I was at the picture window when my husband came into the living room. “God, but you’re snoopy,” he said, putting a big paw on my shoulder. “Are you already trying to make up for not having Vida around if she actually retires? Why do you care what the Nelsons are up to as long as they aren’t bothering us?”

  “I’m wondering what the connection is between them and Mickey O’Neill,” I replied, keeping my eyes glued on the street.

  Milo shrugged. “Mickey’s worked at Blackwell Timber for seven, eight years. Maybe he knew the Nelsons before Doyle got fired.”

  Before I could answer, we heard the motorcycle rev up. A moment later Mickey appeared with Sofia Nelson hanging on to him. They roared off along Fir, heading east.

  “There’s your answer,” Milo said, removing his hand from my shoulder. “Both Nelson men are in the slammer, so Mickey’s consoling the younger Mrs. Nelson. Maybe he got bored thumping on his girlfriend.”

  I grabbed the front of Milo’s shirt. “You’ve got to talk to that poor girl who got beat up so badly. I’ll bet she’s Mickey’s squeeze. If you don’t, I will, and I’ll do it this evening.”

  Milo looked impatient. “Jesus, Emma, if this is for your abuse series, you talk to her. I’ll bet she won’t talk to a man. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

  “She might be released tomorrow.” I paused. “But it wouldn’t be until eleven. I could go to the hospital before Mass.”

  “Do that. Maybe you can talk her into pressing charges. Let’s move. I’m hungry.”

  I never argue with the sheriff when he needs to eat. Predictably, we went to the ski lodge. By the time we finished dinner around seven, dark clouds were gathering over Alpine Baldy. An end-of-summer thunder-and-lightning storm was in the offing. Although the air felt heavy, all was deceptively calm during the rest of the evening.

  It was three in the morning when a rumbling noise awoke me. I rolled over to see if Milo was awake. He wasn’t, so I cuddled up next to him. It had been a short yet demanding workweek, but journalists and law enforcement are always on the job. I went back to sleep and didn’t wake up until I heard a phone ringing. Milo was fumbling for it on the nightstand. As he listened to whoever was at the other end, I could tell from his expression that it was bad news.

  Chapter 16

  “The storm knocked out the power,” my husband informed me as he rang off. “It’s nine-seventeen.”

  I sat up in bed, trying to focus. “Good grief! When will the PUD have it restored?”

  “An hour, maybe,” Milo replied, getting out of bed. “It’s been out since around…” He glanced over at the digital clock on my nightstand. “Three-twenty. I’m going to get dressed and head to work. We may have road damage, among other problems.”

  “Don’t you need coffee? Food?”

  “I’ll get something at the Burger Barn,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

  I hustled my butt out of bed so I could get ready for church. At least I’d have time to fortify myself with caffeine and some cereal. Except, it dawned on me, the coffeemaker was out of commission. Cheerios would have to suffice. Obviously, my brain wasn’t yet in gear.

  Milo left the house by nine-thirty. I watched him back down the driveway in a benign late summer rain. Apparently Mother Nature had spent her wrath while we slept.

  My plan to go to the hospital before Mass had been dashed by waking up too late. But all was not lost. St. Mildred’s was catty-corner from Alpine General. I’d make a discreet exit during the recessional hymn. There was still no power by the time I got to church. The rain stopped before I left home, though the clouds lingered. Six white candles on the altar made a brave show. Not that we needed light to read the liturgical responses—we knew them by rote. I sat in the last row next to Jack and Nina Mullins. Discreetly I asked Jack if he expected to be called to duty. He said he wouldn’t be surprised, having heard the big guy was on the prowl.

  The lights went on just before the Eucharist was distributed. “Fiat lux!” Father Den exclaimed with a big smile. The younger people who’d never heard the Mass in Latin looked puzzled.

  I made my exit as planned. Jack and Nina remained, so apparently Milo had all the help he needed. I hurried over to the hospital and up to the patient floor. The hospital operated its own generator, so it hadn’t been affected by the outage. Constance Peterson was the nurse on desk duty. I explained why I had a professional interest in the young woman who had been beaten and asked where I could find her.

