“Don’t,” he said to me. “I’m not going public.”

  “Did I ask?”

  “No, but you will.” He ran a hand through his graying sandy hair. “The only thing I can say is what I’ve been telling the nervous Nellies around here. The shot was fired from a distance, probably a rooftop at the shopping mall on the other side of the park. But that’s a guess, so don’t go public with it. I’m stuck here for a while. Why don’t you head for home?”

  “Are you crazy?” I snapped. “This is news!”

  Milo was looking beyond me. “Shit. I suppose it is. Here comes Fleetwood. Keep him from pestering me. I’ve got work to do.” He turned around and loped away.

  Mr. Radio had spotted me. His usual suave mien seemed ruffled. “I knew I shouldn’t have left town for the weekend. What happened?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

  I couldn’t resist taunting him. “What’s it worth to you?”

  Spence didn’t answer right away. He was pinning a mic on the front of his pale blue Ralph Lauren sport shirt. “You can tell me all, or when I break into our current programming I’ll announce that you’ve been uncooperative with a fellow member of the media. That won’t go down well with the voters when they go to the polls tomorrow to say yea or nay to the government change.”

  Not wanting to push my rival too far, I told him what had happened.

  Spence frowned. “I heard a siren after I left Rosalie at Parc Pines. Which Blackwell employee caught the bullet?”

  I grimaced. “He’s a newcomer, a young guy. I only found out his name this morning. In fact, I’m not sure he works for Blackwell Timber.”

  “Negligent of you,” Spence said, giving me one of his lupine smiles. “I often wonder if you’re spending too much time being mauled by your favorite bear instead of practicing your journalistic skills.”

  “My bear has been working most of the weekend,” I asserted. “You missed not only a shooting today but a murder victim late Friday afternoon.”

  “Good God, woman, I am bereft! I owe you.” His tanned hawk-like features showed genuine dismay. “Don’t abandon me. What’s the shooting vic’s name?” After I told him, he glanced at his Movado watch. “It’s almost six, so I can actually make the hour turn. Is there a chance I can interview you for our KSKY listeners?”

  “There is not,” I stated firmly. “But after you’re done, I’ll fill you in on the details.”

  “You’re a sport,” he declared. “I’ll move away to a quieter corner.”

  The next half hour was a bit of a blur. Ominous gray clouds were forming over Alpine Baldy and the air felt oppressive. As the crowd began dispersing after six-thirty, those who remained were subdued. From what I could tell, Milo and his deputies were questioning as many people as possible. Maybe someone could pinpoint where the shot had come from or might even have an inkling of who had fired it.

  Deciding to do my own share of interrogating witnesses, I was coming up empty. Grocery Basket owners Jake and Betsy O’Toole hadn’t seen the incident. They’d been busy arranging their deli’s fried chicken at the food table. Coach Ridley’s wife, Dixie, had had her back turned and thought someone had set off leftover fireworks. Reverend Poole of the First Baptist Church was clueless, but he felt that the shot had broken at least three of the Ten Commandments. I didn’t ask which ones.

  Just before seven, my weary husband finally joined me by the cook-stove area. “Waste of time,” he muttered. “Nobody knows jack squat. Dustin Fong’s working the desk, so I called in Doe and Sam to check out the buildings at the mall. So far they’ve got zip. Nobody’s around because they’re closed.”

  “Have you heard anything about Jennings?” I asked as I heard the rumble of distant thunder.

  “Jennings? Oh—the shooting vic. No, I’ll check later after he’s been evaluated. That’ll take—”

  He was interrupted by a sharp voice calling out, “Dodge!”

  Milo blocked my view, but I was sure it was Blackwell. My husband turned away from me. “In my office,” he barked, seeing his nemesis immediately turn balky. “You have to answer some questions. Now!”

  “You’re giving me orders?” Blackwell shot back, his face darkening. “You work for the county and that means me!”

  The sheriff shrugged. “So you want to stall the investigation of who tried to kill you? Your call, Jack.”

  Blackwell stopped some six feet away. “I don’t want you running the investigation,” he declared in a loud voice. “As a county commissioner, I’m suspending you as of now and asking for the state patrol to step in.”

