Part 15 (1/2)

”By the way,” I said casually, ”have you talked to Buck about his interest in buying a condo in Alpine?”

”I haven't spoken to him since Sat.u.r.day,” Vida replied, somewhat strained. ”I'm certain that Mrs. Hines has confused Buck with someone else.”

That struck me as highly unlikely, but I held the thought. ”You realize,” I said, ”I'm pulling Curtis off of the homicide story except maybe for sidebars.”

”You have no choice,” Vida declared. ”Your conflict of interest ended when the murdered man turned out to be someone other than a Cavanaugh kinsman. The entire Advocate issue could be a hoax.”

”That seems pointless,” I said. ”He must have some connection to the Cavanaughs or he wouldn't know about the family, the newspapers, and me. And what about that bracelet and note?”

”A front man, perhaps,” Vida murmured. ”I must admit, it's very puzzling.” She paused. ”Are you going to call this Snorty tonight?”

”Yes.”

”Why not see him in person?”

”I don't know where he is.”

”You've met him,” Vida said. ”Didn't you say he came into the front office to place an ad?”

”Yes.”

”I wasn't there at the time,” Vida said. ”He wouldn't know me. I could be a stranger. I could be”-she paused again-”from somewhere other than Alpine.” Obviously, the mere idea of living elsewhere disturbed her. ”I might tell him that I'd heard the purchase of the Bronsky house wasn't going through and that I was interested in seeing it.”

”But Ed and s.h.i.+rley know you,” I pointed out.

”Yes, yes,” she said impatiently, ”but I'd ask to look at it only from the outside, perhaps have him drive me around town.”

I turned her plot over in my mind. ”No,” I said firmly, ”I don't like it for several reasons. Snorty may not in fact hold the key, as you put it, except, of course, to the Bronsky house. And while you may not have met the man, that doesn't mean he wouldn't know who you were even if you used an a.s.sumed name. Let's face it-you are well-known in Alpine, and any number of people, including Ed and s.h.i.+rley, may have pointed you out to Snorty.”

”My hats,” she muttered. ”Well now. You do have a point. Still...”

”No,” I repeated. ”A simple phone call, which I'll make in the next half-hour. I'll let you know if he has anything of interest to say.”

I heard her sigh. ”If you insist.”

”I do.”

I checked Snorty's number in his one-column, three-inch ad. ”Win with Wenzel! Flexible Mortgages! Dream Homes Our Specialty! Creative Financing! Act Now!!!” ran the copy. Leo must have cringed when he put that one together. The featured home of the week-in very small print with no photo-was described as ”Three glorious rooms with river view, natural landscaping, and small outbuilding needs your TLC.” I deciphered that as somebody's abandoned cabin and privy in the woods so close to the Skykomish that the next spate of high water would wash the whole mess all the way to Puget Sound.

Before I could dial Snorty's number, my phone rang. Somewhat to my surprise, Mary Jane Bourgette's brisk voice greeted me.

”I'm glad I caught you at home,” she said. ”This is just a reminder about the parish potluck picnic this Thursday at Old Mill Park. You're a salad or fresh fruit.”

I had forgotten, despite the announcement from the pulpit at Sunday Ma.s.s, the notice in the bulletin-and the small article we'd run in the Advocate along with a listing in the Alpine events calendar. ”Oh-sure, six o'clock, right?”

”Five-thirty,” Mary Jane said dryly. ”With school out, we're having the Teen Club set up so we can get an early start in case it rains.”

I knew Mary Jane well enough to admit I was slightly addled, especially since I could tell from her voice she'd already figured that out for herself. ”Too much going on,” I said by way of explanation.

”The murder at the motel,” Mary Jane said. ”You must feel a lot of pressure when we have something like that happen around here.”

”That's true,” I admitted, well aware that Mary Jane had given me the perfect opening to ask a nagging little question. ”Say, when I talked to d.i.c.k about our repair projects last week, he mentioned planning to stop by the Tall Timber to drop off a business card for the man we thought was Dylan Platte. Did he meet the guy or decide to wait?”

