Free Alpine Hero by Mary Daheim Page B

worst weakness. I didn’t make any comment, since we were now turning off Tonga Road for the ski lodge.
    The lodge is over fifty years old, but Rufus Runkel and the Norwegians had built for the ages. The solid log-and-granite exterior, soaring lobby, and flagstone floors almost seemed to grow out of the mountainside. Over the years there have been renovations and additions, including King Olav’s itself, which opened only about four years earlier.
    While the lodge’s basic decor is Pacific Northwest natural embellished by Native American masks, totem poles, blankets, and carvings, the restaurant itself evokes the blue and white of Norway’s fjords, mountains, and valleys. The overall theme is Scandinavian, and so is most of the menu. Milo chose meatballs. I went with the salmon. But first we ordered drinks.
    “We didn’t get much information out of you regarding the crime scene,” I noted after our waitress took the bar requests. “Can’t you do that in-house now?”
    “We can, but we had to wait until this afternoon,” Milo replied, lighting a cigarette. “Dale Quick had to come over from Wenatchee, you know.”
    I did know. Quick was the part-time forensics pathologist who worked for Skykomish, Chelan, and Douglas counties. His surname didn’t suit him. As Jack Mullins once put it, “Quick may not be fast, but he sure is slow.” He was, however, thorough.
    “So? Has Dale come up with anything yet?” I inquired, trying to sound artless, and failing. It didn’t matter. Milo was rarely fooled by my clumsy attempts at subterfuge.
    “Nothing startling,” Milo replied. “There’s quite a bit of foot traffic in and out of that rear area, including the facial room. Becca had six other clients already that day. Stella figured another six had used the rest room, and eleven in all had traipsed back to the changing area. That doesn’t count anybody from the optician’s, the travel agency, and the medical supply who might have used the women’s room. And in this weather, with snow and slush and water getting tracked in, footprints are hard to come by.”
    “The facial room is carpeted, isn’t it?” I hadn’t really noticed, but somehow assumed it must be so.
    Milo nodded. Our drinks arrived, and he waited until the waitress was gone before speaking again. “It’s that indoor-outdoor stuff, the same thing Stella’s got in the rest of the salon. We’ve got it, too, since the remodeling. It’s made to
not
show dirt or prints. The most we vacuumed out of it was the usual, including a bunch of cosmetic gunk.”
    “Fingerprints?” I asked hopefully after tasting my Jack Daniel’s and water.
    “Lots of those. Mostly Becca Wolfe’s.” Milo sighedinto his Scotch. “We’ve got one thing, Emma, but it’s not much help.”
    I gave Milo an interested look. “What’s that?”
    “A towel.” Milo paused. “Stella didn’t find it until this afternoon when we let her go back into the salon so she could open up tomorrow. Jack Mullins and I should have noticed, but you women are always dyeing your hair and—”
    “I don’t dye my hair,” I interrupted, shaking my shaggy brown locks.
    “You know what I mean.” Milo seemed peeved, though more with himself than with me. “Anyway, Stella took the wet stuff out of the dryer this afternoon. She couldn’t do it Monday, because we told her not to go beyond the reception area, and the laundry room is in back. She noticed that one of the towels still had stains on it. Jack had glanced in the washer and dryer, but didn’t see anything odd. Stella said they always add bleach and let it soak before they start the wash cycle. According to her, this towel had to have been thrown in after the bleach process because it was still dirty. Dale Quick isn’t sure because he hasn’t run all his tests, but he thinks the stains are human blood.”
    Milo and I both ordered a second drink. We finished our first ones while he theorized about the bloodstained towel. Wanting to