  “She already has someone with her,” Constance replied. “A cousin, I believe. I cannot fathom how women put up with brutal men. She’s lucky to be alive. But go ahead. It’s the third room on your right.”

  Constance was of Amazonian proportions. I felt like saying she was lucky that she looked as if she could fend for herself. But that might offend her and she’d put me in the ER. I headed down the hall and entered Room 3B. I wasn’t surprised that the “cousin” was Alison. At least she had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Hi, Emma,” she greeted me, regaining her aplomb. “This is Yvonne. She goes by Vonnie. As soon as she gets dressed, I’m taking her home. Why don’t we wait in the hall while she finishes getting ready?”

  “Why don’t we?” I murmured, smiling at the pale, woebegone blond girl in the bed. She looked like a scared rabbit. Alison and I retreated from the room.

  “How is she?” I asked when we were far enough away that Vonnie couldn’t hear us.

  “Physically, she’ll mend,” Alison replied. “Emotionally, she’s a mess. She strikes me as a born victim. But I haven’t gotten her to open up very much.”

  “Where will you put her in your apartment? It’s not that big. Or are you evicting your sick roommate?”

  Alison paused to allow an orderly with a mop to get by us. “I’d never do that to Lori. I’m taking Vonnie to my parents’ house in Everett. I already called to say we were coming. You know they’re solid. And I don’t think the poor girl ever wants to see Alpine again.”

  “Did she say who beat her up?”

  “No. She’s too scared of him.” Alison’s expression was conspiratorial. “You know who it was?”

  Briefly, I explained the Mickey O’Neill connection. “Did she tell you that Father Kelly was the one who took her to the shelter?”

  Alison shook her head. “But she admitted she tried to kill herself. How can a girl put up with being treated that way? What kind of family background would let…” Words failed her. “It’s beyond bad. I’d better check on her. She might try to climb out the window.”

  I stayed in the hall. I could hear Alison offering words of comfort, but Vonnie’s responses were both brief and faint. Realizing this might be my only chance to talk to her, I decided to stick like wallpaper to the two girls until they rode off in the Audi.

  Three minutes passed before they joined me. Vonnie’s right cheek and chin were bruised; her forearms showed fading yellow patches; the left wrist was bandaged. She walked as if she were afraid that the next step would take her over a cliff.

  Alison spoke first. “This is my aunt Emma,” she told Vonnie. “She was very upset when she heard what happened to you.”

  Vonnie’s pale blue eyes darted a furtive glance at me, but she didn’t speak. I let the girls lead the way to the elevator. Once we got there, I spoke up. “Let’s not rush out of here. There’s a small waiting room just beyond the nurse’s desk. Why don’t we sit for a few minutes? Maybe Vonnie would like some water.”

  Alison took the hint. “I’ll go get it. Maybe I can find some juice.”

  Vonnie timorously eased her frail body into a chair as if she feared the upholstered arms might tackle her. Alison offered a reassuring smile before going in search of juice.

  I sat down next to Vonnie. “Did you eat breakfast?” I asked in my kindliest tone.

  She grimaced. Maybe it was her reaction to hospital food. I wouldn’t blame her. From what I’d seen over the years, most of it looked like sponge or parts of an old saddle. When Milo had had his gallbladder out over a year ago, he swore that the turkey he’d been served was baked newspaper pulp.

  “Scrambled eggs and toast,” Vonnie finally replied. “Oh—bacon. I couldn’t eat all of it.”

  I didn’t blame her. “They have to keep meals bland. Alison will probably fix you something edible.”

  She stared straight ahead. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I think you’ve been through some rough times lately,” I said, trying but failing to make eye contact. “Do you have family around here?”

  “Family?” The word sounded foreign on her tongue. “No.”

  “Have you lived very long in Alpine?”

  “Not really.”

  Frustration was setting in. I had no choice but to take off the kid gloves, but I kept my voice gentle. “How did you meet Mickey?”

  She jerked her head around to stare at me. “You know Mickey?”

