The Alpine Menace by Mary Daheim

weren't friendly, the walls needed paint, the place didn't smell quite right. With her nose in the air she marched along beside me to the visitors’ area, where I asked the guard if we could both see Ronnie at the same time.
    We couldn't, so I went first, and was shocked to see my cousin. He wore a big bandage across his forehead, one eye was blackened, and his lower lip had been cut. He must have seen the sympathy in my expression because he insisted he was fine.
    “I can handle myself,” he asserted with a bravery I was sure he didn't feel.
    “It doesn't look like it,” I said. “Or is the other guy in worse shape?”
    Ronnie avoided the question. “I guess I said the wrong thing to Bubba,” he said with a pitiful smile. “Bubba rules.”
    “With his fists,” I retorted. “How do you really feel?”
    Ronnie's narrow shoulders went slack. “Crappy.” He took a cigarette from the pack I'd brought him—against Vida's advice—and lit up. “How's Budweiser?”
    “What?” I didn't think I'd heard him right.
    “Budweiser. My dog. Buddy, I call him. Or Bud.” Ronnie's beat-up face softened. “He's a mutt, but a real pal. I take him for walks around Green Lake sometimes. How is he?”
    “I don't know anything about him,” I confessed. “Where did you last see him?”
    “At the apartment.” Ronnie's face fell. “I took him outside before I hit the bars. Are you sure you ain't seen him?”
    I shook my head. “I'll ask around, though. I promise.”
    Ronnie brightened a bit. “Good. I can't lose Buddy. Not after losing Carol.” He paused, flicking his cigarette at a plastic ashtray. “What have you found out? Can I get out of here?”
    “Not yet,” I said with a feeble smile of my own. “We're just getting started.” I explained what we'd done so far, which didn't seem like much, especially to Ronnie.
    “What about my alibi?” he asked with a whine in his voice.
    “We'll check that tonight,” I replied, wincing at the thought of dragging Vida along to bars and taverns. “It'd help if you could remember where you were.”
    “It had to be one of four places,” Ronnie said. “Five, maybe, 'cept I don't go to Top's that often. You shoulda gone last night, 'cause it was a Friday.”
    Feeling guilty for sightseeing instead of sleuthing, I grimaced. “You mean the same crew hangs out on the same nights?”
    Ronnie yawned, then nodded. “Sure. Tonight might be different, though sometimes weekends draw all the regulars.”
    “We'll do it,” I promised. “Look, is there anything else you can tell us? Something you remember or thought wasn't important? What about suspects? Who might want to kill Carol?”
    Ronnie yawned so wide that I could see his tonsils. “Huh?”
    “Motive,” I persisted. “Had Carol quarreled with somebody? How did she get along with Kendra?”
    “Carol and I argued a lot,” Ronnie said, his eyelids drooping.
    I leaned forward in the uncomfortable chair. “Ronnie, are you all right?”
    He nodded twice, his chin almost touching his chest. “I'm just tired. I don't sleep so good in here.”
    I didn't want to think why Ronnie couldn't get a decent night's rest in his cell. “Is it better during the day?”
    This time he nodded only once. “Sometimes.” The words were muffled, his eyes were almost closed.
    “Ronnie, try to tell me—” I stopped. His breathing had become shallow, he was slumped in his chair, and I heard what sounded like a snore.
    Ronnie was sound asleep.

I CALLED FOR the guard and went back into the waiting room. Vida rose as soon as she saw me. “Shall I see him now?” She looked particularly imposing, no doubt an attempt at rising above her sordid surroundings.
    “No,” I said, irked. “Ronnie went to sleep on me. I guess I bore him.”
    “Whatever do you mean?” Vida demanded.
    “What I said. Ronnie fell asleep. Nighttime in jail isn't easy for the Ronnies of this world. He needs a nap.”
    “Heaven helps those who help themselves,”