Part 9 (1/2)

Now it was my turn to suffer Vida's wrath. As for Bill Blatt, the poor guy was expected to keep his aunt up to speed on everything that went on at the sheriff's office. Despite his best efforts to be professionally discreet, Vida could eventually wheedle just about anything out of him.

”Billy insisted he forgot,” Vida went on. ”That's possible, perhaps. Men are so poor at paying attention, particularly when it comes to personal relations.h.i.+ps in the workplace.” She picked up her straw handbag and took a step toward the door. ”I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what caused Toni's emotional breakdown.”

”I don't know,” I admitted. ”She wouldn't say. Toni simply blamed it on stress.”

”Stress!” Vida spoke the word as if it were obscene. ”Such an excuse for lack of self-discipline! I've always believed that Toni is a ninny!”

I didn't utter a peep as Vida stomped out. She'd be even more annoyed when-and if-I told her what Janet Driggers had said about the possibility of Toni having suffered a romantic disaster.

Five minutes later I was heading out through the newsroom on my way home when Leo came through the door.

”I thought you'd gone for the day,” I said in surprise.

”I had,” Leo replied with an aggrieved expression. ”But I stopped in at Harvey's Hardware to buy another fan, and he'd given me the wrong information for his ad in this week's paper. He's selling some new kind of house paint that's an acrylic and he mistakenly identified it as latex-based. The whole point is that the makers claim acrylic lasts longer or some d.a.m.ned thing than the latex. Harvey's afraid the vendor will sue him or cancel the line, so I've got to put together a radio spot for tonight on KSKY.”

”Hey,” I said, annoyed. ”Since when do you do ad copy for Fleetwood? Isn't it bad enough that Vida's got a show on the station?”

Leo made a face. ”I'm doing it for Vida's show, because it's got such good ratings. But I'm doing it because I don't want Spence to make it sound like it was our mistake and not Harvey's. On the other hand, the ad can't make Harvey out to sound like an idiot. It's all of thirty seconds long. Do you trust me or do you trust Fleetwood?”

”You,” I admitted. ”It sounds tricky.”

Leo had sat down and was already writing on a notepad. ”Not for the clever likes of me. Hold on.”

I sat on the edge of Vida's desk and kept my mouth shut.

”Okay,” Leo said after about two minutes had pa.s.sed. ”How's this? 'Harvey's Hardware is proud to announce that its new line of Paragon AAA house paints has gone beyond latex to a new acrylic coating that will withstand even the roughest and toughest of Alpine weather. Sun or snow, wind or rain-Paragon provides protection for you and your mountainside home that will last for years to come. So drop by and ask your old friend Harvey Adc.o.c.k for the latest in all kinds of paint-interior, exterior, enamel, glossy, latex-and the new acrylic from Paragon. Remember, Harvey works hard for all your household wares.' ” Leo took a deep breath. ”Think Spence can handle that?”

”It lets Harvey and us off the hook,” I said, ”but why not let Vida read it?”

Leo nodded once. ”Good idea. I'll e-mail it to KSKY right now. Harvey already had a spot later in the evening, but I'll tell Spence to cancel that one. It was for more window fans, but he's almost out.”

I stood up, ready to leave. But Leo held up a hand. ”This'll only take a minute. Want to go to the Venison Inn for a drink?”

I didn't have anything better to do-as long as I was home in time for Vida's Cupboard. ”Sure,” I said. ”I'll meet you there.”

Leo nodded again. ”Good. Order me a Miller Lite.” He began to enter the ad copy on his computer.

I walked out into the late afternoon sun, taking my time to pa.s.s the dry cleaners and reach the Venison Inn. At almost three thousand feet above sea level, the air isn't particularly thin, and on this semihumid August day, it felt oppressive. One of the few renovations I liked at the inn was the air-conditioning that had been installed when the owners remodeled. It had seemed like a luxury, but the past couple of summers had proved its worth. I felt slightly rejuvenated as I entered the bar.

”Hot enough for you?” Oren Rhodes asked as he came over to the small table where I'd sat down.

I narrowed my eyes at him. ”The next person who asks that is going to get hurt.”

Oren chuckled, displaying a fairly recent second chin. ”It's hotter than Dutch love, as my granny used to say. She wasn't Dutch, though. She was Swiss.”

I wasn't interested in Oren's heredity. But it dawned on me that he could answer some questions about Tim. On a Wednesday at five-thirty, the bar was just beginning to fill up. A clutch of workmen sat at the bar, regulars who worked in the woods and the warehouses and the mill. Logging, however, had been curtailed because of the tinder-dry conditions. I recognized a couple of the loggers. No doubt they were griping about the stoppage. The rest of the drinkers were probably complaining about the hards.h.i.+ps caused by the weather, too. A bar is always a good place to b.i.t.c.h.