  “Not all that well, but he grew up here,” I replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen him at church.” It was true, but it had only been for his father’s funeral.

  Vonnie looked away. “He doesn’t go to church now. At least not since I knew him.”

  “Is he still living in the O’Neill family home?”

  “I guess. I mean,” she went on, giving me a jerky sideways look, “it’s where his father lived with Mickey’s uncles. He told me he fixed it up after they died.”

  I remembered that the O’Neill house had fallen into disrepair even when Rusty and his brothers were still living there. But the ramshackle dwelling Paddy O’Neill had built for his bride on Disappointment Avenue sixty years ago was shielded from the street by maples, cottonwoods, alder trees, and berry vines. If Mickey had made improvements on the house, he hadn’t yet gotten around to the landscaping.

  “Is the house nice inside?” I asked, keeping the conversation on neutral ground.

  Vonnie shrugged. “It’s…so-so. Mickey didn’t like to clean anything but his guns.”

  “He collected guns?”

  “Not really.” She paused, looking at her bandaged wrist. A pensive expression crossed her face; perhaps she was wondering how she’d reached a point where death seemed preferable to life. “Well,” she slowly went on, “I guess he sort of liked his guns. He was big on World War Two stuff. He seemed to admire Hitler. He told me the Irish didn’t fight in that war. Mickey thought that was smart of them because the English hated the Irish.”

  No surprise there from Mickey’s point of view. “Did he ask you to do housework?”

  “No. Just cook.” She finally looked me in the eye. “And screw, night and day. That’s the only thing Mickey wanted to do. Screw, screw, screw!” She pounded her left fist on the arm of the chair. “I hate him!”

  Before I could respond, Alison appeared with a bottle of what looked like orange juice. I had a feeling she’d been listening from just outside the door. “Let’s book, Vonnie. Mom’ll have lunch ready by the time we get to Everett.”

  I stood up, but wasn’t quite done with Vonnie. “In case I need to get in touch, where’s your family?”

  She looked blank. “I don’t know where my father is. I don’t remember him. Mama was in Burlington the last I heard. Or was it Bellingham?” She looked up at the ceiling. “I know it begins with a B. Is that the one with all the sailors?”

  “Bremerton?” I suggested.

  “That sounds right. I’ve never been there.” Vonnie looked as if she didn’t care. “I don’t know where my two brothers are. I haven’t seen them in a long time.” She didn’t seem to miss them, either.

  I lagged behind as Alison took Vonnie’s hand to lead her out of the room. It was such a pathetic sight that I felt on the verge of tears. At least the poor waif was in safe hands. That should have cheered me. But I had the feeling that the Vonnies of this world are easily led. They’re either too trusting or they’ve learned the hard way that trust is fragile and often betrayed. Maybe Alison and her parents would help Vonnie feel that life was worth living.

  Milo was home when I returned, reading the paper and drinking coffee. The Seahawks were playing the Jaguars in Jacksonville, but he had muted the sound. After hanging up my jacket, I kissed the top of his head for a change. “Any outage problems you couldn’t solve, Sheriff?”

  “Nope,” he replied. “There were only a couple of fender-benders that happened while it was still dark. It’s going on noon. Did Kelly keep you after church for bad behavior?”

  “As if.” I sat down on the sofa and related my hospital visit. “You remember Alison’s parents. They’re good people.”

  Milo nodded halfheartedly. “I doubt they remember me with any warm feelings. The last time I saw them I was trying to finger her dad for killing her birth mother. That must’ve been over ten years ago.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Alison was only twelve.”

  He turned off the TV. “The Seahawks are losing this one. Did you see Rosemary at church?”

  “No, she must’ve gone last night.” A sudden thought came to me. “I wonder if Vonnie was the girl Rosie and Evan saw crying down by the river at the picnic.”

  “Could be,” Milo allowed. “Your point being…?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Except whoever she was, she had a problem. Maybe an abusive boyfriend?”

  “They’re out there,” Milo said. “Nobody knows that better than my deputies and I do.”

  “Maybe I should start running names. What do you think?”

