Part 25 (1/2)

It wasn't yet twelve-thirty, so I decided to walk the four blocks to the hospital. Leo was on the second floor. As I got out of the elevator, I steeled myself, not knowing what to expect.

It could've been worse, I suppose, but the IVs and the oxygen mask were enough to unsettle me. Leo was propped up in bed with his eyes closed. The lunch tray sat on a table next to the bed. Since the steel lids were still on all of the items, I gathered that he hadn't tried to eat anything yet.

”Leo?” I said softly, approaching the bed.

He stirred slightly and mumbled something I couldn't catch. His usual leathery skin was pale, and somehow he looked as if he'd already lost weight. I had a sudden urge to cry but stiffened my spine once more and pulled the single visitor's chair closer to the bed. As I sat down, I wondered if Vida had actually spoken to him. If anyone could get a response out of a semiconscious patient, it'd be her.

I sat quietly for five minutes, saying a couple of prayers and wondering if Leo would sense my presence and wake up. Suddenly I was hungry, having skipped both breakfast and lunch. I lifted the lid off one of the smaller bowls: tapioca pudding, lumpy and unappetizing. I continued to sit and stare around the room. The other bed was empty. Disinfectant hung on the air, along with the odor of food that probably smelled better than it tasted.

Five minutes pa.s.sed. Leo was still breathing, but otherwise he showed no sign of life. I supposed I couldn't expect much more. Feeling useless, I got up and went out to see Debbie at the nurses' station.

”I'd like to leave a note for Doc Dewey and Dr. Weinberg,” I said.

”Dr. Weinberg was leaving for Portland today,” Debbie informed me. ”His son lives there. I can give Doc a note, though.”

”Oh...I'll tell him myself,” I said. ”By the way, Leo's asleep and hasn't touched his lunch.”

Debbie seemed unmoved by my report. ”That's fine. Trays are delivered whether the patients want them or not. Mr. Walsh needs to rest. I'll check on him shortly.”

I felt as if I were being dismissed. But as I was about to walk away, she smiled at me. ”I know this sounds stupid, but I can't get over the fact that I actually saw the man who was murdered at the motel. And now Mr. Walsh gets shot.” The smile had disappeared. ”It's horrible, isn't it? I feel spooked. I wonder what happened to his wife.”

”His wife?” I echoed. ”You mean the bogus Mr. Roth's wife?”

Debbie nodded. ”Mrs. Runkel said you met her in your office. I only saw her once, from a distance. Is she still in town?”

”I don't think she ever existed,” I said. ”That is, there was no Ginger or Josh Roth. That's all in today's Advocate. The dead man's body was never claimed by anyone. His real name was Maxim Volos.”

Debbie's round face looked puzzled. ”I don't get it. If this Ginger came to see you and I met Josh, what's that all about? I mean, the dark-haired woman I saw may not have been the man's real wife, but she must have known him well enough to be sorry he'd gotten killed.”

”She may have left town before-” I stopped. ”Did you say a dark-haired woman? I didn't realize you'd seen her.”

”From my apartment,” Debbie replied. ”I looked outside after I got home that day and saw him getting into a car with this woman. I a.s.sumed she must be the wife-or the pretend Ginger.”

”You're sure she was dark?”

Debbie's laugh was soft. ”Definitely. She had wonderful curly black hair. Of course I didn't see her face.”

”Interesting,” I murmured. ”My Ginger was blond.”

Debbie's hazel eyes widened. ”Two pretend wives? No wonder he got killed!”

”I think maybe only one,” I said. ”I also think maybe I've been an idiot.”

”What?”

”Never mind,” I said, seeing that three of the patients' rooms had their call lights on. ”You've got some folks who need help and I have to get to work. I'll explain if and when I figure it all out. Give Leo my love.”

I hurried away from the hospital, convinced that Debbie Murchison had seen Sophia Cavanaugh with the dead man. Going down Third Street, I crossed at the corner and headed along Front to the sheriff's office. Milo had just returned from lunch and was standing behind the counter talking to Dwight Gould.

