him?”
“Dodge isn’t releasing any ID until next of kin are notified.”
“Okay. I’ll do a
folano benecito
, as we call it in Spanish. That’s ‘blessed stranger’ to you. God knows who the guy is, even if I don’t. Say—what’s up with the annulment process?”
Having been married the first time in a Protestant church, my husband had to go through the process of having his union with Tricia annulled. Then we could have a Catholic ceremony or at least have our marriage blessed by a priest. That meant a lot to me, even if Milo didn’t give a hoot. He’d been raised as a Congregationalist, but his real religion was fishing. It gave him a sense of peace as well as time for introspection. If, he’d told me, hanging out with fishermen was good enough for Jesus, it was good enough for him.
“Milo looked through the papers, but he’s been busy. The process is … daunting. Don’t worry. You know how he is. The sheriff always takes his time, though once he gets onto something, he’s thorough.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Ben paused. “How are you two doing otherwise?”
“Fine, really. Tanya’s still hovering, but that’s okay. She’s dating Bill Blatt.”
“Vida’s nephew? Oh, my God! Don’t tell me that eventually even
you
are going to end up related to Vida in some weird Alpine way?”
“I never thought of that,” I said. “She’s still mad at Milo—and Rosemary Bourgette and Judge Proxmire.”
“Roger, right?” Ben didn’t wait for an answer. “They don’t teach forgiveness at the Presbyterian church? I expect better of them. And of Vida. Hey—got to go. Jorge Valdez and his six kids just showed up. Peace, Sluggly.”
“Same to you, Stench,” I said, retaliating with my childhood nickname for him.
I’d no sooner hung up when I saw Mitch come into the newsroom. I went out to meet him. “Anything new at the sheriff’s office?” I asked, empty coffee mug in hand.
“If you mean an ID on the body, no, not yet,” Mitch replied, shedding his black raincoat. “Otherwise, it’s the usual. The sports car driver is still listed in critical condition at the hospital in Monroe. Two other minor accidents in town, the usual traffic violations, one reported prowler up on First Hill, and shoplifters at both Safeway and Grocery Basket. Oh—Dodge is shorthanded. Heppner called in sick.”
I was surprised. “Heppner is never sick. He’s too ornery. No germ would dare land on his prickly hide.”
“He
is
human,” Mitch said, beating me to the coffee urn. “Gee, who ate all the cupcakes?”
“Ed Bronsky,” I informed him. “You’re lucky he left a Danish and a couple of cinnamon twists.”
“He seems like a real character,” Mitch said, picking up one of the twists. “Was he really such a bad advertising guy?”
“In a word, yes. By the way, what’s wrong with Sam?”
Mitch shrugged. “I didn’t ask. A virus, probably.”
“I suppose even Sam could succumb to one of those.”
I filled my mug and returned to my office. Deputy Heppner had never been a warm and fuzzy guy. Over the years, he’d become even more irascible. If he had caught a virus, he’d get over it on his own. That’s the way he lived.
It didn’t occur to me that it was also the way he could die.
FIVE
S HORTLY BEFORE NOON , I CALLED THE SHERIFF. “I’ M AWARE you don’t realize this is our deadline day,” I began, “but I thought I’d remind you in case you’ve forgotten to give us the body’s name.”
“Nope,” he replied in an aggravatingly complacent tone. “Do you know how many people named Fernandez live in Wapato?”
“I think you just told me his name,” I said.
“You didn’t hear that. Besides, you’d never print only a last name and the address on his driver’s license is out of date.”
“So he may not even live in Wapato?” I asked, tapping my fingernails on the desk.
“Could be. Yakima County’s close to forty percent Hispanic. As for his common
“Dodge isn’t releasing any ID until next of kin are notified.”
“Okay. I’ll do a
folano benecito
, as we call it in Spanish. That’s ‘blessed stranger’ to you. God knows who the guy is, even if I don’t. Say—what’s up with the annulment process?”
Having been married the first time in a Protestant church, my husband had to go through the process of having his union with Tricia annulled. Then we could have a Catholic ceremony or at least have our marriage blessed by a priest. That meant a lot to me, even if Milo didn’t give a hoot. He’d been raised as a Congregationalist, but his real religion was fishing. It gave him a sense of peace as well as time for introspection. If, he’d told me, hanging out with fishermen was good enough for Jesus, it was good enough for him.
“Milo looked through the papers, but he’s been busy. The process is … daunting. Don’t worry. You know how he is. The sheriff always takes his time, though once he gets onto something, he’s thorough.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Ben paused. “How are you two doing otherwise?”
“Fine, really. Tanya’s still hovering, but that’s okay. She’s dating Bill Blatt.”
“Vida’s nephew? Oh, my God! Don’t tell me that eventually even
you
are going to end up related to Vida in some weird Alpine way?”
“I never thought of that,” I said. “She’s still mad at Milo—and Rosemary Bourgette and Judge Proxmire.”
“Roger, right?” Ben didn’t wait for an answer. “They don’t teach forgiveness at the Presbyterian church? I expect better of them. And of Vida. Hey—got to go. Jorge Valdez and his six kids just showed up. Peace, Sluggly.”
“Same to you, Stench,” I said, retaliating with my childhood nickname for him.
I’d no sooner hung up when I saw Mitch come into the newsroom. I went out to meet him. “Anything new at the sheriff’s office?” I asked, empty coffee mug in hand.
“If you mean an ID on the body, no, not yet,” Mitch replied, shedding his black raincoat. “Otherwise, it’s the usual. The sports car driver is still listed in critical condition at the hospital in Monroe. Two other minor accidents in town, the usual traffic violations, one reported prowler up on First Hill, and shoplifters at both Safeway and Grocery Basket. Oh—Dodge is shorthanded. Heppner called in sick.”
I was surprised. “Heppner is never sick. He’s too ornery. No germ would dare land on his prickly hide.”
“He
is
human,” Mitch said, beating me to the coffee urn. “Gee, who ate all the cupcakes?”
“Ed Bronsky,” I informed him. “You’re lucky he left a Danish and a couple of cinnamon twists.”
“He seems like a real character,” Mitch said, picking up one of the twists. “Was he really such a bad advertising guy?”
“In a word, yes. By the way, what’s wrong with Sam?”
Mitch shrugged. “I didn’t ask. A virus, probably.”
“I suppose even Sam could succumb to one of those.”
I filled my mug and returned to my office. Deputy Heppner had never been a warm and fuzzy guy. Over the years, he’d become even more irascible. If he had caught a virus, he’d get over it on his own. That’s the way he lived.
It didn’t occur to me that it was also the way he could die.
FIVE
S HORTLY BEFORE NOON , I CALLED THE SHERIFF. “I’ M AWARE you don’t realize this is our deadline day,” I began, “but I thought I’d remind you in case you’ve forgotten to give us the body’s name.”
“Nope,” he replied in an aggravatingly complacent tone. “Do you know how many people named Fernandez live in Wapato?”
“I think you just told me his name,” I said.
“You didn’t hear that. Besides, you’d never print only a last name and the address on his driver’s license is out of date.”
“So he may not even live in Wapato?” I asked, tapping my fingernails on the desk.
“Could be. Yakima County’s close to forty percent Hispanic. As for his common
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