The Alpine Vengeance: An Emma Lord Mystery (27 page)

“True,” I agreed. “Who else?”

“Rick and Denise were at a movie,” Vida recalled. “We couldn’t forget that if we wanted to. Ginny was so jealous of that relationship. She and Carla were both having man trouble. It was dreadful, listening to them moan and groan about their love lives, or lack thereof. That was the period where Carla was dating Dr. Flake, a romance I was glad to see end. He was much better off marrying Marilynn Lewis. I wonder how he’s getting along with his practice in North Bend. We need a third doctor in Alpine.”

“I thought Doc Dewey and Dr. Sung were trying to find someone.”

“They are, but it’s not easy,” Vida said. “They’d prefer another GP who’s just finished his or her residency, but so many MDs want to specialize. It’s a serious problem everywhere.”

“I know.” I glanced at the napkin with Marv’s and Cathleen’s names checked. “Cross off Rick and Denise, too?”

“Yes,” Vida said. “Denise is too dim to carry out a murder, and Rick … well, he’s simply too nice. Besides, his motive is even weaker than Andy’s. It seems we’re looking for that dark horse.”

My mind reverted to the original prime suspect, Howard Lindahl. “Who set Howard up? It was a man, supposedly a business client who never showed up. After Larry was arrested, we figured he’d made the phone call so Howard wouldn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder. I don’t recall if Larry admitted he’d done that, but we assumed he did.”

Vida agreed. “Milo should be here. He could answer some of these questions and put an end to this guesswork. Why don’t you call him?”

I shook my head. “Doe told me he was in a bad mood. I don’t think he’d like being pestered when he’s off duty.”

“Oh.” Vida backed down—too quickly, I thought. She seemed to realize she’d made a gaffe. “Yes. He’d probably have to check his case file. Let’s see … we might ask Alison what she remembers, though I hate to bother her outside of the office. It’s a Friday night and she may have plans to—”

The phone rang. I jumped. Vida stared at me, but I was on my feet and headed for the living room before she could say anything. I grabbed the receiver on the third ring.

“Emma?” Doc Dewey said. “I’ve just finished with Craig Laurentis. His wound is infected, and we’re giving him enough
antibiotics to cure an elephant. The prognosis is fairly good, but once we get him stabilized, I’ll take some tests, just in case.”

“I’m relieved,” I said, sinking onto the sofa. It was true. But I was also disappointed. I had hoped the call was from someone other than Doc. “I assume he’s out of it, as far as being able to tell what happened after he left the hospital.”

“He won’t be up to that until sometime tomorrow,” Doc said. “He’s spending the night in the ICU. I’m going home. Elvis is on call tonight. Take care of yourself.”

“Doc,” I said before he could hang up. “One quick question—is Spencer Fleetwood okay?”

“As far as I know. Good night, Emma.” Doc disconnected the call.

Vida had come into the living room. “Doc?” She saw me nod and sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace from the easy chair. “I gather Craig is recovering?”

I gave her the few details I’d learned. “I asked about Spence, but Doc only told me he thought he was okay. Did Marje say anything other than that he had a bad nosebleed?”

“No. As I mentioned earlier, this seems to be a bad time for health problems around here.” She leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “I feel stupid. I thought we were going to get somewhere this evening, but we seem to have hit a brick wall. What if I’m wrong?”

“That seems unlikely.”

Her head swerved around to look at me. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No. I trust your instincts.” I shrugged. “I suppose you
could
be wrong, but even Milo has begun to wonder if Larry wasn’t guilty.”

“He has?” She looked surprised. “Men rarely admit they’re wrong, especially men like Milo.”

I had no intention of responding or elaborating. I redirected the conversation. “There was that rope and the map that was
planted at the Lindahl house the night before the murder. Ten years ago only very expensive private labs had the kind of DNA testing that would’ve been able to tell who had handled the rope and strangled Linda. The charge was premeditated homicide. That’s another thing—why did Larry go to trial? Why didn’t he plea-bargain? I recall thinking that at the time.”

“Larry was never put on the stand,” Vida said. “I understood he didn’t want to be. He also hired an outsider for his defense, someone from Everett. Horsfeld or Hirschfield or something like that. I only attended one session, and that was during the summation. Frankly, his lawyer was unconvincing about the temporary insanity defense.”

