sixteen years ago for what she called ‘a romantic getaway,’ she told me she was filing for divorce.”
“That’s not the city’s fault,” I said in my most innocent voice.
“Screw it,” Milo muttered, still holding a grudge against his ex-wife for having an affair with a high school teacher. “We’re done here. Beat it, Emma.”
I started to get up from the chair, but the sheriff had a final warning. “Don’t leave town.”
“Oh, come on, Milo!” I cried. “You’re just trying to ruin my weekend! You know I’m not a suspect!”
The sheriff’s expression was surprisingly bland. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. You’re the primary source of information for this Platte and the rest of the Cavanaugh bunch. What’s wrong with you? I’d think you’d be panting with curiosity about Tom’s kids and his business. Even when you don’t know any of the people involved in a homicide you get all wound up about trying to figure out whodunit.” His hazel eyes hardened just a bit. “Is this Fisher really that hot?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped. “I’m going to see him. Now.”
I moved so fast that I knocked the chair over. It hit against my right leg, but I wouldn’t let Milo know how much it hurt. Trying not to limp, I hurried out of his office but refrained from slamming the door.
Lori, however, eyed me curiously. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and ignored Jack Mullins’s smirk. The deputy had a puckish sense of humor and, for all I knew, had been listening at the keyhole. “Thanks for picking up my dinner,” I said to Lori with as much dignity as possible. “Dodge is probably finishing it for me right now.”
I went through the swinging gate and out of the building. Behind the wheel of my car, I sat still for a few moments, watching the slow flow of foot traffic on the south side of Front Street across from the sheriff’s headquarters: Irene Baugh, Mayor Fuzzy’s wife, coming out of city hall; a half dozen teenagers heading toward the Whistling Marmot Theatre to catch the early movie; Karl Freeman, high school principal, using the bank’s ATM after hours; the town veterinarian, Jim Medved, and his wife, Sherry, leaving the Burger Barn. Ordinary people doing ordinary things. The sameness of it all, the predictability, the mundane lives of Alpine suddenly struck me in a moment of revulsion.
I was one of them.
And I didn’t like myself for it.
There was nothing mundane about murder. Someone had killed someone else, and even if I thought Dylan Platte was a self-centered jackass, he hadn’t deserved to have his life cut short. But that didn’t make it right. If there was one thing I could do, and had done it fairly well in the past, I might be able to figure out that much. Dylan was Tom’s son-in-law. I’d do it for Tom.
No,
I thought,
I’ll do it for me. Because I can. Because it will prove I’m not ordinary.
I dug out my phone and reluctantly dialed Rolf’s number. “Let me explain,” I said after he’d answered and made some smart remark that flew right by me in my self-appointed scales of justice mind-set. Fortunately, he didn’t interrupt but listened as I unfolded the tale of Dylan Platte and the Cavanaugh offspring.
“That is the most elaborate and inventive reason I’ve ever heard for being stood up,” Rolf declared when I was done. “I’m not sure whether I want to know if it really could be true. I’d like to leave it as it is, just for the sake of cocktail chatter when I go alone on the cruise tomorrow night.”
“You know perfectly well it’s true,” I retorted. “You can check it on the AP wire when it comes through courtesy of Spencer Fleetwood. In fact, it’s probably already there. He had it on the six o’clock news.”
There was a fairly long silence at the other end. “Hmmm,” Rolf finally murmured. “Do you want me to drive up to Alpine and help you sleuth?”
“Um…” I hadn’t expected the offer. “No. I mean,
“That’s not the city’s fault,” I said in my most innocent voice.
“Screw it,” Milo muttered, still holding a grudge against his ex-wife for having an affair with a high school teacher. “We’re done here. Beat it, Emma.”
I started to get up from the chair, but the sheriff had a final warning. “Don’t leave town.”
“Oh, come on, Milo!” I cried. “You’re just trying to ruin my weekend! You know I’m not a suspect!”
The sheriff’s expression was surprisingly bland. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. You’re the primary source of information for this Platte and the rest of the Cavanaugh bunch. What’s wrong with you? I’d think you’d be panting with curiosity about Tom’s kids and his business. Even when you don’t know any of the people involved in a homicide you get all wound up about trying to figure out whodunit.” His hazel eyes hardened just a bit. “Is this Fisher really that hot?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped. “I’m going to see him. Now.”
I moved so fast that I knocked the chair over. It hit against my right leg, but I wouldn’t let Milo know how much it hurt. Trying not to limp, I hurried out of his office but refrained from slamming the door.
Lori, however, eyed me curiously. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and ignored Jack Mullins’s smirk. The deputy had a puckish sense of humor and, for all I knew, had been listening at the keyhole. “Thanks for picking up my dinner,” I said to Lori with as much dignity as possible. “Dodge is probably finishing it for me right now.”
I went through the swinging gate and out of the building. Behind the wheel of my car, I sat still for a few moments, watching the slow flow of foot traffic on the south side of Front Street across from the sheriff’s headquarters: Irene Baugh, Mayor Fuzzy’s wife, coming out of city hall; a half dozen teenagers heading toward the Whistling Marmot Theatre to catch the early movie; Karl Freeman, high school principal, using the bank’s ATM after hours; the town veterinarian, Jim Medved, and his wife, Sherry, leaving the Burger Barn. Ordinary people doing ordinary things. The sameness of it all, the predictability, the mundane lives of Alpine suddenly struck me in a moment of revulsion.
I was one of them.
And I didn’t like myself for it.
There was nothing mundane about murder. Someone had killed someone else, and even if I thought Dylan Platte was a self-centered jackass, he hadn’t deserved to have his life cut short. But that didn’t make it right. If there was one thing I could do, and had done it fairly well in the past, I might be able to figure out that much. Dylan was Tom’s son-in-law. I’d do it for Tom.
No,
I thought,
I’ll do it for me. Because I can. Because it will prove I’m not ordinary.
I dug out my phone and reluctantly dialed Rolf’s number. “Let me explain,” I said after he’d answered and made some smart remark that flew right by me in my self-appointed scales of justice mind-set. Fortunately, he didn’t interrupt but listened as I unfolded the tale of Dylan Platte and the Cavanaugh offspring.
“That is the most elaborate and inventive reason I’ve ever heard for being stood up,” Rolf declared when I was done. “I’m not sure whether I want to know if it really could be true. I’d like to leave it as it is, just for the sake of cocktail chatter when I go alone on the cruise tomorrow night.”
“You know perfectly well it’s true,” I retorted. “You can check it on the AP wire when it comes through courtesy of Spencer Fleetwood. In fact, it’s probably already there. He had it on the six o’clock news.”
There was a fairly long silence at the other end. “Hmmm,” Rolf finally murmured. “Do you want me to drive up to Alpine and help you sleuth?”
“Um…” I hadn’t expected the offer. “No. I mean,
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