”I'm waiting for Leo,” I said, giving Oren a friendly smile. ”I'll have a screwdriver and Leo wants a Miller Lite. That'll save you a trip.” I grew somber. ”You must be shorthanded with Tim gone.”

”Thanks, Emma. Yeah, Tim helped out fairly often. Though he hadn't put in the hours lately like he used to. I'm teaching Mandy Gustavson to tend bar. d.a.m.ned shame about Tim.” Oren shook his balding head.

”Yes,” I agreed. ”It's awful. It doesn't seem right that a young couple with a baby on the way should have a tragedy strike like that.”

”It's a rough world out there,” Oren remarked, his gaze going past me. Maybe he was seeing that world, which isolated small-townsfolk often try to ignore.

”It is rough,” I said, still perfectly agreeable. ”This should have been the happiest time of their lives.”

Oren's eyes turned back to me. ”Oh-well, yes, I guess so. Even with Tim not feeling good.”

I was surprised. ”He was sick?”

”Not seriously sick,” Oren said quickly. ”But he'd had a lot of complaints lately, especially for a young guy. That's why he hadn't worked so much.” Oren glanced at the bar where someone had called his name. ”Excuse me, Emma. I'll get your order.”

Leo arrived as soon as Oren left me. ”No drinks?” my ad manager said. ”How can you get drunk if you're not drinking?”

I laughed halfheartedly.

”What's wrong?” Leo asked, sitting down. ”Do you still think I may fall off the wagon and have to crawl to work on my hands and knees?”

”No, no,” I replied. After a decade I believed that Leo's battle of the bottle was over. He had never been a true alcoholic, but the type who drank too much in order to cope with that rough world out there. In all the years I'd known him, he'd never taken more than two drinks at a time. A ruined marriage and an almost equally bankrupt career had sobered him up. ”I was thinking about Tim Rafferty. Oren mentioned he missed work lately. Spence told me the same thing. I wonder why.”

Leo c.o.c.ked his head at me. ”Are you sleuthing?”

I sighed. ”I suppose I am. Everybody's jumping to the conclusion that Tim was killed by a burglar or that recluse, Old Nick. It seems too pat.”

”It also seems reasonable,” Leo pointed out. ”What makes you think otherwise?”

”My contrary nature,” I retorted. ”And I don't like easy answers. Most of all, I hate it when someone like Tim is treated like a n.o.body. He was somebody. Maybe I feel guilty because I always dismissed him-and Tiffany, too-as unimportant. That's not right, it's not fair.”

”Emma Lord, Champion of the Underdog.” Leo smiled. ”I'm not kidding. You championed me when I was down and out.”

It was true. I'd met Leo by accident when I was visiting in Port Angeles. He was suicidal, up from California, but definitely down and almost out. Tom, who had been his former employer, had recommended him. Ed had just come into his inheritance from an aunt in the Midwest, and I needed an ad manager, but I'd had my doubts about Leo. On the other hand, anything had to be better than Ed, with his distressing apt.i.tude for not selling ads. Leo had more than justified Tom's advice.

Oren returned with our drinks. ”Hey there, Leo. Is it hot enough-” The bartender stopped and laughed in embarra.s.sment. ”Never mind. Shall I run a tab?”

Leo shook his head. ”This is just a pit stop. We're on the pay-as-you-go plan.” He pulled a ten out of his wallet.

”You can't afford to treat me,” I said as Oren took the bill and went off to the bar to get change.

”It makes me feel like a big spender,” Leo said. ”So what are you thinking? Tim just didn't like to work or he was making enough money so he didn't have to?”

”Why not say so?” I responded, declining Leo's offer of a cigarette. ”I gather Tim liked to brag. I'm wondering if he really was sick. Sometimes, I'm told, men whose wives or girlfriends are expecting don't like mommy and baby getting all the attention. Maybe he was feigning illness. Or maybe he really was ailing, but it was psychosomatic.”

Leo licked beer foam off of his upper lip. ”Tim's always seemed to be the dominant one in that lash-up. Tiffany's the clingy type.”

”Yes,” I said. ”She seems semihelpless. Tim's always been very protective. But that doesn't mean he couldn't be jealous of the baby. It happens.”

”Oh, I kind of remember that with our kids,” Leo said with a shake of his head. ”Especially Katie, the first one. Liza couldn't talk or think about anything else. She read every expectant mother and baby book that was in print. Old Dad is bound to feel left out. Our work is done, and suddenly we're in the background.” He wore his wry off-center grin. ”Maybe Tim fell off his mountain bike to get some sympathy.”

”He had a fall?” I said in surprise. ”When was that?”