  I could tell that every muscle and sinew in Milo’s body tensed. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Go ahead. I have a right to appeal your decision and to appoint someone to take my place.” He waved a hand toward the podium. “Gould! Come here!”

  Dwight, who was a couple of years older than his boss and built like a small bull, took his time ambling over to join us. He shot Blackwell a sharp glance that would have withered anyone with a normal heart rate.

  “Sure, boss,” he said to Milo. Whipping out a pair of handcuffs, he snapped a cuff on Blackwell’s wrist. “I’m arresting you on the grounds that you threatened Kay Burns with bodily harm and the intent to kill her. Come along quietly. You’re going to jail.”

  In all the years I’d known the glum and often belligerent deputy, I’d never seen Dwight look so happy.

  “Well?” I said to Milo after Mullins showed up with a cruiser to take Blackwell away. “Did Kay get to Dwight?”

  “Damned if I know,” he said, scanning the crowd. “I don’t see Kay, but I’ll bet you’re right. She set this up with Gould.”

  I nodded. “Kay may’ve left him for Blackwell, but she always liked Dwight better. Are you really suspended?”

  “Hell, no. Does that jackass think I don’t know the county bylaws? He can’t do a damned thing without a unanimous vote of all three commissioners. I haven’t seen Engebretsen or Hollenberg this afternoon. The last I heard, Hollenberg was confined to his house. They’re both older than dirt. Let’s go. Blatt can stick around to interview witnesses still sober enough to have noticed anything important.”

  “Okay,” I said as he propelled me toward the park entrance. “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

  Milo shook his head. “No time for that. I have paperwork to do. Most of the good stuff is probably gone by…What the…?” He slowed his pace as I saw what looked like a tour bus pulled up on Alpine Way. “Oh, crap!” my husband cried. “It’s Clint!”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, startled by the sheer size of what was actually a sleek motor home.

  “Yeah,” Milo said, stopping abruptly. “See that outline of Texas on the side of that monster? Who else would it be but my show-off brother?”

  “Do you want me to detain them?”

  My husband grimaced. “Well…no. You’ve never met them. I’ll deal with Clint and Pootsie. Damn!”

  We started moving again. By the time we reached the sidewalk, a tall, burly man with a full head of gray hair was stepping out of the behemoth conveyance. Lightning flashed, turning the amber color of the motor home to gold.

  “Bro!” Clint shouted. “We’ve landed! How do you like our Newmar Dutch Star? It’s the only way to travel, almost as good as being at home in Dallas. And here comes the little woman!”

  Pootsie appeared from the other side of the front end. She wasn’t so much “little” as almost emaciated. I wondered if she was ailing or if she was some kind of diet freak. Even though she was a couple of inches taller than my five-four, I figured she must weigh at least fifteen pounds less than my hundred and twenty. I hurried to meet her while Clint wrapped his kid brother in a bear hug.

  “Amazing!” Pootsie exclaimed, taking my hands in hers and kissing me on both cheeks. “We’ve heard so much about you, Honoria!”

  “Actually,” I said, trying to sound friendly, “it’s Emma.”

  Pootsie dropped my hands and stared in confusion. Her thin, bare arms were very tan, as was her curiously unlined elfin face. “Oh! Really?”

  I forced a smile. “Yes. Emma Dodge.”

  Her blue eyes grew enormous. “Really!” she screeched. “You’re married? Why didn’t Milo tell us?”

  “He told Clint,” I said.

  Pootsie laughed, not quite piercingly enough to rupture my eardrums. “Oh, men! They don’t pay a hoot of attention, do they?”

  We both gazed at the Dodge brothers. Clint had let go of Milo, who was explaining that he was on the job. “So,” my husband said, moving to where Pootsie and I were standing, “Emma’s following the story for her newspaper. If you haven’t had dinner, the ski lodge won’t be busy, with half the town at the picnic. We can get together later. In fact, we’ll meet you at the ski lodge bar in about an hour, okay? Hey, Emma, meet Clint.”

  I caught Milo’s emphasis on my name as the elder Dodge wrung my hand in a manner that must be a family trait. When I first met the sheriff, I was sure his vise-like grip might crush my bones.