I nodded. “Hard to call it ‘temporary’ when he’d apparently plotted the crime at least a day ahead.”

The phone rang again. I gritted my teeth and answered after the first ring. This time it was Kip MacDuff on the other end. “Did you hear the seven o’clock news on KSKY?” he asked.

“You know I avoid KSKY like the plague,” I said, “except for Vida, of course. What’s happened?”

“Whoever is filling in for Fleetwood said an arrest has been made in the poaching incident,” Kip said, and I could hear the excitement in his voice. “The suspect is Greg Jensen.”

“What?” I shouted, causing Vida to rocket out of her chair like a sharp line drive to left-center field.

“You heard me right,” Kip said. “The sheriff’s office got a tip. They arrested Greg at the house he and Denise own. He’d come from Brier to collect his dog.”

Vida hovered over me, trying to listen in. “Is he being booked?”

“It’s Friday,” Kip said, “so I suppose he’s stuck in jail until he can be formally charged Monday. Shall I put it on the website?”

“Only after you call the sheriff and verify it,” I cautioned him. “Who made the arrest?”

“Dwight Gould and Doe Jamison. I’ll call right now. I guess this all happened between five-thirty and six.”

“Okay. Keep me posted,” I said, and hung up.

“Who? Who?” Vida repeated like an impatient owl.

“Greg Jensen.”

She was goggle-eyed. “That’s incredible.”

“Maybe. I recall Ginny saying something about Greg being in a band. He may know a guitar maker who wants the wood. Or maybe he wants it for himself.”

Vida had wandered over to the hearth. “Yes. I believe Greg and his chums occasionally played at Mugs Ahoy. I’ve no idea if they were any good. Roger might know. He’s always up on all the bands, local and otherwise.” She gazed at the crèche. “Have you ever wondered if John the Baptist was a hippie?”

“I’m sure he was regarded as such in whatever the vernacular of the day was.”

Vida nodded. “All that strange clothing and eating bugs and such. It’s understandable how he could be misjudged.”

I hoped Vida wasn’t thinking that Alpiners were misjudging Roger. If he became a saint, I might morph into Queen Esther. Or Jezebel.

I suddenly swore out loud. “Goddamnit!”

“Emma!” Vida shouted even more loudly. “What’s wrong with you? You never swear like that.”

“Why didn’t Milo call me? He said he had a lead. I’d like to strangle that son of a—”

“Stop!” Vida took a couple of threatening steps toward me. “I don’t blame you,” she said, lowering her voice. “It’s unconscionable of him. But that’s no excuse for your outrageous as well as blasphemous language, and in front your crèche, too.”

“Sorry.” I held my head while trying to regain my equanimity. “Greg Jensen. Armed and dangerous?”

Vida returned to her chair. “Did Kip say Greg was a person of interest in the shooting?”

“No. I’m sure he’d have mentioned it if it was on the news. Unless Spence’s stand-in omitted that part. As you know, the hour-turn news at seven is a brief update.”

“Sometimes those youngsters have poor judgment.” Vida adjusted her glasses before assuming a resolute manner. “What’s wrong with us? We should be covering this story.”

“It’s not ours to cover,” I said, inwardly cursing myself for not thinking immediately of relaying the news to Mitch. “I hope he’s home.” Ignoring Vida’s annoyed expression, I checked the Laskeys’ number and dialed it. Brenda answered in a wary voice.

“Is Mitch busy?” I inquired after identifying myself.

“He’s not here,” Brenda replied, sounding more at ease. “He left about fifteen minutes ago to follow up on something about that poacher being arrested. We heard it on the news.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s what I was calling about. Do you know where he went?”

“The sheriff’s headquarters,” Brenda informed me. “Did you want to talk to him? I assume you have his cell number.”

I assured her I did. “Mitch is at the sheriff’s,” I said to Vida as I dialed his cell. “The Laskeys listen to KSKY and … Mitch? It’s Emma. Can you give me the details of Jensen’s arrest?”

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll move where I can hear you. Doe and Dwight are talking up a storm.”

Vida had gotten to her feet again, but at least she wasn’t hanging over my shoulder.

“Okay,” Mitch said at the other end. “Somebody called in here just after five to say Greg Jensen was the poacher. Dwight had just come on duty, but he had to wait for backup.”

“Who called?”

