The Alpine Traitor by Mary Daheim Page A

told you,” I said, my more perverse side showing front and center. “Why don’t you pay attention?”
    “Man,” Milo said, “you sure are a pain in the ass when you’re hungry. Why didn’t you eat lunch?”
    “Because,” I said, trying to remain civil, “Dylan called me around noon, just as I was going out the door.”
    “Why did he call you?”
    “I thought at first he was returning my call to the motel to talk to him about buying the Bronskys’ hideous boondoggle. But I’m not sure if he got the—”
    “Hold it.” Milo put a big hand up in the air. “Platte was buying Ed and Shirley’s place? Was he crazy?”
    “Maybe,” I said. “Can I finish?”
    The sheriff nodded as he lit a cigarette and offered one to me. I declined. “Anyway, Dylan phoned me because he and his wife—Tom’s daughter, Kelsey—have taken over Tom’s newspaper empire with Tom’s son, Graham, and his wife, and wanted to add the
Advocate
to their—”
    “I know that part,” Milo interrupted. “When did he ask to meet with you?”
    “After work,” I said. “I told him I was going out of town. He all but ignored my protests and insisted it had to be this evening because he was flying back to San Francisco on Sunday.”
    “Mrs. Platte wasn’t with him, right?”
    “So I gathered. How did Dylan register?”
    “Alone,” Milo said. “He arrived Thursday, according to Minnie Harris. No reservation, just showed up in the early afternoon.”
    “How did Minnie describe him?”
    Milo glared at me. “I’m asking the questions here. How’d Platte react when you kept telling him you couldn’t meet tonight?”
    “As if I hadn’t spoken. Just kept hammering at me about getting together on his terms, selling the paper to him—them—and so forth. A total self-centered jerk. Furthermore,” I added, “he told me not to call him because he wouldn’t be in.”
    “In where?” Milo asked. “The motel?”
    I nodded. “When I told Vida about him, she insisted on going over to the Tall Timber. Leo went there, too.”
    Milo scowled. “I didn’t know Vida and Leo got into the act. I’ll have to talk to them. What happened when they went to the motel?”
    “Dylan didn’t—” My cell phone rang. “Sorry, but I’ve got to see who this is.”
    “Let them wait,” Milo ordered, but I’d already taken out my cell and recognized Rolf’s home phone number.
    I ignored the sheriff’s glare. “Rolf,” I said, “I’m being interrogated by Milo Dodge.”
    “Is that what you two always called it?” he responded. “Cute. Who gets to wear the handcuffs?”
    I turned away to avoid Milo’s annoyed expression. “I’m serious. There’s been a murder. It’s a long story, but it involves somebody who wanted to buy the
Advocate
. I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
    “I’ve nowhere to go, no one to enjoy my passionate embrace. What should I do to while away the hours?”
    “You’ve got your dog.”
    “Even my dog can’t compensate for your absence, although his brown eyes and clinging paws remind me of you.” He sighed loudly. “As you will. Maybe I’ll jump off my balcony. Or phone the hooker service.”
    I never knew when Rolf was teasing me. “I have to go.”
    There was a pause. “You said this victim wanted to buy the
Advocate
?” Rolf’s tone had become serious.
    “Yes.” I glanced at Milo, who was stubbing out his cigarette as if he wanted to burn a hole in the ashtray. “I promise to call you as soon as I can.”
    Rolf resumed his characteristic banter. “What if this is the last phone call you’re allowed to make before he arrests you?”
    “Good-bye, Rolf.” I hung up.
    Milo shook his head. “I’ll be damned if I know what you see in that guy. He’s a real bullshitter, if you ask me.”
    “I didn’t ask you,” I retorted.
    A tap-tap-tap on the door caught the sheriff’s attention. “Yeah?” he called out.
    Lori entered, bearing my meal. “Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t ask if