  “You work for the newspaper?” Clint said, glancing at Pootsie and then back at me. “I thought you taught school.”

  “I don’t,” I replied, noticing that the motor home was drawing several Alpiners’ attention. In fact, a couple of teenage boys were about to get in the cab. “Say, Clint, maybe you’d better check—”

  “Actually,” Milo said in his laconic manner, “you should move that thing. It’s in a no-parking zone.”

  Clint threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders and guffawed. I noticed he had a bit of a paunch that the big Lone Star belt buckle couldn’t conceal. “You’d give your own flesh and blood a ticket, bro?” He stared at Milo. “Damn, I do believe you would. You always were a straight arrow. Okey-dokey, we’ll move on out. Come on, Poots, let’s find a spot to park.”

  I edged closer to Milo as his relatives headed to the motor home. Clint shooed the curious teens away, but he was good-natured about it.

  “Holy crap,” Milo muttered. “He’s gotten worse with age.”

  “How could you two be so different?” I asked, clinging to his arm.

  “We always were,” Milo murmured. “He was the family star. Good grades, popular in school, girls were nuts about him.” My husband paused to salute as Clint pulled the Dutch Star out into the middle of Alpine Way.

  “Pootsie thought I was Honoria,” I said. “Clint took me for Linda Grant.” I gave Milo a steely look. He’d never mentioned his relationship with the high school PE teacher. I’d gathered they’d been a duo before we met, but I’d never pressed him for details.

  “Hey,” Milo said, “didn’t I say Clint’s all about Clint? What did you expect? Let’s head for the office.”

  “You’re going to let me sit in on your latest attempted homicide investigation?” I asked in surprise.

  “Let’s not call it that yet,” Milo said steering me to where he’d left the Yukon on Park Street. “You might as well stick with me as long as we have to meet up with Clint and Pootsie. What did you tell Kip?”

  “Just that a shot was fired and a non-local was wounded.”

  “Good. Keep it that way for now.” He paused by the SUV, giving me a puzzled look. “Linda Grant?”

  “Right.” My expression was noncommittal.

  Milo sighed. “Long time ago. Move, woman. I’ve got work to do.”

  I moved. But I was still curious about Linda.

  It took only two minutes to reach headquarters. Dustin Fong was at the front desk, exhibiting his usual calm manner. “Mullins brought me up to speed, sir,” he said. “I just talked to the hospital. The shooting vic’s still in surgery, but he’s expected to recover.”

  Milo nodded. “The guy’s young and seemed in good shape. That helps. But make sure I get that bullet.” He poked me in the arm. “Okay, Dustman, you can entertain Mrs. Dodge while I do the paperwork.”

  Dustin looked mildly surprised. “She’s not Ms. Lord?”

  “That’s up to her,” Milo said, already inside the open area behind the counter. “She knows more than you do, so she won’t have to pump you for information about the shooting. Hell, she was an eyewitness. You can interrogate her.” He went into his office and closed the door.

  I opened the counter’s half-door and came inside to sit by Dustin’s desk. “How’s the prisoner?” I asked, keeping my voice down.

  Dustin shook his head. “At least Blackwell’s stopped yelling. He wants his attorney, of course. I suppose he’ll post bail tomorrow. Did he beat up Kay Burns again?”

  “Not that I know of,” I said, thinking back to July, when Kay had filed assault charges against her long-ago husband after he’d slugged her during an altercation at RestHaven. Jack had been arrested, but Patti Marsh posted bail for him. Kay later confided that when she left Jack, she’d been carrying his child and had given her up for adoption. “I’m guessing there’s more to it than Blackwell slugging Kay,” I hedged. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have threatened to kill her. The jerk’s got a terrible temper. Busting Jack made Dwight a happy man. I almost expected him to break out in song.”

  Dustin grinned. “I’d like to have seen that.”

  The phone rang. The deputy answered with the standard “Skykomish County Sheriff’s Office.” I stood up and wandered around while Dustin dealt with a mountain lion sighting on Second Hill. At the three-thousand-foot level in the Cascade Mountains, it wasn’t unusual for wildlife to wander into town.

  “People shouldn’t panic like that,” Dustin said after hanging up. “Most animals won’t bother humans if humans don’t bother them first.”

