Part 2 (1/2)

I shook my head. ”There are about five of them within a two-block strip near the apartment house. Ronnie wasn't entirely sure which one he was in.”

”Oh.” The brightness faded. ”Still, it's a start.”

”Vida, don't tell me you're willing to hang out in bars until we find somebody who was drinking with Ronnie at the fateful hour?”

Vida winced. ”I don't relish the idea. But needs must. I can drink tea. They do serve tea in those places, don't they?”

”Probably.” I watched her closely. ”You're serious, aren't you?”

”Of course!”

”You're bored,” I remarked.

”What?”

I shrugged. ”It's been quiet around here lately. The women's shelter is under way, the bridge is coming up to a vote, we've finally got a new MD to back up Doc Dewey-Alpine's going through a calm phase. You're bored.”

Vida gave me her gimlet eye. ”Aren't you?”

”No. I was looking forward to a quiet weekend without Amber and Son. I could use some boredom around here.”

Vida's wide shoulders slumped. ”I certainly understand that part. But really, Emma, Ronnie is your cousin. I can't imagine stepping aside and seeing kin being railroaded on a murder charge. Don't you have some fond memories of him?”

”Not particularly,” I admitted. ”Ronnie was something of a cipher. We didn't see much of his parents or their kids. Let's face it, my mother was kind of snooty.” Like you, Vida, I wanted to say, but didn't. ”She didn't care much for people-even kin-who drank and couldn't hold down a job.”

”Yes, I can understand her point of view,” Vida conceded. ”But it's only for a short time, and it might do some good. Haven't we managed in the past to help solve a crime or two?”

”It comes with the job,” I allowed.

”Of course it does.” Vida adjusted her gla.s.ses. ”You go ahead and make the arrangements. You know the city.” She gave an almost imperceptible shudder. ”A nice, clean motel. Perhaps with cooking facilities. That will cut down on our expenses.”

The truth was that if I were going to spend a weekend in Seattle, I would have preferred a four-star hotel with room service and an honor bar. But that was out of my price range. Dutifully, stupidly, resignedly, I went into my office and got out the Yellow Pages for Seattle. It took seven phone calls before I found a vacancy at the bottom of Queen Anne Hill. It was close to downtown, and not that far from the neighborhood north of the s.h.i.+p ca.n.a.l where Ronnie had lived with Carol.

”I'll pick you up at four,” I told Vida. ”I'm leaving here at two to pack, then I'm going to St. Mildred's for Good Friday services at three.”

Vida, looking satisfied, smiled. ”I'll be ready.”

I wasn't so sure I'd be.

Traffic was heavy all the way into Seattle. The Friday commute was worsened by the holiday weekend, which prevented us from getting to our motel until after six. It was too late to visit Ronnie, so I called the jail to leave a message that I'd see him in the morning.

”Maybe,” the detached voice at the other end of the line said, ”Mallett will be out of the infirmary by then.”

”Why's he in the infirmary?” I asked, unexpected concern surfacing.

”I can't tell you that,” responded the voice, which could have belonged to either s.e.x.

”I'm a... close relative.” I gulped on the phrase. ”A first cousin. At least tell me if he's sick or if he got injured.”

”It's not serious. He'll heal.”

That was all I could get out of the voice, so I hung up and told Vida, who'd been hanging over my shoulder. ”Somebody may have punched him out,” I said. ”Or worse. Poor Ronnie.”

”Indeed,” Vida replied. ”Jail can be a nasty place, especially in big cities. I don't imagine Ronnie's cellmates are particularly civilized.”

”d.a.m.n,” I swore, ignoring Vida's disapproving glance. ”Now I actually feel sorry for the poor twerp.”

”Of course you do,” Vida responded. ”He's family. Tsk, tsk.”

”Vida-” I began, but stopped. She was right. I must have felt some kind of connection or I wouldn't have felt the surge of guilt.

”Where's an inexpensive restaurant close by?” Vida asked, glancing out the window at the s.p.a.ce Needle.

I considered. ”There's a place out on Phinney Ridge that's quite good and reasonable. We could swing by Ronnie's apartment house. I got the address from him the other day. It isn't far from the restaurant.”

Not wanting to lose the daylight, we headed for the apartment first. It was about three blocks from the neighborhood's business district, an unprepossessing two-story brick-faced building with eight units.

Half of the uncovered parking places in back were empty. A large, overflowing Dumpster stood next to the building, along with several garbage cans. There was no yard as such, just overgrown blackberry bushes, ferns, and weeds. Vida shook her head in disapproval.

”No pride,” she declared. ”Wouldn't you think they'd band together and have a work party? Some nice perennials, a few bulbs. What's wrong with city people?”

Since many Alpine residents considered a rusted-out pickup as garden statuary, I didn't comment. We walked around to the front, where stairs led up both sides to the second-floor balcony.

”Ronnie is downstairs, in 1-B,” I said, studying the mailboxes. ”Here, only Carol's name is on the box.”

Vida was already at the picture window next to the door marked 1-B. The drapes were pulled, but didn't quite meet. ”I don't see anyone,” she murmured. ”No lights are on.” She tried the k.n.o.b, but it was locked.

”They've taken away the crime-scene tape,” I noted. ”That's not a good sign as far as Ronnie's concerned. They must figure the case is closed.”

”Mmm,” Vida responded, still trying to peer inside. ”It looks as if there are some cartons on the floor.”

I joined Vida at the window, but before I could get a good look, the door to 1-C opened.

”It's not for rent yet,” a rumpled redhead in her early thirties said. ”Next week, maybe. You got the landlord's number?”

I started to deny that we were in search of an apartment, but Vida moved in front of me. ”Why the delay?” she asked.

”The place has to be cleaned out first,” the redhead answered, flicking cigarette ash onto the concrete floor. A TV was making disjointed noises from inside her unit. ”It's only a one-bedroom. You sure you and your daughter are interested?”

”It's not for me,” Vida replied, not exactly lying. ”We understand that a murder occurred here.”

A tiny twitch at the corners of the redhead's full lips indicated that the fact somehow pleased her. ”Yeah. A couple of weeks ago.” She shrugged. ”Mr. Chan, the landlord, told me that you have to tell people when somebody gets killed. You know-future tenants and all that.”

I decided it was time to step out from behind Vida's shadow. ”That's sort of gruesome, though,” I said, trying to sound chummy. ”Who got killed?”

The full lips twitched again. ”Her name was Carol Stokes. Her boyfriend did it. I ought to know-I heard them fighting just before it happened.”

”Really,” Vida said, sounding impressed. ”Did the police interview you?”

”Yeah, a couple of times.” The redhead tossed her cigarette into an empty planter, which had obviously served as an ashtray on previous occasions. ”It's tough on him, but I had to tell the truth, didn't I?” Her blue eyes widened in an attempt at playing the innocent bystander.