Part 15 (1/2)

”d.a.m.n!” I swore under my breath, scanning Front Street. Several people were on the sidewalks, coming or going to the movie theater, the Venison Inn, the video store, the Burger Barn. That section was always busy by Alpine standards, especially on a warm summer night.

I was driving almost as slowly as Darla Puckett, trying to see where Old Nick had gone. If the man was the recluse, it seemed unlikely that he'd gone into any of the business establishments. The only escape route was the narrow alley between the theater and Dutch Bamberg's Videos-to-Go on the corner.

But I didn't see him from the car. He could be hiding in a doorway or even have reached Pine Street. Again, I was amazed at his quickness. Discouraged, I turned up Fifth, looking in every direction when I reached Pine again. The street was now deserted except for a couple who were just coming out of Mugs Ahoy. I kept going, cutting back to Fourth where the middle school blocked the street.

I called Vida as soon as I got home. ”I think I saw Old Nick,” I said.

”No!” Vida sounded flabbergasted. ”Where?”

I recounted my little adventure. ”For an old guy, he moves pretty fast,” I added.

”You're sure you aren't mistaken? It's dark; it may have been someone else with a beard.”

”It wasn't that dark,” I responded. ”This happened ten, fifteen minutes ago.” I started at the beginning, with dinner for Milo and his talk at the library.

”Alfred Cobb!” Vida exclaimed when I got to the part about the accident. ”The old fool! He should have had his license revoked years ago! He must be ninety if he's a day!”

”He has an outstanding guardian angel,” I remarked.

”Worn to a frazzle, I should think.” But Vida still had objections about my sighting. ”I can't imagine Old Nick-or any other of those hermits-staying so long in town, especially in the summer. They come for a day or two, get what they need, and go back to their lairs. It's utterly uncharacteristic for one of them to linger.”

Vida had a point, but I wondered if she wasn't dubious because it would mean her search-Roger's search-was in vain. ”All the same, I'm going to tell Milo,” I said.

”Oh, Milo, my foot! He couldn't find Old Nick under his desk!”

”Well,” I said, piqued by Vida's disbelief, ”Roger and his buddies didn't find Old Nick in my backyard.”

”What do you mean?”

”That's where I found them when I came home from work a half hour early.”

”You did?” Vida paused. ”They were resting, of course.”

It was useless to reveal the truth to Vida. She'd accuse me of lying, of causing trouble, of being blind as a bat. Worse yet, she'd be on the peck-as she'd put it-for the rest of the week.

”Ask Roger,” I said, and let it go at that.

There was another pause at the other end of the line. ”They'd probably been to the cul-de-sac, looking for clues. Or at the abandoned house.”

”You haven't talked to him this evening?”

”No,” Vida admitted. ”I only got home about ten minutes ago. I had dinner with the Thorvaldsons in Sultan. They're distant cousins, you know.”

If I'd ever known, I'd forgotten. It was impossible to keep up with all of Vida's relatives.

”I tried to drop off those geranium cuttings for Mandy Gustavson on my way to Sultan. Unfortunately, she wasn't home,” Vida continued. ”I'll try again tomorrow, or perhaps Sat.u.r.day. She may be working evenings at the Venison Inn. I certainly don't want to meet her in the bar.”

I a.s.sumed she shuddered at the mere thought. ”Bars are good places for gossip,” I pointed out.

”Anywhere is a good place for gossip,” Vida retorted. ”I'll call Roger right now. Don't you dare phone Milo until I call you back.”

I agreed. For all I knew, Milo had gone off to Mugs Ahoy with Coach Ridley and Cal Vickers. The sheriff was, after all, off duty.

It was going on ten o'clock. I hadn't checked my e-mail since I got home from work. Sure enough, there was a message from Adam.

”Mom,” he wrote. ”If Toni was seeing Tim Rafferty, that'd explain the e-mail I got from her today. I'm forwarding it on to you. Make of it what you will. Love and prayers, Adam the Popsicle.”

Lucky Adam. Apparently, he wasn't suffering from ninety-degree heat.

Quickly, I read through Toni's message.

”Hi, Adam-I'm not at work today because I don't feel good. Is it true that men outnumber women in Alaska? I'm thinking of moving there. Where's a good place? I don't think I can live in Alpine anymore. I trust you. Please help me. Your friend, Toni.”

The message sounded like Toni: immature, naive-and trusting. If she'd trusted Tim Rafferty, she'd made a big mistake. But at least she'd had the good sense-or dumb luck-to confide in Adam. I suspected that Toni always trusted the men she dated. My son was probably one of the few that she could still locate, let alone trust.

I thought about the matter for several minutes before finally replying to Adam. Maybe he was still online. His message had been sent only a half hour ago, our time.

”Dear Adam-Upon sober reflection (no, your mother hasn't been drinking, not for the past four hours anyway), I've decided that this is a perfect opening for me to talk to Toni. But first, you should e-mail and tell her what she needs to know about jobs and locations and such. Then I can take it from there. Are you really cold? I envy you. Love, Mom.”

I waited, hoping that Adam would respond. The phone rang a minute or two later.

It was Vida. ”I spoke to Roger,” she said in a brusque voice. ”I was quite right. He and the other searchers were merely taking a break on their way back to Old Mill Park. They'd decided to do a thorough search of the abandoned house and the murder site.”

”And?”

”They were impeded by smoldering rubble at the house,” Vida replied in a hostile tone. ”There's still a danger of flare-up there, though I can't think why. Doe Jameson was patrolling the site and shooed them away. Honestly, you'd think that with all the water and chemicals they use on fires now, there wouldn't be a problem. It's been four days.”

”Only three, really,” I pointed out. ”The fire was late Monday night. This is only Thursday.”

”Well,” Vida huffed, ”it seems like much longer. In any event, Roger and the other brave souls went through the vacant property, though why Milo put up crime-scene tape around the house, I'll never know.”

”To keep out trespa.s.sers?” I suggested.

Vida took umbrage. ”Roger and his chums certainly aren't trespa.s.sers, they're on a mission. The sheriff should thank them. But they did get in and had a very good look around before Doe showed up a second time and made them leave.”

Doe had had a busy day. Maybe I could learn to like her.

”What did they find?” I inquired as a new message from Adam showed up in my in-box.

”All sorts of things,” Vida said cryptically. ”Of course, Milo had taken away items that might have fingerprints or be traceable. But there was still a great deal to sort through.”

I was torn between reading my son's e-mail and listening to Vida puff up her grandson's importance. ”Such as?”

”What you might expect from hippies and squatters,” Vida said in a self-righteous tone. ”Wine bottles, candles, drug paraphernalia, music tapes, artsy-craftsy things, even some kind of kiln. Or that's how Roger described it, though he thought it was an oven. Which, of course, it really is.”

”Yes.” I was distracted. ”Good for him,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. ”I'm still going to call Milo.”

”If you must.”

I would-but as soon as I hung up, I read my son's latest missive.