Part 26 (1/2)

Margaret nodded. ”True. The situation became impossible for Beth. Her job is very stressful, and she'd gotten to the point where she couldn't focus on it as she should because she was always fretting about her mother being alone and doing heaven-knows-what. Beth tried to get help during the day, but that's so difficult in a small town like Alpine. Caretakers are hard to find, and frankly, there's always the danger of elderly abuse. Alzheimer victims are particularly hard to deal with.”

”Where did Delia go the last time she wandered off?” I asked.

”Downtown,” Margaret replied. ”Ione Erdahl found her at the children's store. They often go somewhere that's familiar, usually from the distant past. Delia wanted to buy something for Tim-in a toddler two size.”

”I've heard that's typical,” I said as Beth came into the lobby.

”Emma!” she said in surprise. ”What are you doing here? Have you news?”

”I'm afraid not,” I said in apology. ”I thought I'd see if I could help you in any way. How are you feeling?”

”Fine,” she replied, despite the fact that she looked even worse than when I'd last seen her slumped in the diner booth. ”I mean, I just sort of caved in at breakfast when I heard about Wayne's arrest. It was such a shock. One of the nurses checked me out and agreed that I was overwrought, so I went home. I hadn't been in the house five minutes when Margaret called about my mother. Is there no end to this?”

I went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. Beth had never been fat, but she'd always seemed substantial. Now I could feel bone instead of only flesh. I realized she'd probably lost at least ten pounds since I'd last noticed.

”It's a nightmare,” I agreed, ”but you'll manage. You're strong. Did you find out anything from the other patients?”

”No.” Beth lowered her voice, apparently to prevent Margaret from overhearing. ”They're mostly gaga in that wing. Half of them don't even know who my mother is.”

I nudged Beth over to a Victorian love seat away from the front desk. ”Tell me what happened. When did they realize your mother was gone?”

Beth gazed up at a grandfather clock, which stood in the corner. Its elegant hands indicated that it was ten minutes after one. ”Her lunch was brought to her room at a quarter to twelve,” Beth said, trying to keep her voice calm. ”Mom rarely eats in the dining room. The first week she was here, she got into the kitchen and turned the stove on high under a kettle of water. It boiled over, and I guess one of the orderlies chewed her out about it. Those people ought to know better. But she wouldn't go back into the dining room unless I was visiting and insisted. Anyway, whoever brought her meal-her name's Cristina-said Mom wasn't in her room. n.o.body could remember when they'd seen her last except after breakfast when they cleared away her tray. That would've been around nine, nine-thirty.”

”Did she take her wheelchair?”

”No.” Beth grimaced. ”She took her walker, though. At least, I think so. Sometimes the patients steal each other's walkers, even their dentures.” Putting her head in her hands, she shuddered violently. ”If only I could have kept her at home! This is such an awful place!”

Margaret's head jerked up. She stared at us, looking annoyed. I didn't really blame her. Hopefully, Margaret and the rest of the staff were doing the best they could-given the pathetic circ.u.mstances.

”Milo may ask those students to help look for your mother,” I said. ”She can't have gone far in this weather.”

Beth shook her head. ”Heat doesn't affect her the way it does the rest of us. Her circulation is so poor. She's always cold.”

”Still . . .” I began, and stopped. ”Shall we go together and look around Front Street? Not that many stores are open on Sunday.”

”She'd have been seen by now if she'd gone there,” Beth said.

That was probably true. The eating places on Front Street were doing business, as were a.s.sorted other establishments, including Donna's art gallery, the movie theater, and Videos-to-Go. But most Alpine merchants firmly believed that ”if you can't make it in six days, you won't make it in seven.”

”Would she go to the mall?” I asked.

”Mom hated the mall,” Beth replied. ”She was old-fas.h.i.+oned. She liked the stores on Front Street, even during those years when many of them closed or moved because of the downturn in the timber industry.” Beth paused, obviously considering the possibilities. ”She might have gone anywhere, even back to the house. I asked the neighbors to watch for her.”

