Part 27 (1/2)

”She was asleep,” Bill said, taking off his regulation hat and mopping his brow with a blue and white handkerchief. ”It was the dog who found her, actually. Your mother was under some of those big rhododendron and azalea bushes.”

”Where is she now?” Beth asked.

”In the nursing home infirmary. Just to make sure she's okay,” Bill explained. ”Doc Dewey's checking her out.”

Doc was having a busy Sunday. Bill finally took a long look at me. ”What happened? You look like you've been in a brawl.”

”Just a dumb fall,” I said. ”Where's Milo?”

”Doing paperwork,” Bill replied. ”Eriks is locked up, Cookie finally went home, and Fleetwood got tired of waiting for news that wasn't going to break. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, ”Toni Andreas called to say she's quitting her job. In fact, she's moving to Alaska.”

I shook my head. ”That's sort of precipitous. But I'm not surprised.”

Beth obviously didn't care if Toni moved to Mozambique. ”I'm going to the nursing home,” she said, getting into her car. ”Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate your help.” She drove off before I could respond.

”Poor Beth,” Bill said. ”Well, I'm glad I found you two together. That made things simpler.” He nodded in the direction of the rubble. ”It looks like we've got this whole thing pretty well wrapped up. Gosh, who would've thought Wayne Eriks would kill his own son-in-law?”

”People are very complex,” I said.

But I wasn't convinced that Wayne had done it.

LOOKING BACK, I'M not sure why I had doubts about Wayne's guilt. He had been so eager to report that he'd seen Old Nick-or maybe I should start calling him Craig-near the crime scene. But Wayne had gone to the sheriff after the fact, and his story had sounded contrived. Wayne certainly wasn't one of my favorite local citizens since he'd made a pa.s.s at me, but that hardly qualified him as a murderer-just a jerk. I couldn't even envision him in a rage, quarreling with Tim and coming to blows that resulted in death.

All these thoughts went through my head as I drove to the sheriff's headquarters. That short trip wasn't easy. It hurt every time I put my right foot on the gas pedal or the brake. By chance, I reached my destination just as Toni Andreas was getting out of her car.

”Toni,” I called out, limping toward her. ”I heard you quit.”

Toni frowned and peered at me over the top of her sungla.s.ses. ”How did you learn that so fast?”

”I ran into Bill Blatt,” I replied.

”Oh.” Toni proceeded to the main entrance. ”I've come to collect my personal stuff. I'm leaving for Fairbanks tomorrow.”

”That soon?” I was surprised. ”Don't you have to give notice?”

”I guess not,” she said, going through the door.

Dustin was still behind the counter, talking on the phone. When he saw us enter, he rang off abruptly. ”Hi,” he said to both of us, but his gaze was fixed on Toni. ”Are you sure about this? Don't you want to talk it over with Dodge?”

Toni shook her head. ”I got a last-minute cheap fare. It's almost the end of the month, so I won't lose much on my rent, if I get my damage deposit back. I've made up my mind.” She went behind the counter to her desk. ”This won't take long.”

”Toni,” Dustin pleaded, ”this is crazy. How do you know you'll like Alaska? Do you have a job up there? Have you any friends?”

Toni gave him a baleful look. ”I'm not sure I have any friends here. And I'm sick of this job. I'm sick of Alpine.” She began to pull out drawers. ”Have you got a carton around here somewhere?”

”Yes.” Dustin sighed and headed down the corridor.

I considered arguing with Toni, but knew it was hopeless. Furthermore, the only person she seemed to take advice from was my son. I knew he'd been cautious, but Toni must have taken his lack of negativism for tacit approval. Besides, I had other matters on my mind.

I'd seen Milo's Grand Cherokee parked outside, so I a.s.sumed he was still in his office. Toni paid no attention to me as I went through the counter's swinging gate and limped over to Milo's closed door. I knocked twice and announced myself.

I heard him tell me to come in.

”Jeez, Emma, what's with you? Did you get in a fight at Mugs Ahoy?”

I flopped into his visitor's chair. ”I fell down. Old Nick helped me get up.”

”Right.” Milo pushed his chair back a few inches from the desk. ”Man, your arm's turning some funny colors. Do you want an ice bag?”

I glanced at the bruise. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't hurt as much as my ankle. Or even my knees. ”I'm not kidding,” I declared. ”Old Nick is definitely Craig Laurentis. I met him in the woods above the cul-de-sac.”

Milo turned serious. ”No s.h.i.+t. When?”

”About twenty minutes ago. I was with Beth, looking for her mother.”

”They found her in the park,” Milo said absently. ”Did Beth meet this guy, too?”

”No. She'd gone on ahead back down the trail that leads up from the Rafferty property.”

He got out his cigarettes and offered me one. I took it, wis.h.i.+ng he were the kind of lawman who kept a bottle of booze in the desk drawer. ”So what happened?” he inquired.

I explained in careful detail. ”Then he just ambled off, up the trail. Maybe he lives around there.”

”Hunh.” Milo stared off into s.p.a.ce. ”I thought you were nuts when you told me your theory. It makes sense, though. Reclusive artist, probably a hippie dropout, antisocial, antigovernment, antiestablishment-the whole bit. I wonder if his family knows where he is and what he's doing.”

”They probably gave up on him years ago,” I said. ”Or they think he's dead, probably from an overdose.”

”Could be. It wouldn't be the first time.” Milo tapped ash into his Marlboro Man ashtray. ”He still could be a witness.”

”Not a suspect?”

Milo grunted. ”We've got our man.” He gestured behind him. ”Eriks is locked up and feeling very sorry for himself.”

”He still claims he's innocent?”

”Oh, yeah. Cookie is his alibi. You know what that means.”

I didn't express my doubts. They were too ill-founded. ”Motive?”

”I figure Tim wasn't a very good husband,” Milo said. ”He may have been physically as well as verbally abusive. I suppose Wayne and Tim got into it, a fight broke out, and Wayne cracked him with a baseball bat. I'll admit, he probably didn't mean to kill him. It may even be self-defense. Once he's got an attorney, that could be the plea. It might even work. Of course, there's still the arson charge. Wayne started the fire to cover the murder. It all fits.”

”Evidence?”

”The burns on his arms,” Milo said. ”The flimsy alibi. We'll find more, like traces of kerosene on his shoes or some other signs of how the fire started. That's up to the crime lab folks.”

”What if Wayne destroyed what he was wearing that night?”

Milo shrugged. ”Why didn't he have those burns treated if he got them on the job? Why was he coughing a day or so after the murder and fire?”

I remembered how Wayne had coughed and blown his nose when he'd come into the Advocate office. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time-a cold, allergies, a chronic condition. People who work outdoors often have allergies year-round, whether from pollen or mold or whatever other natural source agitates their respiratory systems.