Part 29 (1/2)

”My sister, Kelsey, has disappeared,” Graham said without emotion. ”I'm worried about her.”

”Okay,” Milo said wearily. ”Come over to that desk at the end and fill out a missing person's report. Doe, you handle this one.” As the deputy opened the gate for Graham, Milo turned to Vida and me. ”What are you two doing here? Posting bail for your nitwit reporter?”

”You're not taking Curtis seriously, are you?” I said.

”I think he belongs in the psych ward,” Milo retorted. ”Why the h.e.l.l did you hire him in the first place?”

”Desperation,” I replied. ”Qualified candidates are hard to find because the written word is an endangered species. Did Curtis come to you or did you go after him?”

”I thought maybe I'd fish Sawyer Creek for a change. I headed up the ski lodge road, but it was still kind of early, and I was hungry, so I stopped at the lodge's coffee shop to grab a bite and get coffee to take along. Your loony reporter was there talking to one of the waitresses.” Milo made a face. ”The next thing I knew, he cornered me before I could go up to the counter. He said we had to talk. We went into the lobby, and he told me he'd killed Volos. Before he could say anything else, I hauled his a.s.s in here. The kid had a real jumbled story-he should be writing fiction. But he confessed, so I had no choice. If nothing else, he's a danger to himself.”

I was still skeptical. ”Curtis is a flake, but I've never thought of him as a nutcase.”

”Whatever.” Milo waved a hand at Vida and me. ”Go home. There's nothing you can do here. I have to keep the little creep overnight because I can't formally charge him until morning, when the judge shows up. If that Foxx woman wants to post his bail, she's out of luck.” The sheriff picked up the phone and glanced at Graham, who was filling out the missing person's form while Doe sat in silence. ”I'm bringing in some extra help. If I have to, I'll ask the state patrol for some dogs to track down Kelsey-if, in fact, she's really missing. G'bye.” He turned his back on us and finished dialing. ”Sam,” Milo said into the phone, ”you're up first for extra duty. Get your a.s.s in here ASAP.”

Vida and I exchanged baleful glances. I'd expected her to argue about leaving, but she kept quiet and joined me as I started for the door.

”Now tell me about Graham,” she demanded as soon as we were out on the sidewalk.

I hesitated, taking in Front Street with its scattering of vehicles pa.s.sing by, a handful of pedestrians strolling along past city hall, the courthouse, the Clemans Building, the Burger Barn, and the Bank of Alpine. Some of the red, white, and blue bunting had already been hung from the power poles in preparation for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. I smelled sawdust from the mill and diesel from a big truck that rumbled past us. Raising my head, I could see the buildings and homes that marched up the steep slope of Tonga Ridge all the way to the tree line. Church spires mingled with tin roofs, and brick with shake exteriors and aluminum siding. I managed to make out my own little log house, snug against the evergreens. The view seemed so normal, though my private world did not.

”It's crazy,” I finally said to Vida. ”Somebody appears to have been impersonating Graham. He was in New York until this morning. I don't know what to think or believe anymore. I've lost my bearings.”

”Temporarily derailed,” Vida a.s.serted.

”I hope so.” I smiled ruefully. ”Do you want to come back to my place and have dinner?”

Vida pondered the renewed offer. ”No, I think not.” She gazed at the iron post clock by the bank. ”It's almost seven-thirty. I'll fix something at home. Thank you just the same. I'll phone you later, and you can finish filling me in. I must confess, I don't know what to think about all this, either. Most mystifying.”

I didn't coax. Frankly, I needed some peace and quiet in order to sort out the most recent unsettling events. Five minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen, wondering if I really felt like cooking any of the meal I'd planned for two. I'd been shortchanged all day on food, but I had no appet.i.te. An apple would hold me until I got hungry again.

By nine o'clock I still didn't feel like eating. I checked my e-mail, but there was no word from Adam or Ben, only the usual messages soliciting my business for everything from floral arrangements to horoscope forecasts. What I really needed was a swami who could figure out what was going on with the so-called Cavanaughs.

Vida still hadn't called, though I figured that she was catching up with some of her other fruitful sources. I refrained from contacting Milo, a.s.suming-maybe incorrectly-that he'd let me know if there were any new developments, such as Curtis claiming to have been reincarnated after his career as Jack the Ripper.

Just as twilight was turning to dusk, I heard an odd sound that seemed to come from outside. I looked through the front window but saw nothing except for an elderly man from down the street walking his collie. I heard the noise again a couple of minutes later and went to the kitchen. All was calm when I gazed from the window facing my backyard. Cautiously, I opened the door to the carport at the side of the house. Nothing.