”What about Tim's? I understand Alzheimer victims often go to familiar places. Could she make it uphill?”

Beth calculated. ”It's only two blocks up, and then two more on the level when you reach Fir. She might, if she has her walker.” A flash of fear crossed Beth's face. ”But if she did, she could have gone off into the woods. The cul-de-sac is surrounded by trees. That's another thing,” Beth added fretfully, ”the patients often wander off into the wilds, especially around this part of the world.”

n.o.body knew that better than I did. ”Let's go that way,” I urged. ”If she's around town, someone will find her. We can take my car.”

”No. I'll follow you,” Beth insisted.

”Fine.”

As soon as I got into the Honda, I called Milo's headquarters. Dustin answered. He told me that Bill Blatt had been trying to contact his nephew or cousin or whatever relation Roger was to the deputy, but that Amy Hibbert said her son wasn't home. He'd taken an inner tube with him and presumably was going to float His Royal Chubbiness in the Skykomish River.

Despairing briefly because the river was so low that Roger couldn't possibly drown, I realized that neither could Delia Rafferty, should she also head in that direction.

I could see Beth in the rearview mirror, keeping just a few yards between our cars. It took less than five minutes to reach what was left of the Rafferty home. The crime-scene tape remained, sagging under the bright sun.

I knew how hard this was for Beth. She didn't get out at first, but sat behind the wheel, staring through the winds.h.i.+eld. I waited between our two cars, already feeling enervated by the heat.

”This is hopeless,” she declared, finally joining me. ”Everything is such a mess. How could we tell if Mom had been here?”

”Somebody has,” I said, pointing to a strip of crime-scene tape that had been pulled off from one of the temporary supports.

”You think so? Maybe it was those kids, when they were searching for the hermit.”

”Maybe.” I walked over to where the tape had been removed. Judging from what I knew of the original house layout, the section could have been a bedroom. There had been two, as I recalled-one for Tim and Tiffany, the other for the nursery.

”That's odd,” I said.

Beth had stayed put, staring blankly at the pitiful scene. ”What?”

”There are footprints in the ash,” I said, leaning down to get a better look.

Beth still didn't move. ”So? Those kids, probably.”

”No. The kids I saw wore sneakers or hiking shoes or sandals,” I said, standing up. ”Whoever came here was barefoot.”

Beth finally walked over to where I was standing. I noticed that she was trembling. I didn't blame her. We were probably very close to the spot where her brother had died.

”Good lord,” she whispered. ”You're right.”

”They had to be recent prints,” I said. ”No one would have walked barefoot through this . . . debris until it was completely cooled down. That took at least two or three days, as I understand. Whoever was here had fairly big feet and didn't seem to go very far, though it's hard to tell because of the rubble. We'd better notify the sheriff. They can make casts from the footprints.”

”Yes,” Beth agreed. ”I've heard about that, but usually it's from shoes.”

”True.” I had no idea how footprint casts would help unless the sheriff happened to have access to the feet's owner.

”Shall we start walking through the woods?” Beth asked. ”We could go in different directions.”

I surveyed our surroundings. Most of the wild berry vines, ferns, and other underbrush had been cleared away when the Rafferty house had been built. The small garden area-like my own-ab.u.t.ted onto the encroaching forest, which marched up the face of Tonga Ridge.

I was wearing sandals-my churchgoing footwear; Beth was more sensibly shod, in Birkenstocks. On the other hand, if Delia Rafferty had tried to climb the hill, she may have been wearing bedroom slippers. Certainly she couldn't get far.

There was a rudimentary trail, perhaps made by the Bourgettes when they built the house or used by Tim and Tiffany to gather kindling or mushrooms or whatever the younger Raffertys may have sought. Beth and I decided to stick together and follow the trail. It seemed like the most likely place that Delia would go.