Part 22 (1/2)

”Dustin didn't find anything, but we'll give it another look.” He ambled over in that direction. I followed him. ”See?” he said, pointing to the ground just beyond the parking lot. ”No underbrush to trample. I guess they clear it out regularly to protect any wandering guests from nettles or devil's club or anything else that might be a nuisance. Not enough rain lately, and all these big trees protect the dirt. Oh, there are some partial footprints, but too d.a.m.ned many to give us anything. I called in the state patrol just to make sure, though. They should be here pretty soon.”

”No witnesses?”

Milo shook his head. ”Just the Andersen kid, who heard the shots. Two, just like the guy at the motel. Leo had his back turned, so he probably didn't see anything.”

I winced. ”Poor Leo!” With great effort, I tried to push him into the back of my mind. ”Who's been questioned at the lodge?”

The sheriff regarded me with an ironic expression. ”You mean how many of your Cavanaugh crew have an alibi?”

”Yes.” I looked Milo straight in the eye. ”Who else?”

He shrugged. ”Ed Bronsky? He's got a motive for shooting Leo.”

”Get real. Ed was always just one small step ahead of even a dead man when it came to hard work.”

Milo didn't comment. He looked thoughtful as he watched Jack walk toward the lodge with Heather. ”So,” the sheriff finally said, ”you think Leo knows something you don't?”

”I honestly have no idea,” I replied. ”You know Leo-he's pretty open when it comes to his past life. Over the years, he's talked about working on Tom's papers in California. But he really never knew Tom's kids except for seeing them once in a while. The last time was when they were in their early teens. I suspect that Tom was a bit guarded when it came to his family problems, especially Sandra's mental health.”

”Probably,” Milo said. ”If Leo pulls through, maybe he can tell us why he was shot. That is, if this is tied in to the motel murder.”

”It must be,” I a.s.serted. ”We can't have two homicidal maniacs on the loose.”

”Doesn't seem likely,” Milo murmured and heaved a sigh. ”I'd better go talk to that bunch myself.” The sheriff must have seen the spark in my eyes. ”No, Emma, you can't come with me. Don't even think about it. This is official business stuff.”

I knew he was right. I'd have to rely on Milo's interrogative abilities, which, I had to admit, weren't all that bad. He might conduct an investigation by the book, but he had a certain amount of instinct about people after his years in law enforcement. ”Okay,” I conceded. ”I have to call Curtis anyway.”

The sheriff loped off to the lodge. I felt somewhat uneasy about standing alone in the parking lot where Leo had been shot, so I got into my car and phoned Curtis. He didn't pick up. I got his usual glib recording that he might be working or partying or ”Who can tell with the Mayne Man?”

Idiot, I thought but left a terse message to call me. Not that it mattered whether Curtis took the photographs tonight or tomorrow as long as we couldn't use them in this week's edition, but he had to learn that a journalist's life isn't strictly nine to five.

Next, I took my chances with Bree Kendall and dialed the hospital's emergency number.

”No word yet,” she snapped when I asked if Leo was out of surgery. I thanked her and hung up. It was, I mused, unfortunate that Bree was not only too old for Curtis but dating a CPA from out of town. Otherwise, I felt they'd make a perfect match, being different kinds of jacka.s.ses.

In the rearview mirror I saw a middle-aged couple coming out of the lodge and heading for a nearby car with Oregon plates. Apparently the lodge's guests weren't being ordered to stay put. It wasn't fair to inconvenience the innocent. I hoped the Cavanaughs wouldn't be allowed that kind of freedom. In my mind, at least one and maybe all of them were suspects.

My cell phone rang. Maybe it was Curtis, finally getting around to checking his messages. Instead, it was Vida, and she was in a dither. ”Good heavens!” she shrieked into my ear. ”Leo! I can hardly believe it!”

”You know?”

”Of course.” She paused for breath. ”My nephew Billy was called back on duty an hour or so after he left the radio station. Milo is suddenly shorthanded. Where are you? What do you know? Who shot Leo? Is he out of surgery?”

I informed Vida that I was in the ski lodge parking lot and knew just as much as she did. ”The good part,” I pointed out, ”is that an excellent surgeon from New York happened to be staying at the lodge and is a.s.sisting Doc Dewey.”

