Part 23 (1/2)

The first to go were Adam's old skis. He'd bought new ones before his a.s.signment in Alaska. Out also were two pairs of well-worn tennis shoes, a bunch of unmatched socks, my old hair dryer, my portable typewriter, and three World Almanacs dating back to the nineties. Half an hour later I found the pictures in a Nordstrom gift box with some other photos that had been taken during the last decade.

It was painful to sort through the disorganized pictures, and not just because of seeing Tom's smiling face and twinkling blue eyes. There was Adam, a carefree college student, veering from campus to campus and major to major. Ben, ten years younger, a few pounds lighter, back in the days when he was stationed in Tuba City, Arizona. And me, arm in arm with Tom, strolling the streets of Leavenworth with all the ersatz Bavarian shopfronts in the background. I looked so happy. So did he. Oh my G.o.d, I thought, what a blessing that we can't see into the future. Life hadn't treated us kindly. But then it seldom does.

I decided on three shots of Tom, none of them including me. Two were from Leavenworth, and one was from the picnic area by Deception Falls. I had the negatives, so I could make copies for myself.

Suddenly I was overcome with fatigue. I made a slapdash attempt at putting everything back into order. I returned the rest of the photos to the Nordstrom box. As I was shoving it onto a closet shelf, I dislodged a letter-size envelope that fell at my feet. Picking it up, I saw Tom's typed name and the address of the condo he'd bought after Sandra's death.

I remembered that it was a list of all the numbers I might need to know in case of an emergency. Tom had given it to me a year or so before he died. When he'd been killed, I was in such a state of collapse that I didn't remember getting it from him, let alone where I'd stashed it. Leo and Milo had handled the initial calls to the family while I languished in the hospital overnight. I set the envelope aside and hurriedly finished putting things away and hauling the garbage out to the carport.

It was going on eleven when I sat down on the sofa, staring dumbly at the envelope. Reluctantly, I opened it. Except for Tom's note at the top, the rest was typed.

”Emma,” he'd scrawled in his large, almost illegible handwriting. ”Just in case-this is a copy of the info I've given to Graham and Kelsey. Hope you never need it.”

The names and addresses included his family doctor, Charles Burke; the law firm that represented both his personal and business interests, Bowles, Vitani & Mercier; his financial adviser, Kenneth West; his four accounts at the California Avenue branch of Bank of America; his pastor at the Old Cathedral of St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception; and the names, addresses, and phone numbers for all of the newspapers he owned. If I'd ever studied the list, I didn't recall anything about it. I certainly didn't need it now. But just as I was about to put it in the trash, I stopped. It was a link to Tom, and I had d.a.m.ned few of those. I'd keep it, at least for now.

By eleven o'clock, Kelsey hadn't called and neither had Curtis. The younger generation seemed h.e.l.l-bent on trying my patience. A quarter of an hour later I was about to crawl into bed when the phone rang. To my surprise, the caller was Dylan Platte.

”Sorry to bother you so late,” he said in his grating voice, ”but I understand you wanted to talk to my wife. She's exhausted and has gone to bed.”

”Is there any chance she could meet me for breakfast tomorrow around eight at the diner off of Alpine Way?”

”I doubt it,” Dylan said. ”She's been through a terrible ordeal the past few days, and she needs to regain her strength. I expect her to sleep in. She should after all that's happened.”

He had a valid argument. Maybe lunch would work as well. ”Could you please have her phone me tomorrow morning at the office? I have some things concerning her father that I think she might want.”

”What things?” Dylan demanded sharply.

”The sentimental variety,” I said, wondering what he expected. ”Thanks for getting back to me. Good night.” I disconnected, not wanting to give Dylan an opportunity to probe further.

The phone rang again almost immediately. ”I'm home,” Vida announced. ”You weren't in bed, were you?”

”Not quite,” I said. ”Anything new?”

”Not anything startling,” she replied, sounding testy. ”Milo finished up with the Cavanaughs shortly before ten-thirty. They'd insisted on having room service bring them their dinner in the Valhalla Room. Henry Bardeen was much put out but forced to do their bidding. I'm afraid Henry's out of his depth with these people. I'd like to see them try to boss Buck around. That would be a far different kettle of fish.”

”Buck's military background would serve him well,” I remarked, wondering as I always did who bossed whom in Vida's relations.h.i.+p with the retired air force colonel.

