The Alpine Legacy by Mary Daheim Page B

pretty ghastly.”
    “For you,” I remarked.
    “For her.” His brown eyes conveyed the merest hint of reproach. “I didn't know her, but she must have been a troubled soul.”
    “Tell me about what you found,” I said. “I didn't beg Milo for the details. He was in a foul mood.”
    Father Den sighed and crossed his legs. “Dodge told me not to talk about any of this. But I suppose he meant idle gossip.”
    I saw the glint in Den's eyes. “This isn't idle gossip,” I said with a straight face. “This is my job.”
    Den nodded once. “Then it's okay. Besides,” he added, “you're a member of my flock. Dodge isn't.” He smiled a bit slyly before starting his recital. “Crystal was floating in the hot tub facedown. At first, I thought she might have passed out. I grabbed her by the ankle and somehow managed to get her up onto the deck. That's when I saw the cuts on her wrists. Of course I knew right away she was dead. I gave her the Sacrament of the Sick, though I've no idea how long she'd been gone.”
    I refrained from commenting that Crystal would have scoffed at Father Den's administration of what used to be called the Last Rites. While the sacrament was sometimes given to individuals who weren't terminally ill, the new name struck me as ironic, especially in a case like Crystal's. I suppose the mutation was intended to give hope; it seemed to me that it was meant to avoid the suggestion of death. Crystal, of course, wouldn't have cared if Den had poured a bucket of tar over her head.
    “Milo told me you went there to talk to her about the clergy's position on the shelter,” I said.
    Father Den nodded. He's about my age, a pleasant-looking man whose dark hair is beginning to show signs of male-pattern baldness. “After I saw the special edition of
Crystal Clear
the other day where she berated youover not berating me, I thought about it and prayed on it. Then I decided to extend a hand. I'd have preferred a left hook,” he added in his wry manner, “but the Holy Spirit told me it was a bad idea.”
    “What were you going to tell her?” I asked, relaxing a little for the first time since I'd gotten out of bed. Father Den has that kind of effect on me. He is always the calm place in the eye of the storm.
    “Oh—you know, that we're trying to sign a lease for the old Alpine Hotel, but the Californians who bought it a while back are involved in some kind of litigation.” He paused and smiled. “Californians usually are, aren't they? Anyway, all I could tell her was the truth, which I assume she already knew but ignored in her crusade for the shelter.”
    The Californians were actually very nice people who had planned to renovate the old hotel on Front Street. They had run out of money early in the project, but hadn't yet decided whether to sell or lease the property. Like the former Doukas home, the hotel required extensive repairs, but it had been rewired and replumbed, which were big-ticket items. It was also much larger than the house on First Hill.
    “What did you do after you hauled Crystal out of the hot tub?” I asked.
    Father Den grimaced. “I went inside—the back door wasn't locked—to find the phone. I looked all over the place, but it turned out the portable was right there on the deck. I hadn't seen it.”
    “No wonder. It must have been an awful shock,” I commiserated.
    “Exactly.” Father Den cleared his throat. “I called for help, and then I stayed out there on the deck with the body and prayed. Milo showed up about fifteen minutes later, along with some of the other emergency people.”
    “Any sign of a struggle?”
    Den grinned. “This sounds like an interview.”
    “It is.” I grinned back. “Remember, it's my job.”
    “You're not taking notes.”
    “I don't need to so far. These kinds of facts stick.” At some point, I would get out my notebook and a pen. Unlike Vida, who absorbs and retains information like a sponge, I had trouble remembering details. “As I was