  “What’s your libel liability?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “The calls are a matter of record. The abuser’s only recourse would be to sue my department for false arrest and sue you if we screwed up. Hell, it might do some good if the baddies had enough sense to be embarrassed. What do other newspapers do?”

  “Only small-town dailies and weeklies carry those reports,” I replied. “I haven’t checked other papers lately, but most do what we do with approximate addresses and let readers figure out who’s involved. It’s different if the victim files charges, but you know that’s rare. Maybe Alison can talk Vonnie into following through.”

  Milo lighted a cigarette. “You seem to like Alison. How come? Or are you just relieved to have a female on the staff who doesn’t try to act like she’s the boss instead of you?”

  “I’m used to Vida’s domineering ways,” I said. “Alison’s smart. It’s a shame that her cosmetology course was cut. Maybe she’ll eventually find another community college job. The receptionist’s job is a no-brainer for her. My only criticism is that she’s hell-bent on getting married. With her smarts and work ethic, she’s way too young to care about settling down. Money’s no problem because her birth mother left her a trust fund. I thought the travel bug might bite her after the Alaska cruise, but I gather it didn’t. I will say that the events of the last ten days have got her attention.”

  “Murder and attempted murder will do that,” Milo said dryly. “But I warned you not to let Alison get in too deep. It’s damned dangerous.”

  “I told you,” I reminded him, “she and Vonnie went to her parents’ house in Everett.”

  My husband wore his familiar stern look. “Alison’s coming back tonight or tomorrow. She’s still a kid. You’re not. You know better.”

  Unfortunately, I did.

  —

  After I finished reading the Seattle Times without finding any tie-ins for local stories, I called Rosemary Bourgette. Her pleasant recorded voice asked me to leave a message. I chose not to, since my query was work-related. Rosie deserved a day off.

  Milo had spent most of the hour in his den, going over his fishing gear. He reappeared a few minutes later while I was watering the three bloomless orchids on the kitchen windowsill. He looked out of sorts. Before I could ask why, he spoke first.

  “Have you thought about visiting Adam up in Alaska?” he asked, leaning against the refrigerator.

  “Not really,” I replied. “In fact, he told me I shouldn’t because I’d pitch a fit about the way he lives in St. Mary’s Igloo.”

  “You could meet him in Ketchikan. He gets time off, right?”

  I was put off by the suggestion. “You want to get rid of me? What’s wrong?”

  “You know damned well what’s wrong,” he growled. “Blackwell. He can’t take me on personally because he figures I’d beat the crap out of him, and he seems to have backed off on his investigation threat. So the only way he can mess with me is with you. And don’t think he wouldn’t do it. I want to keep you safe until all this crap with him and the recount blows over.”

  I was aghast. “Oh, Milo!” I gasped, and threw myself against him. “I won’t leave you!” The words were muffled against his denim shirt.

  “I mean it,” he said, putting his arms around me. “If not Alaska, what about visiting that old pal of yours in Portland?”

  I moved just enough so I could look up at him. “I can’t. I won’t. I’d worry about you so much that I’d get sick. Please. Drop it. Besides, it’s my job. Journalists don’t run out on their responsibilities to the public.”

  He grimaced. “You’re a stubborn little twit,” he muttered, tightening his grip on me. “I still can’t believe you love me so much. Maybe that’s why I stopped having the dream.”

  I moved just enough to look up at him again. “What dream?”

  Milo sighed and loosened his hold on me. “I started having it after you dumped me the first time around. We’d be sitting together on the sofa and I’d mention getting married someday. You’d move away from me, saying we needed a break from each other.”

  “That wasn’t a dream,” I said in a forlorn voice. “That was real.”

  “It was both,” Milo asserted. “I dreamed it over and over until last winter. I’d leave your house and walk toward my Grand Cherokee…and the dream would end. It was as if you could throw me out, but you couldn’t make me go away.”

  Briefly, I closed my eyes. “No, I couldn’t. Deep down, I didn’t want you to go. I was an idiot. And you’re still here. That’s why I won’t leave you now.”

  He sighed. “Fair enough.” I could swear there was a catch in his voice.