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Authors: Mary Daheim
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game. I’d like to get out in the field more, frankly. I miss the reporting part. I used to think I was too old for it, but I get stale on the desk.”
At that moment I saw Scott come into the newsroom. A strange idea popped into my head. “Do you mean that, or is it just the postholiday doldrums?”
“No,” Rolf insisted. “I’m serious. For once. I know—not my style.”
Leaning forward, I watched Scott take a brown paper bag out of his desk drawer. He removed a plastic bag containing a sandwich. I realized he’d been bringing his lunch to work more often since he’d gotten married. Maybe he couldn’t afford to eat out. If he and Tamara moved on, could I dare ask Rolf to work for the
Advocate
?
But how would he like brown-bagging it? How could he endure small-town life? How could he stand working for me? And how far might he go to become a reporter again? Probably not as far as Alpine. I dismissed my odd idea.
“I hate to tell you this,” Rolf said, “but I’m off to the Union Square Grill for lunch with an old college buddy. Advertising type, but decent all the same.”
“Wish I were there.”
“Where?”
“Never mind.” I rang off.
The Burger Barn was about as far from the Union Square Grill as any gourmand could imagine, but that was where I headed. I was forced to stand six-deep in line for takeout. Lori Cobb was being waited on at the counter, probably getting Milo’s standard cheeseburger, fries, and coffee. At least the coffee tasted better than what the sheriff’s office served. But now that I thought about it, I hadn’t tasted Lori’s attempts at coffee brewing. It had to be an improvement over the swill Toni had made.
Seven minutes later—I clocked it on my watch—I requested a hamburger dip au jus with fries and a pineapple malt. They were out of pineapple, so I asked for vanilla instead.
I was heading for the door when I saw Milo coming in.
“Changed my mind,” he said. “Changed my routine, too. I want a double bacon burger. I gave my order to Lori. She could use some meat on her bones.”
“What about McDonough?” I asked as Milo steered us toward a booth that had just emptied.
“Wait till we sit,” he said as a waitress began to bus the vacated table.
We waited. Finally I put down my takeout bag, complete with its red barn logo showing a cow going in the door and coming out as a hamburger on the other side.
“Well?” I said, unable to hide my impatience.
“I got the call right after I talked to you,” he replied, signaling for coffee. “Blow to the back of the head with something metal. Elmer’s skull was crushed. He probably died quick. Not much blood loss, no hemorrhaging, just a smallish cut from whatever he got hit with.”
“Which was…?”
Milo shrugged. “Farm or garden implement. Shovel, hoe, even a rake. Possibly a tool. I told Erskine that I didn’t see anything like that in the henhouse. McDonough had left after he’d performed the autopsy and put in his report. Bill Blatt and Dustin Fong went out there this morning to look around the rest of the place. They’ll be back as soon as they’ve had lunch at the Bourgettes’ diner.”
“Your deputies didn’t call anything in to you?”
Milo shook his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t find something. In fact, they could have bagged a whole bunch of stuff. They wouldn’t know offhand what was a weapon and what wasn’t.”
I’d removed my food from the bag and brushed some hard roll crumbs off my lap. “Your official pronouncement?”
The sheriff munched on a couple of fries. “Possible homicide.”
“You aren’t sure?”
He shrugged. “It could be an accident. But a pretty freaky one. Whatever bashed in Elmer’s head was metal. Steel, to be exact. If there wasn’t any sign of the weapon—if you want to call it that—inside the chicken house, then it’d be pretty weird if Elmer had banged into the thing outdoors and come all the way back inside.”
I
At that moment I saw Scott come into the newsroom. A strange idea popped into my head. “Do you mean that, or is it just the postholiday doldrums?”
“No,” Rolf insisted. “I’m serious. For once. I know—not my style.”
Leaning forward, I watched Scott take a brown paper bag out of his desk drawer. He removed a plastic bag containing a sandwich. I realized he’d been bringing his lunch to work more often since he’d gotten married. Maybe he couldn’t afford to eat out. If he and Tamara moved on, could I dare ask Rolf to work for the
Advocate
?
But how would he like brown-bagging it? How could he endure small-town life? How could he stand working for me? And how far might he go to become a reporter again? Probably not as far as Alpine. I dismissed my odd idea.
“I hate to tell you this,” Rolf said, “but I’m off to the Union Square Grill for lunch with an old college buddy. Advertising type, but decent all the same.”
“Wish I were there.”
“Where?”
“Never mind.” I rang off.
The Burger Barn was about as far from the Union Square Grill as any gourmand could imagine, but that was where I headed. I was forced to stand six-deep in line for takeout. Lori Cobb was being waited on at the counter, probably getting Milo’s standard cheeseburger, fries, and coffee. At least the coffee tasted better than what the sheriff’s office served. But now that I thought about it, I hadn’t tasted Lori’s attempts at coffee brewing. It had to be an improvement over the swill Toni had made.
Seven minutes later—I clocked it on my watch—I requested a hamburger dip au jus with fries and a pineapple malt. They were out of pineapple, so I asked for vanilla instead.
I was heading for the door when I saw Milo coming in.
“Changed my mind,” he said. “Changed my routine, too. I want a double bacon burger. I gave my order to Lori. She could use some meat on her bones.”
“What about McDonough?” I asked as Milo steered us toward a booth that had just emptied.
“Wait till we sit,” he said as a waitress began to bus the vacated table.
We waited. Finally I put down my takeout bag, complete with its red barn logo showing a cow going in the door and coming out as a hamburger on the other side.
“Well?” I said, unable to hide my impatience.
“I got the call right after I talked to you,” he replied, signaling for coffee. “Blow to the back of the head with something metal. Elmer’s skull was crushed. He probably died quick. Not much blood loss, no hemorrhaging, just a smallish cut from whatever he got hit with.”
“Which was…?”
Milo shrugged. “Farm or garden implement. Shovel, hoe, even a rake. Possibly a tool. I told Erskine that I didn’t see anything like that in the henhouse. McDonough had left after he’d performed the autopsy and put in his report. Bill Blatt and Dustin Fong went out there this morning to look around the rest of the place. They’ll be back as soon as they’ve had lunch at the Bourgettes’ diner.”
“Your deputies didn’t call anything in to you?”
Milo shook his head. “No. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t find something. In fact, they could have bagged a whole bunch of stuff. They wouldn’t know offhand what was a weapon and what wasn’t.”
I’d removed my food from the bag and brushed some hard roll crumbs off my lap. “Your official pronouncement?”
The sheriff munched on a couple of fries. “Possible homicide.”
“You aren’t sure?”
He shrugged. “It could be an accident. But a pretty freaky one. Whatever bashed in Elmer’s head was metal. Steel, to be exact. If there wasn’t any sign of the weapon—if you want to call it that—inside the chicken house, then it’d be pretty weird if Elmer had banged into the thing outdoors and come all the way back inside.”
I
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