Mary Jane didn't answer right away. ”Hang on,” she said at last. ”d.i.c.k's in the garage. I'll ask him. Or do you really want to know?”

”It'd be helpful if your husband had a chance to size up this guy,” I explained. ”He's a John Doe at present, and that stymies a murder investigation.”

”Okay.” Mary Jane didn't sound enthusiastic. ”Hang on. I'll be right back.”

Five minutes pa.s.sed before I heard Mary Jane or any sound at the other end of the line. She'd apparently pressed the mute b.u.t.ton so that I couldn't listen to her conversation with d.i.c.k.

”He did swing by the motel that afternoon,” Mary Jane informed me. ”But he didn't see the guy from California.”

”So he didn't leave his business card?”

”No.”

I realized that Mary Jane's usual candor was missing. ”Gosh,” I said, feigning shock, ”does he think the victim was already dead?”

”I don't know what you mean,” Mary Jane said, now sounding downright defensive.

”I'm trying to piece together the sequence of events Friday afternoon,” I said, sounding bewildered, which wasn't hard to do. ”Time of death isn't always exact. I thought maybe d.i.c.k saw something or somebody suspicious and decided to get out of there. You know how we sometimes have these strange feelings that can creep us out.”

”d.i.c.k's not like that,” Mary Jane replied, her voice resuming its familiar dry tone. ”My husband isn't imaginative. Hammer and nails, saw and boards-that's his metier.”

”Yes, I can understand that,” I said, ”since that's what makes d.i.c.k so good at what he does for a living.” I paused, wondering how far I could press my developing friends.h.i.+p with Mary Jane. The road to real camaraderie had been rocky for me in Alpine. I didn't want to ruin a growing sense of trust between us. ”That,” I said, taking the plunge, ”would indicate d.i.c.k definitely saw something very real that put him off.”

Mary Jane uttered a big sigh. ”Oh, d.a.m.n, Emma, you're putting me in the middle! I told d.i.c.k I wouldn't say anything to anybody. It's all too stupid anyway.”

”What is?”

Another sigh from Mary Jane. ”Look. It's not a big deal, I'm sure of it. And unlike most people in this town-remembering that we're latecomers to Alpine-I don't flap my jaws about things that can be misconstrued. I'm not going to start now. Oh, I realize you're only doing your job, but I have to draw the line. I won't break my word to d.i.c.k.”

I was disappointed, but I understood. ”That's okay, Mary Jane,” I said resignedly. ”I'd probably do the same in your place. But if d.i.c.k ever decides what he saw might help nail a killer, he ought to talk to the sheriff, not to me.”

”I know, I know,” she said impatiently. ”I actually mentioned that to him already, but then we agreed that it...Never mind. I'd better shut up. He's coming inside, and I don't want him to think I blew it.”

I hung up and sat on the sofa trying to think what-or maybe who-d.i.c.k Bourgette had seen at the Tall Timber. It could have been anyone, including our pastor, Dennis Kelly; Mayor Fuzzy Baugh; or even Averill Fairbanks, our resident UFO freak, who thought he'd seen a s.p.a.ce pod land on top of the motel's neon sign.

I phoned Vida again and told her about the call from Mary Jane Bourgette. ”She refused to tell me what or who d.i.c.k saw at the motel.”

”Nonsense!” Vida exclaimed. ”How could she be so reticent when it comes to a murder investigation?”

”She called whatever he saw *stupid,'” I said, ”implying that she didn't see any way that it was connected to the homicide. I figure the Bourgettes are protecting someone. Mary Jane didn't want to start a rumor that would lead to gossip racing all over town.”

”Oh, for heaven's sakes!” Vida was utterly exasperated. ”Did she believe you'd put whatever it was in the paper? How ridiculous!”