Part 9 (2/2)

She nodded. ”The last I heard, they thought they'd sublet it to a retired couple from Everett, but I don't know if the deal fell through. We should call Scott and ask him. If it was still vacant, there's no reason that these devious Californians couldn't have simply slipped a card with the names of Ginger and Josh Roth into the building's directory. It's right there by the main entrance.”

I nodded. ”I'll call Scott. Of course, just because these people never lived at Pines Villa doesn't mean they don't exist.”

Vida rose from the chair. ”True. But it all sounds rather theatrical to me. Hollywood, you might say.”

”San Francisco,” I pointed out. ”That's the Cavanaugh family's base of operations.”

Vida shrugged. ”It's still California. I believe I'll call that woman in Everett who owns Pines Villa. I may have her name somewhere.”

I had Scott's new number in my Rolodex. He and Tamara had found a rental house in Burien, just south of Seattle, where prices were somewhat lower than in the rest of the city. Tamara had signed a teaching contract at Highline Community College, and Scott was trying his hand at freelance photography, working out of their home.

Tamara-or Tammy, as Scott called her-answered on the third ring. ”Emma!” she exclaimed. ”How nice to hear from you! Scott told me that someone had been killed over the weekend in Alpine. He saw a small article in The Seattle Times' Northwest news wrap-up.”

”Unfortunately,” I said, ”that's true. In fact, it's a long story. Want to be bored?”

”Why not?” Tamara laughed. ”I don't start teaching until fall quarter, and that doesn't begin for almost three months. I've been revising my lesson plans, and I'm already bored.”

When I'd finished my account of the Dylan Platte homicide, Tamara was aghast. ”Those Cavanaugh kids wanted to buy you out? That's dreadful! They sound like vultures.”

”I only met them once,” I said. ”I didn't even know until now that this Dylan Platte existed.”

”Still...” Tamara paused. ”I can't wait to tell Scott. He's out taking some pictures for his portfolio. It was raining a little when we got up, but it's clearing off now. How's your new reporter working out?”

”Let's say that it's early days,” I replied reluctantly. ”Let's also say that I wish your husband were still working here.”

”I get it,” Tamara said. ”Oh, Emma, I hope Scott can make a go of his freelancing. Things are pretty tight these days. Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing.”

”You'll be fine,” I said encouragingly. ”It takes time, and Scott's a very good photographer.” I had a sudden idea. ”Have him call Rolf Fisher at AP. Maybe he can give Scott some leads or even buy a photo from him.”

”Rolf Fisher? Isn't he the guy you've been seeing?”

”On and off,” I replied but didn't add that, at the moment, the relations.h.i.+p seemed more off than on. ”I've got a question for you-did you sublet your apartment?”

”No,” Tamara answered, sounding a bit grim. ”That's one of the reasons we're in a financial hole. We're paying rent for two places because our lease doesn't run out until October first. The couple who planned on retiring in Alpine changed their minds and decided to move to Ocean Sh.o.r.es. I guess they prefer waves to mountains. Do you know somebody who's interested?”

”Unfortunately, no,” I said and then explained about Ginger and Josh Roth.

”That is so weird,” Tamara declared. ”I don't suppose they were like...squatters?”

”I suspect they never got inside the building. But Vida's going to check with the owner. Is it still that woman in Everett?”

”Mrs. Hines? Yes, as far as I know. Do you want her number?”

I said I thought Vida might have it but to give it to me just in case.

Vida not only had found Mrs. Hines's number but was talking to her on the phone when I came out of my cubbyhole after my chat with Tamara.

”Yes,” she was saying into the receiver while showing me a scribbled note with the landlady's name, number, and address, ”I'd very much enjoy a cup of tea. Shall we say three o'clock at the diner? Lovely. I'll see you then.” Vida hung up and smiled triumphantly. ”By chance,” she said with her Ches.h.i.+re cat grin, ”Mrs. Hines is coming to Alpine this afternoon to consult with d.i.c.k Bourgette about the possibility of converting Pines Villa. She seemed quite intrigued when I told her about the Roths using the address as camouflage. I got the impression that she enjoys a mystery. We're having tea after her meeting with d.i.c.k.” Vida became somber. ”Of course I realize that I may be treading on Curtis's toes. I'd be the last person to interfere with his a.s.signment.”

I kept a straight face. ”We don't know that there's any connection between Ginger and Josh Roth and the Platte homicide,” I pointed out. ”After all, you wanted to interview them for a newcomer feature.”

Vida nodded once. ”That's so.”

”Then go ahead and talk to Mrs. Hines,” I said and filled her in on my conversation with Tamara. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was going on eleven. ”I hope Curtis found out if Graham Cavanaugh arrived in town.”

”Surely,” Vida said, ”Curtis can do at least that much in a single morning.”

The sarcasm wasn't lost on me. But before I could comment, Ginny entered the newsroom carrying an envelope with the ski lodge logo. ”Heather Bardeen Bavich sent this to you, Emma,” she said. ”Do you mind if I take a little extra time this noon? I want to go home and have a nap. I hardly slept a wink last night.”

I hesitated. ”Would you rather leave early? We don't have many front office visitors after four-thirty.”

Ginny toyed with a long strand of her luxuriant red hair. ”Well...if I can stay awake that long.”

”Okay,” I said. ”Drink some more coffee.”

”Caffeine isn't good for the baby,” she said. ”I'll just force myself to stay alert.” Shoulders slumping, Ginny trudged out of the newsroom.

”Oh, for heaven's sakes!” Vida exclaimed after Ginny left. ”Where's her gumption? She's worse this time than she was with the other two. And all this nonsense about what you can and can't eat! I'm very disappointed with Doc Dewey for giving in to these current fads.”

”I don't think they're all fads,” I pointed out. ”It's always better to err on the side of caution.”

”Oh, piffle!” Vida yanked off her gla.s.ses and rubbed fiercely at her eyes, a sure sign that she was annoyed. I swear I could hear her eyeb.a.l.l.s squeak. ”Moderation is always wise. But these days, the medical pract.i.tioners seem to have abandoned common sense.”

I decided to forgo an argument. Opening the envelope from Heather, I saw a note and a small photograph. ”Emma,” the note read, ”this is the only photo Mrs. Platte had. It was taken last winter at Lake Tahoe.”

The wallet-size color picture showed a man and a woman in ski togs, posing under a snow-covered pine tree. There was no identification or date on the back. ”Let me borrow your magnifying gla.s.s,” I said to Vida. ”This is allegedly Mr. and Mrs. Platte.”

Vida got the magnifying gla.s.s out of a desk drawer. ”Let me see when you're done,” she said.

I peered at the photo. Kelsey was barely recognizable, probably because she was smiling and looked relatively animated. Her appearance was far different from that of the young woman I'd talked to at the ski lodge. The dark-haired man was also smiling. He appeared to be about six inches taller than his wife and could have qualified as handsome. ”Here,” I said, handing over the photo and the magnifying gla.s.s.

”A rather nice-looking couple,” she said after a long pause. ”A shame, of course. They look very happy here. But then you never know, do you?”

”No,” I agreed as she handed the photo back to me. ”I hope Kip can enlarge this and still keep it in sharp focus.”

Back in my office, I called Heather at the ski lodge to thank her for sending the picture.

”No problem,” she said. ”Dad left me a note about it. I feel so sorry for Mrs. Platte. She seems totally out of it.”

”Did her brother get in yesterday?” I asked.

”Yes,” Heather replied. ”Late last night. I haven't seen him yet. He's staying in the suite with Mrs. Platte.”

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