Part 10 (1/2)

The sheriff banged down the phone.

I wondered if I should go to Vida's, too. Maybe I could ease the conflict between them, which I knew could grow into a conflagration as dangerous as any forest fire.

I needed a few minutes to think. Vida might not go straight home. It was likely that she'd given Roger a ride and would have to drop him off at his parents' home in The Pines. She might stay for a while, visiting with Amy and Ted, as well as finalizing her plans with Roger.

Still debating with myself, I turned on my laptop and checked for e-mail messages. Happily, there was one from Adam. We e-mailed each other several times a week because the phone connection between Alpine and St. Mary's Igloo was so poor. My son's phone line was on a radio delay, and there were always long pauses between our exchanges. The halting conversations drove both of us nuts.

”Mom,” he began, ”got your package with the Starbucks coffee and the thermal socks. Thanks. Can you send more socks? I already gave mine to a couple of paris.h.i.+oners who need them more than I do, or will when fall arrives.”

But the rest of Adam's message wasn't what I'd expected. I read it three times. Adam continued: ”This may sound weird, and I feel kind of strange telling you about this, but a few months ago I started getting e-mail from Toni Andreas. I guess she got my address from you.”

I recalled Toni asking for Adam's address in the early spring. I'd been waiting for Milo at the sheriff's office after work. We'd gotten to talking about Adam's Alaskan a.s.signment, and I'd mentioned that loneliness was one of his biggest problems. Toni apparently remembered their brief dating period with some fondness. She'd asked if it would be okay to e-mail him sometime. I'd told her that was a nice idea, then forgot the incident until now.

”Toni wrote that she was seeing a married man,” Adam went on. ”She's not Catholic, but she asked for my advice. Face it, I haven't done much marriage counseling, so I advised her to break it off. I didn't go into any religious or moral issues, but said that people were bound to get hurt, including her. She wrote back saying this guy was really unhappy in his marriage and planned to leave, but that his wife was pregnant and he'd have to wait until the baby was born. Then I wrote and told her that was all the more reason to stop seeing him. Furthermore, it sounded like the first in a long line of excuses while stringing her along. The last time I heard from her was about three weeks ago when she said he wasn't going to wait until the baby came, but planned on seeing a lawyer to start divorce proceedings. Meanwhile, she and the guy were going on a trip together. I answered saying she should put the trip off until she had proof that he really was going through with the divorce. I didn't hear back, so I figured I'd p.i.s.sed her off. Then this afternoon I checked out the Advocate online and read about what happened to Tim Rafferty. Scott's story mentioned that Tim had only been married a few months and that Tiffany was expecting a baby. I couldn't help but wonder if Tim might be the guy Toni was seeing. Let me know. I'm worried about her. Love and prayers, Adam.”

EIGHT.

ADAM'S E-MAIL UPSET me. His guess about Toni Andreas seeing Tim Rafferty rang true. It would explain Toni's distress. It also might explain why she'd cancelled her vacation plans.

But what did it mean? As I put my gla.s.s of Pepsi in the fridge and gathered up my handbag, I reflected on Tiffany's reaction when I'd called on her. She'd shown no overwhelming grief for her husband-only concern for herself and the child she carried. Was this because she was shallow? Or because she was so absorbed in the creation of a new life? Those had been my thoughts at the time. Now I wondered if her sense of loss was dulled by Tim's infidelity and her realization that the marriage was in trouble.

As I drove the four blocks to Vida's house on Tyee Street, the temperature felt like it had dropped several degrees in the last hour. I didn't even have to turn on the Honda's air conditioner. When I turned off of Fifth Street before it dead-ended at the middle school, I saw Milo's Grand Cherokee up ahead, parked next to the curb like a big red warning light.

”Where the h.e.l.l is she?” he demanded, getting out of his vehicle as he saw me pull up on the other side of the driveway.

”Probably at the Hibberts',” I replied, joining him on the sidewalk. ”Stop looking at me as if I'm to blame for all this.”

Milo, who was dressed in his civvies, scowled. ”I don't. But I sure as h.e.l.l am mad at Vida.”

”I'm dismayed, too,” I said. ”But while we're waiting, let's talk about Toni Andreas.”

”We already did,” Milo said impatiently. ”Why are you so d.a.m.ned curious?”

I hesitated. In confiding in me, Adam had-however well intentioned-betrayed a private matter between himself and Toni. It wasn't as if she'd gone to confession; she'd only asked his advice. But I was still reluctant to say more. And I certainly wasn't going to mention my son's name. Maybe I should shut up and speak directly to Toni.

”Never mind,” I said, both relieved and anxious as I saw Vida's Buick approaching. ”Here comes your favorite rabble-rouser.”