“They don’t know. The caller ID showed only ‘security screen.’ Doe said it was someone who sounded as if he or maybe she was disguising his or her voice. Very low, very hushed. Whoever it was only said, and this is a quote, ‘Greg Jensen poached the maples.’ Doe called Denise to find out if she might know where he was. Denise said he was at their house on Second Hill. That’s where they found him and made the arrest.”

“Okay, but I’m confused,” I said. “You told me Dwight had to wait for backup, but Doe was there, filling in for Lori. If she was still on the job, why didn’t they leave right away?”

“Doe was about to leave,” Mitch replied. “Her shift was over. Jack Mullins was due for the night shift, but he’s on suspension.”

I tried to hide my surprise lest Vida wrest the phone out of my hand and take over. “That’s odd,” I said as calmly as possible. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch said. “Doe saw his pickup pull in a little before five, but he never officially reported for duty.”

“Where was the sheriff?”

“He’d just left.” Mitch paused. “You’re not going to believe this, Emma. Dodge not only suspended Mullins, but he suspended himself, too. Is that crazy or what?”

I
WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK
. V
IDA MUST’VE THOUGHT
I
’D
had a stroke or something. She snatched the phone out of my hand.

“This is Vida,” she said. “Emma seems to be having a spell. The weather, no doubt. Now tell me everything we need to know.”

I was too upset to be angry. Sitting on the sofa, I could only stare into space and vaguely hear what Vida was saying to Mitch. It seemed as if she was on the phone forever. I actually did feel sick. Maybe it was the flu, passed on from Denise. But JoAnne hadn’t mentioned that her daughter was ill. I’d assumed Denise was pregnant. Maybe she was. I didn’t know what was wrong with her. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, except that the world seemed to have slipped off its axis. Nothing made sense. I hoped I was dreaming. It certainly felt as if I was in some kind of nightmare.

Finally Vida hung up. “Well, that beats all.” She looked at me with a worried expression. “You’re very pale, Emma. I think you should lie down. I’ll make tea.”

As she bustled out to the kitchen, I curled up into a ball on the sofa and started to shiver. Before Vida returned, I realized I was sick. I got up and staggered into the bathroom, where I threw up several times.
Damn
, I thought miserably,
it is the flu. Terrible timing
. I heard Vida on the other side of the door.

“Do you need help?” she called to me.

I managed to eke out something that sounded like “No.” Vida apparently went out of the hall, probably to the kitchen to check on the teakettle. I sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, leaning against the cupboard under the sink.

A half-hour must have passed before I could get up, clean the bathroom, and wobble out to the living room. Vida was flipping through the new issue of
Vanity Fair
I’d bought to read Christopher Hitchens’s article on the recent election shenanigans in Ohio. Maybe I thought I’d get some ideas to perk up the locals the next time they went to the ballot box.

“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed when I flopped onto the sofa. “You look absolutely dreadful. It’s the flu, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll stay with you,” she declared, “but I’ll have to dash home and check on Cupcake and fetch some night things.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t want you catching it. We both can’t be incapacitated. Besides, I feel a little better.”

“If I haven’t caught it from you by now, I won’t,” she insisted. “Do you feel like drinking some tea?”

“Not just yet. Tell me what you found out about what’s going on with the sheriff’s gang.”

“Greg Jensen claims he’s innocent,” Vida said, after taking a sip of tea. “They did ask him about the shooting and he swears he’s never shot at anyone or anything in his life. He claims he was in Brier Monday night watching football with a friend at a local pub.”

“Friends can lie for friends.”

“They can also perjure themselves if it comes to a court case,” Vida noted. “Dwight, however, asked him about the football game—Dwight had watched it, too—and said Greg sounded as if he’d seen the game, but pointed out that he—Greg, I mean—could have read about it later.”

“True.” I was less interested in Greg and maple trees and Monday Night Football than I was in Milo and Jack. “So what about the suspensions?”

“Neither Dwight nor Doe would discuss that,” Vida said in disgust. “Closing ranks, of course. But it’s certainly news. I haven’t heard of such a thing since Eeeny Moroni was sheriff.”

“Oh, God,” I moaned, putting a hand to my head, “I hope Spence doesn’t hear about this. Maybe he won’t if he’s out of commission, too.”

Vida took another sip of tea and stood up. “Will you be all right if I go home now? I should be back in twenty minutes.”