Maybe I was starting to imagine things, I thought. Reality beckoned in the form of my full garbage container under the sink. I collected the plastic bag and went out the back way to the trash can beyond the woodpile.

The lid lay on the carport floor, and some of the contents were strewn haphazardly on the ground. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, especially in the colder months, when wildlife was forced to seek food below the snow line. Deer, cougars, bears, wolves, and other animals were often sighted in town. With their habitat dwindling from relentless human encroachment, they were even seen occasionally in big cities, such as Seattle. I picked up the debris and put it back in the can.

I was about to go inside when I saw something move in the shadows near a big Douglas fir. It wasn't an animal but a man. I froze, aware that I had more to fear from another human than from the forest creatures. Curtis's confession aside, I was sure that a killer still lurked in Alpine. I might be next on the hit list.

Paralyzed, I watched the man walk slowly toward me. Then I gasped in relief. The long gray hair and beard were familiar. It was Craig Laurentis, the reclusive artist whose painting hung in my living room. I hadn't seen him in almost a year. Surprised, I waited in the carport, watching him approach with his peculiar, unhurried grace.

”Emma Lord,” he said when he came within ten feet of me.

”Craig Laurentis,” I responded, smiling at him as he stopped at the edge of the carport. I could've sworn that he wore the same ragged tank top and pants he'd had on when he rescued me after a nasty fall the previous August. ”I never tire of looking at your painting Sky Autumn.”

”Good.” He regarded me with his intense green eyes. ”The cubs came calling.”

”What? Oh!” I looked at my garbage can. ”Of course. I didn't think of that. Where are they?”

He made a slight gesture with his hand. ”Somewhere by those cedar trees, probably the one that was damaged by lightning last February.” His voice was rather hoa.r.s.e, a quality I'd noticed on our first meeting, when I had guessed that he seldom spoke to other humans.

”Are you going to raise them?”

He shrugged. ”If they stay. That's up to them.”

”Can I get you something?” I asked.

Craig shook his head. ”I don't need anything. But I have something for you.”

I was puzzled. His hands were empty. ”What is it?”

”A girl,” Craig replied. ”She says her name is Kelsey. She wants to see you. Shall I call to her?”

I was nonplussed. ”Well...yes, of course.”

Craig whistled, long and low. I stared across the sloping expanse of my backyard, but daylight was fading fast. I couldn't see Kelsey or the bear cubs. After what seemed like a long time but was probably less than a minute, a hunched figure emerged from behind a fallen log just a few feet beyond my property line. Kelsey moved uncertainly, slowly, and, it seemed to me, fearfully, as she approached the carport.

I turned to Craig to ask if she was okay. But he'd vanished like a wraith, moving noiselessly across the gra.s.s on bare feet while I focused on Kelsey.

She faltered a few feet from where I was standing. ”Ms. Lord?”

I hurried to meet her. ”Yes, of course. How are you?” I asked, putting an arm around her.

”Scared. Tired.” She leaned against me as I led her inside.

While I settled her on the sofa, I noticed that her short-sleeved linen blouse and matching cropped pants were dirty. Feathery maple seedpods, green fir needles, and cl.u.s.ters of small cedar cones clung to her clothes and even to her hair. ”Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?”

Kelsey shook her head. ”I just want to rest. I'm so tired.”

I sat down in the armchair by the hearth. Give her time, I admonished myself, sensing that she was in a very vulnerable state. Kelsey huddled at the end of the sofa, staring at the floor.

”That painting behind you was done by Craig Laurentis,” I said after a long pause.

She lifted her chin but didn't turn around. ”Who?”

”The man who brought you here,” I replied. ”He's an artist.”

”Oh.” She seemed unimpressed.

”How did you run into him?” I asked.

Kelsey frowned, as if she couldn't quite remember. ”Ah...” She hesitated, running her fingers through her blond hair and dislodging a couple of maple pods. ”I was in the woods,” she finally said, closing her eyes as if she had to visualize where she'd been and what she'd done. ”I ran away from the lodge.” Opening her eyes, she looked at me in puzzlement. ”I was scared, really scared.”

”What scared you?” I inquired in a matter-of-fact voice.

”I heard Dylan and Sophia talking in the other room,” she replied slowly. ”They didn't know I was there. They thought I'd gone to lunch in the coffee shop, but I hadn't because I'd forgotten my key card to the suite, so I had to find it in the bedroom. Then I hid until they left.”