Free The Alpine Yeoman by Mary Daheim Page B

name is, isn’t local, but we should at least find out if he’s dead.”
    “Will do. Otherwise, we’re good to go.” Kip paused. “I take it you don’t have ID on the corpse in the river?”
    “No. It’s aggravating, but there’s nothing we can do about that.”
    “Isn’t that sort of weird?” Kip asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Okay. I think I get it. The sheriff’s not talking.”
    “Right. If that happens, I’ll let you know.” I rang off.
    Milo was grinning. “You talking in code?”
    I got off the sofa. “My staff—and Spence—have a problem figuring out why you don’t unload about your job when you come home.”
    “I just did.”
    “But it’s not news. Venting doesn’t count.” I went into the kitchen to peek at the chickens. They still weren’t quite done. “Five minutes,” I called to Milo as I turned on the asparagus.
    “Good. I missed lunch.”
    As the days ahead would prove, there was a lot more missing in Alpine than the sheriff’s lunch.

SIX
    M ILO ATE AN ENTIRE GAME HEN BY HIMSELF . T HAT WAS no surprise. Despite his expressed displeasure over being forced to eat rice instead of potatoes, he was placated by the blackberry pie. Or almost.
    “No ice cream?” he asked, looking disappointed.
    “If you want ice cream, why don’t you tag along with Bill Blatt when Vida treats her nephew so she can inveigle information about your latest investigation?”
    “And have her
not
speak to me? That’d be a relief, I suppose. I’m surprised she doesn’t make Bill sit in a booster seat.”
    “Maybe that’s because he’s almost six feet tall.”
    “Five-ten,” Milo said, loading his fork with pie. “That’s what it says in his personnel file.”
    I glanced at my watch. “It’s going on eight. Kip hasn’t called with any more problems, so the paper must be almost set to print.”
    “I don’t know why,” Milo said after eating another mouthful of pie, “if you print the paper tonight, you can’t get it on the street in the morning instead of the afternoon.”
    “Because it takes a while to print,” I replied. “I can’t afford to hire drivers or carriers to deliver a morning paper. That’s why. Marius Vandeventer had to send the paper to a printer inMonroe, and so did I before we started our own back shop operation. That’s also why we have a five o’clock deadline. Unless, of course, there’s breaking news before the paper is ready to go to press.”
    Milo reached out to brush at my lower lip. “Crust crumb. Makes sense. Maybe I should try to remember that about your deadlines.”
    “You won’t.”
    He shrugged. “Probably not.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I suspect you
do
know about our deadlines?”
    Milo’s expression was innocent as he devoured more pie. “No clue.”
    I didn’t believe him, but I decided not to argue. I concentrated on my pie, then suddenly remembered Janie Engelman’s visit. “She thought Fred might like earning extra money as your handyman,” I explained. “You told me he did a decent job when he used to spend the weekends in jail.”
    “He was okay,” Milo said without enthusiasm. “Frankly, Fred’s kind of an alarmist. He sees problems that don’t exist.”
    Before I could respond, the doorbell sounded. “I’ll get it,” I volunteered. “It must be Tanya.” I took a last bite of pie and hurried out to the living room.
    I was right. Tanya stood on the porch with a young woman I didn’t recognize. “Hi, Emma,” my recently acquired stepdaughter said. “Dad’s here, right? I saw his Yukon in the driveway.”
    “Yes,” I said. “We’re late with dinner tonight.”
    Tanya beckoned for her companion to follow her. “This is Deanna Engstrom. We went to school together when I lived here.”
    Deanna put out a plump, freckled hand. “Hi, Mrs.… Dodge.”
    “Hi, Deanna.” Her grasp felt very soft and tentative.
    Milo came into the living room, saluting Tanya. “Hi, kid,” he said before looking at Deanna. “I think I