Denial was futile. I'm not very good at hiding my feelings. "I am. My son is being a pain in the b.u.t.t." Seeing Leo's surprised expression, I held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I understand he has tons of problems to tackle every day, and a child a.s.sumes a parent can weather his or her own little storms. After all, that's what parents do and keep their mouths shut."

"Actually," Leo said, leaning on the back of one of my visitors' chairs, "we don't. Not after they get to be about six. Otherwise, they aren't ready for the real world. I ought to know. My ex and I knocked ourselves out keeping my drinking problem a secret from our kids-right up until I fell off the stage during the Christmas pageant at St. Elizabeth's in Van Nuys. Our oldest was in sixth grade at the time. *Daddy's sick' didn't cut it."

"You have a point," I conceded. "In many ways, I didn't shield Adam from grim reality. I couldn't-not when he got old enough to wonder where his father was."

"What did you tell him?"

"That his dad lived in California." I thought back to that awkward moment when my son had just turned four. "Adam had heard of California. I showed him on a map and told him it was a long way from Portland. In fact, I hadn't known myself that Tom had moved from Seattle until I heard it a few months earlier through the grapevine at The Oregonian."

Leo nodded. "There must have been more questions when he got older."

"Oh, yes." I shook my head. "That got harder, but I was candid. When Adam was ten, I gave him the birds-and-the-bees talk. Luckily, I had Ben to help steer him through that from a male's standpoint. I told Adam then that his father and I had made a mistake, that I couldn't marry Tom because he already had a wife and children, and that it was best for us-I meant Adam and me-to stay out of Tom's life. I tried very hard to not describe his father as a villain, even though I had dark moods of resentment and anger."

"Not surprising." Leo regarded me with an inquisitive expression. "I..." He shrugged. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Hey, it's none of my business," he said, looking embarra.s.sed.

"Oh, come on," I urged. "If it isn't, I'll tell you to stick it."

Leo uttered a big sigh. "I've wondered if Tom ever offered to help with Adam. Financially, I mean."

"He called me a couple of times at first. I hung up on him. Then he wrote me a letter. I threw it away and never answered it." I made a face. "That was it-until he showed up eighteen years later."

"So Adam really had only...what? An off-and-on relationship of five or six years with Tom?"

"A bit more," I said, finally realizing why Leo was quizzing me. "I know what you're thinking. Adam and Tom saw each other maybe a dozen times at most. Not enough to really bond. Ben was the surrogate father."

"Not to mention Adam must resent those half siblings, who, in effect, held his father hostage while they lived a life of luxury and you toiled away to keep food on the table and a roof over Adam's head. h.e.l.l, Emma," he said, straightening up, "your son may be a priest, but he's still human. He could be having his own struggles with this situation."

"Maybe," I allowed, noting that Vida had returned and was casting an inquiring eye in our direction. "I guess I should make allowances for that, but Adam's apparent indifference still hurts."

Before Leo could respond, my phone rang. Figuring Ginny wasn't yet back from lunch, I picked up the receiver.

"Ms. Lord?" the cheerful voice at the other end said. "This is Diana Hines in Everett. I called Debbie Murchison last night to inquire about Ella Hinshaw. She hadn't yet gotten back from Mount Vernon, but I left a message, and she called me on her lunch break a few minutes ago."

Leo had gone back to his desk. Vida had poured herself a mug of hot water and was standing in the middle of the newsroom. "Yes, Mrs. Hines," I said, making sure my House & Home editor could hear me. "How's Ella doing?"

The question rocketed Vida into my cubbyhole. "Malingering, probably," she muttered.

"She's doing fairly well," Mrs. Hines said, "and please call me Diana. Ella's going to need help when she's discharged, though. Her right side is paralyzed, though the prognosis is good."

"I'll let Mrs. Runkel know," I said, gazing innocently at Vida, who had settled into a chair. "She'll be so pleased to hear how her sister-in-law is getting along. Thanks for calling."

"That's not all," Diana said hastily as Vida glared at me. "I asked Debbie about the Josh and Ginger Roth thing. She had actually seen Mr. Roth-she presumed it was Mr. Roth-slipping his name into the mailbox slot a week or so ago."

"She had?" I scribbled a note for Vida and pushed it across my desk. "Did she talk to him?"