  “True,” I agreed, having been visited by deer, bears, beavers, and generations of gophers who dug their homes in my backyard. “Who called? I could use the sighting for our ‘Scene Around Town’ column.”

  Dustin smiled. “She wouldn’t give her name. Too embarrassed, I guess. I think it was one of the Gustavsons, though. She’s always seeing wild animals. Once she claimed a mountain goat got into her mailbox and ate her PUD bill. Maybe it did. I guess goats will eat anything.”

  “Billy goats will,” I said. “I’m not sure about mountain—” I stopped as Milo emerged from his office.

  “Done,” he announced, looking at me. “How come you aren’t interviewing Blackwell?”

  “Are you kidding?” I shot back. “And have him insult me and rant about what a nasty bastard you are? No thanks.”

  Milo nodded before turning to Dustin. “Make sure we get the bullet that hit Jennings. And find out when he’ll be lucid so I can talk to him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dustin replied. “Are you sending somebody to stand guard at the hospital?”

  “I don’t think so,” Milo replied, glancing in the direction of the cells. “Unless I’m nuts, the bullet was meant for Blackwell. Maybe I should talk to the SOB now. He’ll probably post bail first thing tomorrow. He can’t vote in the election from jail unless he gets an absentee ballot.”

  “I’ll be in the Yukon,” I called after him.

  The rain started to fall just after I settled into the passenger seat. I called Kip to bring him up to speed. He asked if I wanted to post Blackwell’s arrest online, but I told him no. We’d handle it the way we always did, by taking it off the sheriff’s blotter in the morning.

  Five minutes later Milo got back behind the wheel. His expression was grim. “Well?” I began. “What did Blackwell have to say?”

  My husband didn’t answer right away. There was more traffic than usual on Front Street, probably from picnickers who were heading home to avoid the rain. It wasn’t until we’d turned off onto Tonga Road that he finally responded. “The prick says one of my deputies shot at him. He’s going to press charges—and file a lawsuit. How are you going to handle that story, my little objective reporter?”

  I felt it was prudent not to say I’d like to turn it into a humor feature. The sheriff seemed to be taking Blackwell seriously. “That’s bluster on his part. But the shooter’s timing was perfect. Jack never got a chance to harangue the locals about voting against the government change tomorrow. Does the jerk have any idea who’d want to shoot him?”

  “According to him, he doesn’t have an enemy in the world—except me,” Milo replied as more thunder rolled, scaring a bunch of crows off a phone pole by The Pines, the upscale housing development. “Do you know of anybody he’s fired lately?”

  “The last one I heard of was my awful neighbor, Doyle Nelson,” I said. “But that was at least a year ago. Besides, he’s still doing time for poaching those maple trees last fall. Maybe you could ask Blackwell’s timber manager, Bob Sigurdson. You get along with him.”

  “So far,” Milo muttered. “But Bob will ride the company horse. I heard that after Charlie Pidduck retired last year, Blackwell offered big bucks to lure Sigurdson from the state wildlife department. Jack pays well and he’s strict about safety in the mill and in the woods. Your tree-poaching neighbor, Doyle Nelson, got canned, but he’s always had one foot over the line.”

  “Do you know why any of his former employees were fired?”

  Milo shook his head. “I don’t remember. Maybe I never knew. Don’t get any ideas about digging into Blackwell’s operation. When it comes to business, even I don’t suspect him of anything crooked.”

  “I’ll take your word it,” I said. “I’d rather keep my distance from the jerk.”

  Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, making me shudder. At least I hoped the late summer storm was the reason. I didn’t want to admit I was uneasy.

  I operated in a fog during dinner with the Dallas Dodges. Instead of focusing on Clint’s account of their road trip in their palace on wheels, augmented by Pootsie’s critique of every franchise restaurant meal they’d eaten along the way, I was figuring out how to write up the shooting. If Mitch had arrived sooner, he could have done it, and with less hostility than I felt toward Blackwell. Just after nine, Milo managed to get a word in edgewise to say he had to check with his deputies and that I had to work on the Advocate’s online edition. Not only was I gratified, but I was also surprised. I didn’t think my husband remembered we had an online edition.