The Alpine Traitor by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online

handbag. There was no need for privacy. In Alpine everybody knows everybody else’s business. Secrets are almost as scarce as old-growth trees. “Take a look.”
    Out of habit, Milo examined the brown wrapping paper without touching it. “No return. Hunh.” He used a letter opener to lift the lid and the tissue paper. Dwight and Lori were watching. “Bracelet?” the sheriff said.
    I nodded.
    “Pretty,” Lori noted. “Are those real diamonds?”
    “Probably,” I said.
    Milo looked down at me from his six-foot-five advantage. “You’ve already mauled this, I suppose.”
    “Yes.”
    “Then you show me the card.”
    I was tempted to say he could damned well pick it up himself, but I complied. “You can read, can’t you?” I snapped as I held it up for him.
    “As long as the words are short,” he retorted. Milo grimaced as he tried to decipher the handwriting. “Did a chicken write this? It’s not legible.”
    “It is to me,” I said and quoted from unhappy memory. “Tom Cavanaugh, to his lovely, loony wife.”
    The sheriff shook his head. “So how did you end up with it?”
    I sighed wearily before relating the story. Milo seemed mildly surprised; Dwight looked indifferent; Lori appeared intrigued.
    “Nasty,” she declared. “Not very professional, either.”
    “I agree,” I said.
    “So what do you want us to do?” Milo asked. His hazel eyes glinted faintly, as if, like Curtis, he thought this was somehow amusing.
    “Nothing at the moment,” I said, “but I don’t want it anywhere near me. I’m going to Seattle for the weekend.”
    The glint in Milo’s eyes faded. “A hot date with Rolf?”
    “A cocktail cruise,” I said without expression. My off-and-on romantic relationship with the sheriff had been off for a long time. But I was very fond of him and never wanted to hurt his feelings. He deserved better. In fact, he deserved a lot better than what I could give him.
    “I’ll put this in the evidence room,” he said. “You aren’t going to consider selling, are you?”
    “Of course not.” I made a face. “But their tactics are unsettling. I suppose it’s only natural that Tom’s children might be a little strange, given their mother’s mental and emotional instability.”
    Milo opened the gate in the counter. “I’ll walk you out.”
    I shot him a puzzled glance. “Okay.”
    On the sidewalk, he stopped just out of viewing range from his office. “That note—you sure it’s Tom’s handwriting?”
    Every once in a while Milo shows an unexpected sensitivity. “It looks like it,” I said glumly. “His penmanship was deplorable but distinctive.”
    Milo nodded once. “Still, it’d be easy to change a number.”
    That hadn’t occurred to me. I realized what the sheriff was trying to say and smiled wanly. “You mean Tom wrote that before I knew him.”
    “Maybe.” Milo shrugged. “Do you know when he got married?”
    “In 1970,” I replied. “A year or so before I met him when I was an intern at
The Seattle Times.
”
    “So,” he said, keeping an eye on what might have been an unsecured load on a pickup truck that was moving along Front Street, “changing a 7 to a 9 wouldn’t be hard.”
    “You’re right,” I said. “Thanks.” In another uncharacteristic gesture, I stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Have a good weekend. Catch some trout.”
    “I’ll try.” The sheriff patted my shoulder awkwardly before loping over to his Grand Cherokee. Before crossing the street at the corner, I turned around to see him pulling away from the curb. The weird ga-goo-ga siren that he’d bought online sounded as he drove south on Front Street. Apparently he’d decided to stop the pickup. The driver’s weekend was off to a bad start.
    Fifteen minutes later I was driving my Honda west on Highway 2 with the windows down, sniffing the evergreen air and catching glimpses of the Skykomish River as it narrowed and tumbled over the rapids near the road. My spirits began