he may have seen something or someone. You really must try to find him.”

Milo had turned around to face Vida. ”We're talking about a guy who doesn't want to be found. That's not going to be easy.”

”Boy Scouts,” Vida said. ”Girl Scouts. All sorts of teenagers who are at loose ends this summer. Let them help.”

The sheriff shook his head as he loped through the newsroom. ”Too risky. Any kind of accident, and we get the pants sued off of us. Not to mention that Old Nick may be armed and dangerous. He doesn't want visitors. See you.”

The sheriff left.

”That's ridiculous!” Vida declared. ”Milo doesn't have enough manpower to find Old Nick, and the forest rangers are all overworked these days, what with visitors at the parks and the danger of forest fires and everything else that goes along with summer. I've a good mind to-”

She broke off, a spark gleaming in her gray eyes. I had come out into the middle of the newsroom to listen to her rant. ”To do what?” I asked.

”You'll see.” She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone and dialed from memory. Alpine has only one prefix, but I swear she's memorized over half the numbers in the county. ”Todd? Is Todd Wilson there?”

Todd is the PUD manager. I waited.

”Todd? Yes, this is Vida Runkel. Is there some way I can reach Wayne Eriks in the field?”

I waited some more.

”Very well. Have him call me at the paper when he gets in. Please tell him it's urgent. You have my number, of course. Thank you.”

”Why do you want to talk to Wayne Eriks?” I asked after she hung up.

”To get his description of Old Nick,” Vida replied brusquely. ”It would appear that Wayne may be the last person to see Old Nick in recent weeks.”

”So?”

”You'll see.” Vida looked smug.

I knew it was pointless to press her. ”Maybe Wayne wasn't the last person to see him around here,” I said.

She was quick to catch my meaning. ”Yes.” Her face had turned solemn. ”That person could be Tim Rafferty. That's why I think Old Nick should be found as soon as possible.”