”Having failed to elicit much from Milo, who can be so annoyingly tight-lipped,” Vida went on, ”I left and stopped by the hospital. Leo is still in ICU, but they said his condition had been upgraded from grim to mediocre.”

”I don't believe that's medical terminology,” I pointed out.

”Of course not,” Vida huffed, ”but it's much more understandable. All this *serious,' *unsatisfactory,' *satisfactory,' and *fair,' is gibberish. I also peeked in on Ella. She was awake and watching television. That's the worst thing for her. She should be up and doing, especially since she's probably being discharged tomorrow. Really, people don't use good sense. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't write an advice column, though most readers wouldn't have sense enough to do what I suggest.”

”Actually,” I said, ”that's not a bad idea. Are you serious?”

Vida hesitated. ”Well...it has occurred to me now and then. I'll think about it. Now I'm going to bed.”

Before she could hang up, I told her about Dylan's call.

”Typical,” Vida said. ”No s.p.u.n.k, a younger version of Ella. Whoever got the ridiculous idea that human beings were evolving into a better species?”

She hung up before I could deny ever having made such a statement.

I didn't get to sleep right away. I was still worried about Leo and upset over all the memories that had been stirred up during the past week. I finally dozed off around one a.m. and didn't wake up until ten after eight. I'd forgotten to set the alarm. It was a good thing that Kelsey hadn't been able to meet me for breakfast.

I didn't bother to eat or even make coffee but phoned the office while I was getting dressed to tell Ginny I'd be in by eight-thirty.

”Who is this?” she demanded, almost in a whisper.

I was puzzled. ”It's me, Emma. What's wrong?”

”Emma who?”

The question exasperated me. ”Emma Lord, your boss, the one who signs your paycheck.”

”What's the name of your son?”

”Ginny!” I shouted. ”It's Adam, of course. Have you lost your mind?”

”No,” she replied in a more normal tone. ”But you can't be too careful around here after what's happened, especially to Leo. I'm screening all calls until the killer is caught.”

”I see. Okay, fine, I'm on my way. Speaking of Leo, is there any news?”

”Vida says he had a decent night,” Ginny replied, then added darkly, ”one of us could be next.”

”Thanks for getting my day off to a happy start,” I retorted and hung up. It wasn't until I was pulling out of the driveway that I realized Ginny might have a point. What if Leo had been shot because he had some knowledge that might identify the motel victim's killer? What if the killer was some sort of maniac who thought the only way to get hold of the newspaper was to knock off the staff one by one? It seemed too farfetched, but I could almost understand Ginny's fears.

”Sorry, Ginny,” I said upon entering the front door. ”No coffee yet. I thought I was still dreaming.”

”A bad dream,” she said morosely. ”Here's a real one. Ed's here.”

”What?”

She gestured toward the newsroom. ”He got here just a couple of minutes ago. He'd heard about Leo and offered to fill in. We do need the help, of course. It's just weird having him...”

I didn't wait for her to finish the sentence but burst through the door. Sure enough, Ed was at the coffee table, chomping on a cinnamon roll. Vida was glaring at him from behind her desk, and Curtis had his face hidden behind The Seattle Times.

”G'monyema,” Ed greeted me with his mouthful. A trickle of b.u.t.ter ran off his chin. Or chins, to be precise.

”Good morning,” I responded. ”You're here to...work?” I could hardly get the word out.

Ed swallowed. ”You bet. Seems like old times, doesn't it?” He popped the last chunk of cinnamon roll in his mouth and chewed l.u.s.tily.

”Yes,” I said slowly, ”it does.” Rational thought began creeping around in my foggy brain. Ed was better than nothing-and nothing was what we had with Leo in the hospital. ”Well,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, ”you know the drill. Wednesdays are always a good time to think ahead to the next issue and figure out if there are any new revenue sources. KSKY may be upping its power to broadcast as far west as Monroe. You should probably look into that market, since it's fairly new territory and we have an understanding with Fleetwood about co-op ads.”

Ed swallowed again and looked surprised. ”We do?”

”Yes. The Monroe Monitor comes out on Tuesdays, so we already have the most recent edition. Check with Ginny.” I forced a smile as I poured coffee and grabbed a cinnamon roll before Ed devoured all of them. Turning to Curtis, I spoke in a frosty voice. ”Could you please come into my office?”

He peeked out from behind the Times's sports section. ”Me?”