”David Weinberg?” Vida said. ”Yes, I had my niece Marje look him up in her AMA directory. She a.s.sured me he's outstanding, judging from his medical credentials. Oh, I hope so!”

As usual, Vida knew more than I did, having relatives well-placed in the sheriff's and the clinic's offices. ”Milo's questioning the Cavanaughs,” I said. ”I think I'll go inside and nose around, though I don't know what I expect to learn before he's finished.”

”There's always something to learn,” Vida declared. ”In fact, I'll join you. Meet me in the lobby by the statue of Leif Eriksson.”

”Okay,” I agreed. ”By the way, bring your camera. I can't get hold of Curtis.”

”Oh, for!-” Vida stopped herself. ”Fine, I'm on my way.”

A family of four pulled into the lot as I got out of my car. They spotted the crime scene tape and stopped their SUV. A moment later, they reversed and left. I supposed I couldn't blame them. If they were tourists looking for overnight lodging, I felt like telling them they might want to skip the Tall Timber Motel as well and keep going until they got to Leavenworth.

It was almost dark as I walked into the lobby. Heather and Carlos were both behind the desk, apparently catching up on paperwork. A young couple pushed their sleeping infant's stroller out of the recently added coffee shop and headed for the elevator. One of the custodians-I recalled that he was known as Swede-was sweeping up some debris by the pay phones. Two older men were seated in comfortable armchairs, chatting in a subdued manner. Everything might have seemed normal to the casual observer. But a few cl.u.s.ters of people were standing around looking anxious and wary, as if they sought company to ward off the threat of more havoc.

There was no sign of Milo, Jack, or any of the Cavanaughs. I approached Heather, smiling at both her and Carlos. ”Where's the inquisition?” I asked, keeping my voice down.

Heather pointed to the hallway that led to the meeting rooms. ”They're in the Tonga Room. Sheriff Dodge also has some people waiting with Jack next door in Valhalla.”

I glanced at Carlos, who had stopped what he was doing to listen to us. ”Did either of you see Leo come into the lodge?”

Heather shook her head, but Carlos nodded. ”He got here around six-thirty and wanted to know if any of the Platte or Cavanaugh party were around. I told him that I thought Mrs. Cavanaugh was still in the Viking Lounge, where she'd met Mrs. Runkel. Mr. Walsh thanked me and went off to the bar. I already told Deputy Fong that. He took notes.”

According to Milo, Dustin's notes were not only always precise, but they were very legible. ”So he joined Mrs. Cavanaugh there?”

Carlos nodded again. ”Brianna said he sat down with her. Then, after she'd served them, Mr. Cavanaugh went into the bar, but he came back out a few minutes later.”

Mr. Cavanaugh. The name conjured up Tom, not Graham. ”I see,” I said absently, wis.h.i.+ng that this situation didn't bring back so many painful memories. ”Did Graham Cavanaugh leave the lodge or go back to his room?”

Carlos frowned. ”I don't know. I had to answer the phone and didn't notice.”

I knew, of course, that he'd left-if not then, a few minutes later-because he'd showed up at my house shortly after Vida's program was over. ”How long did Leo stay in the bar with Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

Carlos looked at Heather. ”What did Brianna say? Half an hour, forty-five minutes?”

Heather frowned. ”I think so.”

”Where's Brianna now?” I asked.

”In the bar,” Heather replied.

”Maybe I should talk to her,” I said. ”Are you very busy in there?”

”Well...yes.” Heather grimaced. ”Word about the shooting got out, and everybody seemed to want to be with other people. Safety in numbers, my dad told me. Of course, a few of the guests refuse to leave their rooms. It's...scary.”

A sudden thought came to me. ”Has Spencer Fleetwood been here?”

”No,” Heather said. ”Mrs. Runkel mentioned that he was leaving town right after her program. He had to go somewhere on business because he's expanding the station's power or whatever you call it.”

”Ah, yes. He told me about that.” Ever since Rey Fernandez had quit KSKY for greener-and richer-pastures, Spence had been forced to hire students from the community college. No doubt he was having his own problems with the younger generation. I sympathized. It appeared that whoever had been left in charge hadn't been paying attention to the police scanner. ”Okay,” I said, ”I'll talk to Brianna. If Mrs. Runkel comes in, tell her where I am.”

Heather looked startled. ”Mrs. Runkel is coming back to the bar?”