Ignoring our presence, Vida drove all the way into her detached garage toward the back of the house. Ordinarily, I would've expected her to stop as soon as she turned into the driveway and immediately ask what the sheriff and I were doing on her premises. But I figured that she was surprised to see us, had an inkling of why we were there, and needed time to marshal her defense.

There was, however, no vacillation in her purposeful manner as she came in our direction. ”Well now,” she said, sounding somewhat brittle, ”what's this all about?”

Vida was tall, standing over six feet if you counted the crown of her straw hat, but Milo had almost six inches on her. He loomed-or so it seemed to me.

”I'm stopping this harebrained idea of yours right now,” the sheriff declared. ”If anybody shows up at Old Mill Park tomorrow, I'll be there to hustle their b.u.t.ts right out into Park Street.”

Vida didn't flinch. ”Really now. For what reason?” Her voice was calm.

Milo swung an arm in an impatient gesture. ”Because it's d.a.m.ned dangerous. You can't take the law into your own hands. You know that.”

”Do mind your language, Milo,” Vida cautioned. ”You're talking nonsense. This is strictly volunteer, no one under eighteen will be allowed to take part, and it's no different than when Boy Scouts or some other youth group is asked to help with a search party. It's done all the time in cities. King County has had a volunteer search-and-rescue group for almost fifty years, and some of them are as young as fourteen. As you know perfectly well, I might add.”

”It's not the same,” Milo a.s.serted. ”Those volunteers have to go through rigorous training. Besides, you didn't consult me. This hermit guy could be dangerous. And then there's the weather. It's bad enough we've got campers and hikers and all these other bozos running around the woods making the fire hazard even worse, but a bunch of irresponsible kids is . . . well, it's just too d.a.m.ned risky.”

”Language, language,” Vida murmured. ”I really think you should thank me. And Roger, of course.”

Milo started to say something-no doubt about Roger-but puffed out his cheeks and stopped. I wondered if he was going to explode.

The sheriff exhaled. ”What if these kids find Old Nick? How will they apprehend him? Will they be armed?”

”Are you referring to firearms?” Vida asked, indignant.

”Any kind of weapon,” Milo responded. ”Will they?”

”They don't antic.i.p.ate violence,” Vida said staunchly.

The sheriff realized that in a war of words with Vida, he was bound to get shortchanged. ”You know the law,” he said. ”n.o.body under twenty-one can carry anything but a shoulder weapon, like a hunting rifle. And if they do carry, they have to have a permit.”

”Yes, yes,” Vida said testily. ”I'm aware of the rules. Are you finished?”

Milo gazed up at the cloudless sky, perhaps envisioning hordes of stampeding youth rampaging through the woods with lighted torches and AK-47s. I looked back at the sheriff, who was obviously still aggravated.

”I won't have it, Vida,” he finally said under his breath.

”You can't not have it,” she a.s.serted. ”If you try to stop us, you will violate our const.i.tutional right of a.s.sembly. Please don't interfere and make a spectacle of yourself.”

Milo looked stumped. I felt sorry for him. I also felt helpless and wondered why I'd come.

Vida apparently wondered, too. For the first time, she looked directly at me. ”What do you think, Emma?” she asked pointedly.

”I think,” I said slowly, ”it's not a good idea. Did you clear it with Spence?”

Vida lifted her chin. ”Spencer Fleetwood does not censor my program.”

”I'm concerned about liability,” I said.

Vida glared at me. ”Since when have you been concerned about Spencer Fleetwood?”

”I didn't mean that exactly,” I replied, feeling awkward. What I'd implied, of course, was that if Vida had come to me with such a proposal, I would never have given her permission to run it in the Advocate. ”I merely wondered,” I clarified, ”if KSKY was helping sponsor the search.”

Vida shot me her most disdainful expression. ”This civic undertaking has no sponsor other than Roger-and me, as his grandmother and staunch supporter.”

I didn't believe for a second that Roger had come up with the idea. Roger didn't have ideas. Or if he did, he'd suggest that one of the volunteers dress up in a bear suit or upon apprehending Old Nick, his captors should give him a wedgie.

I glanced at Milo. He looked grim, perhaps contemplating defeat. I thought Vida had the law on her side, though I didn't approve of her plan. Still, it would hardly be the first time that individuals had gone off searching for a lost loved one in the woods. Many family members or friends had struck out on their own when they felt that official search-and-rescue parties couldn't or wouldn't do enough.

”You've been warned,” Milo said sternly. ”If anything happens to these kids, SkyCo isn't responsible. And Fleetwood can put that on his d.a.m.ned radio station.” The sheriff turned on his heel and loped off to his Grand Cherokee.