The Alpine Journey by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online

dangle.
    “That Audrey and Gordon were separated. The children presented a remarkably united front.” Displeasure radiated from Vida. “It was like a conspiracy.”
    “Maybe,” Bill suggested as the drawl resurfaced, “they had other things on their mind.”
    Vida shook her head, causing the black roses to bob. “The estrangement is crucial information. I should have been informed.”
    Bill's broad face appeared amused. “I don't think it was any secret, ma'am. According to half the town, the missus planned to file for divorce shortly.”
    “Divorce!” Vida cried, as if she'd never heard the word before. “Runkels don't divorce!”
    I must have looked puzzled. Rett Runkel was divorced, and even in Alpine, a couple of other Runkels had been married at least twice. “Tell us about cause of death,” Isaid, steering the conversation around to what I hoped might be a less volatile topic.
    Bill again assumed his professional air. “It baffled me at first. Death resulted from a severe blow to the head, causing extensive damage to the lining of the brain. I won't go into the details, but there were three such blows in all, which indicates that they were dealt in rage. It's very likely that the first one didn't kill the victim, but we can't be sure. Our next problem was to identify the weapon.” Bill's face turned ironic. “We couldn't. It was heavy and pointed and almost certainly made of metal. The closest we could come was something like a harpoon.”
    I shuddered. “Are you saying that Audrey Imhoff was killed by a blow—or was actually stabbed?”
    “Both, in a way,” Bill said slowly. “There was a deep puncture as well as fracturing of the skull. The killer either took the weapon with him—or her—or threw it into the ocean. If it had been the latter, we hoped it'd wash up on the tide. But it didn't, and we had to send for divers. So far, no luck. There's too much kelp in that area, for one thing. Whatever it was, it could have gotten tangled and swept away in just about any direction.”
    “Except the shore,” Vida put in.
    Bill shrugged. “We can't even be sure of that. If a tourist is walking the beach and finds an odd object, he—excuse me again—or
she
might pick it up.
Or
ignore it. We haven't given up on finding the weapon, but we're not optimistic.”
    “My, my.” Vida was resting her chin on her hands. “It sounds rather vicious, doesn't it?”
    “That, as well as premeditated,” said Bill, passing the coffee carafe around. “Whatever was used probably wasn't the sort of thing you casually carry out to a dock in the middle of the night.”
    “You've established time of death?” I asked after thanking Bill for the coffee warm-up.
    Bill gazed at me with a bemused expression. “This is one of those cases where, if we had to go by body temperature, rigor, and the usual scientific evidence, we'd come up with about a four-hour time frame. The victim had been swimming in the ocean, which isn't exactly warm; it was night, with the temperature down in the low fifties; she was outdoors. You get the picture.” He looked up as a big, rather stiff-legged collie came into the room. “Sit, Spock,” Bill commanded the dog. Spock continued to amble around the room.
    “He's old and deaf,” Bill said. “Ignore him when he starts sniffing your shoes. Where was I? Oh—but in this case, we learned the possible parameters from the victim's habits, and from Derek Imhoff 's evidence. If his mother went swimming between one and two A . M., and he went out looking for her around eight-thirty, then she'd probably been killed between one-thirty and two-thirty A . M. That jibes with our conclusions, but it does narrow the window of opportunity.”
    Vida gave a short nod. “What you're saying is that once Audrey finished her half-hour swim, she wouldn't lie around the dock. Thus her killer was waiting for her.”
    “Probably,” Bill agreed. “The family members said that as far as they knew, no one ever