letters started coming just a few days before Larry Petersen died.” He held up a hand to keep me from responding. “I know what you’re going to say—that it’s a coincidence. But it’s a damned strange one. You have to admit that.”
“That’s why the word ‘coincidence’ exists.” It was the only explanation I could offer.
Milo puffed on his cigarette. “Let’s hope you’re right. But it still bothers the hell out of me.”
I realized I’d let my own cigarette burn out and flipped the dead filter tip into the ashtray. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“What about the fact that these letters seem to be written by somebody who isn’t a high school dropout?”
The correct spelling and decent grammar hadn’t eluded me. “They were typed on a computer. The writer has spelling and grammar checks available. That tells me—along with the fact that the person’s literate—he or she is also meticulous. It’s someone who’s concerned about not looking foolish or stupid.”
Milo finished his coffee and set the mug aside. “And that doesn’t disturb you?”
I made a face. “Well … I suppose it should. Maybe.”
“It disturbs me.” He waved a hand. “Okay, we’re done here. I have to catch crooks who’ve committed actual crimes, like the poachers who shot Laurentis.”
I stood up. “Will you let me know what Craig says?”
“I will if it’s fit to print.”
I thanked the sheriff and took my leave.
When I got back to the office, Leo and Mitch were both away from their desks, but Vida was ready to pounce. “Well?” she said the moment I set foot in the newsroom.
I brought her up to date on the letters Milo had received, then summed up the conjectures he and I had made. “If you have any other ideas,” I said, “feel free to say so.”
“I don’t,” she admitted, “but I may.” Vida gestured at a handwritten letter on her desk. “Another pathetic creature, this one asking for advice about why her husband goes to sleep on his feet and sometimes while he’s walking. It’s signed ‘Wide Awake Worrier.’ I almost wish I required actual signatures, but of course most people don’t want everyone in Alpine gossiping about their problems. I’d never get any letters at all even if I promised anonymity only in the paper. They’d know I’d know who they were. Not that I’d ever let on, but they can’t be sure of that. Clearly, this husband needs to see a doctor. He’s a narcoleptic.”
“I hope he doesn’t drive that way,” I remarked. “I wish you’d get one from somebody complaining about a spouse or relative who writes crazy letters to the sheriff. It’s beginning to get to me, even though I try to soothe Milo by telling him it’s a nut.”
Vida frowned. “I’ll have to think about it. Right now I’ve got to find that pickled herring recipe for ‘Stumpied.’ ”
I finally got my coffee along with a glazed French doughnut. An hour later I’d gone over most of Vida’s page, all of Leo’s ads that he’d submitted so far, and the local articles Mitch had finished. He wouldn’t be done with the poaching/shooting lead until we had the latest information. The county commissioners’ meeting also had to be put on hold except for the agenda.
Just before nine-thirty I got a call from my next-door neighbor, Viv Marsden. “Emma,” she began, “didn’t you notice that big package on your porch when you got home last night?”
“Package?” I echoed. “No. I came in through the kitchen and left the same way this morning. I didn’t know it was there. Can you tell who it’s from?”
“I didn’t look.” She laughed self-consciously. “I try not to be your nosy neighbor, and in fact I wouldn’t have called you if I hadn’t seen a FedEx truck parked on the verge between our houses yesterday afternoon. I thought maybe it was a Christmas present I’d ordered for Val, but the guy went to your house. Then this morning I decided to walk to Safeway
“That’s why the word ‘coincidence’ exists.” It was the only explanation I could offer.
Milo puffed on his cigarette. “Let’s hope you’re right. But it still bothers the hell out of me.”
I realized I’d let my own cigarette burn out and flipped the dead filter tip into the ashtray. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“What about the fact that these letters seem to be written by somebody who isn’t a high school dropout?”
The correct spelling and decent grammar hadn’t eluded me. “They were typed on a computer. The writer has spelling and grammar checks available. That tells me—along with the fact that the person’s literate—he or she is also meticulous. It’s someone who’s concerned about not looking foolish or stupid.”
Milo finished his coffee and set the mug aside. “And that doesn’t disturb you?”
I made a face. “Well … I suppose it should. Maybe.”
“It disturbs me.” He waved a hand. “Okay, we’re done here. I have to catch crooks who’ve committed actual crimes, like the poachers who shot Laurentis.”
I stood up. “Will you let me know what Craig says?”
“I will if it’s fit to print.”
I thanked the sheriff and took my leave.
When I got back to the office, Leo and Mitch were both away from their desks, but Vida was ready to pounce. “Well?” she said the moment I set foot in the newsroom.
I brought her up to date on the letters Milo had received, then summed up the conjectures he and I had made. “If you have any other ideas,” I said, “feel free to say so.”
“I don’t,” she admitted, “but I may.” Vida gestured at a handwritten letter on her desk. “Another pathetic creature, this one asking for advice about why her husband goes to sleep on his feet and sometimes while he’s walking. It’s signed ‘Wide Awake Worrier.’ I almost wish I required actual signatures, but of course most people don’t want everyone in Alpine gossiping about their problems. I’d never get any letters at all even if I promised anonymity only in the paper. They’d know I’d know who they were. Not that I’d ever let on, but they can’t be sure of that. Clearly, this husband needs to see a doctor. He’s a narcoleptic.”
“I hope he doesn’t drive that way,” I remarked. “I wish you’d get one from somebody complaining about a spouse or relative who writes crazy letters to the sheriff. It’s beginning to get to me, even though I try to soothe Milo by telling him it’s a nut.”
Vida frowned. “I’ll have to think about it. Right now I’ve got to find that pickled herring recipe for ‘Stumpied.’ ”
I finally got my coffee along with a glazed French doughnut. An hour later I’d gone over most of Vida’s page, all of Leo’s ads that he’d submitted so far, and the local articles Mitch had finished. He wouldn’t be done with the poaching/shooting lead until we had the latest information. The county commissioners’ meeting also had to be put on hold except for the agenda.
Just before nine-thirty I got a call from my next-door neighbor, Viv Marsden. “Emma,” she began, “didn’t you notice that big package on your porch when you got home last night?”
“Package?” I echoed. “No. I came in through the kitchen and left the same way this morning. I didn’t know it was there. Can you tell who it’s from?”
“I didn’t look.” She laughed self-consciously. “I try not to be your nosy neighbor, and in fact I wouldn’t have called you if I hadn’t seen a FedEx truck parked on the verge between our houses yesterday afternoon. I thought maybe it was a Christmas present I’d ordered for Val, but the guy went to your house. Then this morning I decided to walk to Safeway
Similar Books