”Care to hear one of my wacky ideas?” I asked.

”Sure don't,” the sheriff replied. ”I'm on my way to check out those bear cubs.”

Exercising my tattered self-restraint, I decided it was best to humor Milo. ”Where are the cubs now?” I inquired, leaning against the counter.

”Up by one of the old mine shafts,” Milo replied. ”That Laurentis guy is trying to coax them to wherever the h.e.l.l he lives. This puts me in a bind because it's illegal to feed wildlife. Still, the cubs need help.”

”Curtis should get another picture,” I remarked. ”Is it okay if he meets you up there?”

”I don't give a d.a.m.n, but Laurentis may not like it,” Milo replied. ”I've got a sneaking suspicion these cubs aren't the first bears he's taken on. If that's the case, he's asking for trouble, not just for himself but for everybody else, and even the bears. There's an old saying, *A fed bear's a dead bear.'”

”They're d.a.m.ned unpredictable,” Dwight Gould put in. ”d.a.m.ned near so as humans. That's the problem. Bears get used to being fed, go looking for a meal from some stranger, scare the h.e.l.l out of whoever, and get themselves shot. Just like this mama bear. I blame Gus Lindquist for panicking. Crazy fool. He should've known better.”

I understood the problem. ”Do you know where Laurentis lives?” I asked.

Milo shook his head; Dwight snorted. ”He's not handing out calling cards,” the deputy said. ”Still, it's got to be around that mine shaft somewhere. I'll bet he's got a gun, too.”

Lori Cobb entered the office, apparently returning from her lunch hour. Milo nodded at her. ”I'm outta here. I should be back in an hour or so.” He came through the swinging gate in the counter and walked right by me.

”Hey!” I called, following him to the double doors. ”You're going to hear my wacky idea if I have to get in the Grand Cherokee and go with you.”

With an impatient sigh, Milo stopped, one hand on the door. ”Make it quick. What is it?”

”I think Sophia Cavanaugh was somehow involved with Maxim Volos.” As concisely as I could manage, I told the sheriff what Debbie Murchison had said.

Milo frowned. ”She's sure it was Sophia?”

”No,” I admitted. ”She doesn't even know her, but it was a woman with lots of curly black hair. Who else could it be, at least as far as this case is concerned? It makes sense. I have a feeling Sophia may also have been the blond Ginger who came to see me.”

Milo looked skeptical. ”You couldn't tell they were the same person?”

”Not at the time,” I said. ”I mean, this Ginger was probably wearing a wig, had dark sungla.s.ses, and plenty of makeup. It did strike me that she was overdone, like something out of Hollywood.”

”Woman's intuition,” the sheriff muttered. ”Jeez.”

”Okay, don't take me seriously,” I snapped, ”but I'm not seeing you pull any rabbits out of a hat. You'd rather chase a couple of bears around the side of Tonga Ridge.”

”I'd rather be fis.h.i.+ng,” Milo stated. ”It's a nice day. The river's clear, running almost green down about a half-mile. I'd like to be able to leave an hour early and head out to try my luck with some rainbows, fish until almost dark while the mist rises out of the meadows.”

”Dream on,” I retorted, pus.h.i.+ng open the other door. ”And don't let those bears take a bite out of your b.u.t.t. Not that you couldn't afford to lose it.”

I walked swiftly along Front Street to the Advocate office. Ginny, still looking suspicious, handed me my phone messages. ”Ed went to lunch with Mr. Wenzel,” she explained, ”so he may be a little late getting back.”

”Surprise.” I sighed and went into the empty newsroom and on to my desk. The first message was from Grace Grundle with the notation ”Re: kittens.” Grace had probably befriended more feline companions to add to her already large menagerie. No doubt she had pictures. Bad ones. I moved on to the next message.

It was from Rolf Fisher. He'd called from the AP office. I a.s.sumed he'd heard about Leo. I hesitated before dialing his number. It'd been five days since I'd had to cancel my weekend with him in Seattle. I hadn't heard a peep from him since. On the other hand, the phone worked both ways. With a resigned sigh, I called him.