"Yes," Diana replied. "She asked if he was moving in. He told her he was, along with his wife. And then he left. Debbie was coming off the night shift and was dead tired, so she went straight to her unit."

"Did you ask her what he looked like?"

"She said he was very good-looking, thirties, well-dressed, brown hair. Is that any help?"

"It could be," I said, noting that Vida was shifting impatiently in the chair. "Maybe we can show her some pictures." Thanking Diana, a second time, I rang off.

"Well now!" Vida huffed. "What's this about?"

I gave her the details. "Do you want to see Debbie?" I inquired. "You could look in on Ella."

"I already did, after work last night." Vida made a face. "Ella ought to have more s.p.u.n.k. Therapy should restore the use of her arm and leg, but dollars to doughnuts, she won't stay with the regimen. She'll expect everyone to wait on her."

"Luckily," I pointed out, "Ella has quite a few relatives in town."

Vida looked askance. "I refuse to be numbered among them."

Having no intention of getting into a Runkel family feud, and never exactly certain of how each was related to the others, I changed the subject. "What about talking to Debbie?"

"You mean to show her the picture of the victim?"

I nodded. "If she doesn't recognize him as the man at Pines Villa, get a description."

"Very well." Vida stood up. "First, I must finish *Scene'. I could use one more item."

"It looks like the squirrels have been digging in the planter boxes on Front Street," I said. "There was dirt all over the sidewalk by the one where I parked this morning."

"Nasty creatures," Vida murmured. "So destructive. And prankish. They ate almost all of my daffodil bulbs this winter. I don't know why I'm buying more to plant this fall. At least they left some of the tulips."

She started out of my office, but the mention of bulbs was a timely reminder for me. "Hey," I called out, "you never told me what Rick Erlandson said when you went over to the bank to get your money order. Did he recognize the victim's picture?"

Vida turned around and scowled. "Rick was in a meeting. I'll check with him when I go to the hospital to see Debbie. And," she added grudgingly, "Ella."

"You might check at the Venison Inn with Oren and Sunny Rhodes," I said. "The blonde known as Ginger was there with a man last week. They'll remember-Milo and I already talked to them, but we didn't have a picture of the victim with us."

Vida looked disapproving. "I prefer not going into the bar. Midafternoon drinkers are often alcoholic. And Sunny doesn't ordinarily start work until the dinner hour."

"Okay, I'll do it myself," I said. "Or send Curtis."

"Good luck with that a.s.signment." Vida stalked off.

Curtis returned shortly after she'd left. Leo was in the back shop with Kip. Ginny was languishing behind the front desk.

"I'm going to get some lunch," I informed my reporter. "I won't be gone long."

"Anything I can do?" he asked in a rather plaintive tone.

"All of your copy is in?"

He nodded. "All six inches of it."

I felt guilty for having lost confidence in his journalistic ability. "Okay. You can go to the diner and talk to Terri Bourgette. Ask if she remembers the guy who came in Thursday with Snorty Wenzel. Then stop by the sheriff's office and find out if there are any last-minute facts they've uncovered." I figured there probably wouldn't be anything new or Milo would have let me know. On the other hand, the sheriff sometimes forgot about our Tuesday deadline. "Oh-get a copy of the victim's enlarged driver's license head shot and check in with Oren Rhodes. If Sunny-his wife-happens to be there, ask her, too."

"Got it," Curtis said, all but leaping out of his chair. "Race you to the door."

I let him win. Short of firing him, the only thing I could do was try to offer encouragement and hope he improved as a reporter. After all, he'd been on the job just a few weeks, and he was young as well as inexperienced. Over thirty years ago, I'd traveled that same road. My internship at The Seattle Times had helped me adapt to the real world of newspapers-and, in the process, it had broken my heart. My mentor had been Tom Cavanaugh. At least I didn't have to worry about Curtis falling in love with Vida.

Shortly after two, my House & Home editor returned, her gray eyes snapping behind her big gla.s.ses. "Well! That was most interesting!" she declared, confronting me as I was coming out of the back shop. "Rick Erlandson and Debbie Murchison identified the victim as the same person they'd seen at the bank and Pines Villa."

"Maxim Volos," I said. "Pretending to be Josh Roth. So who is Ginger?"

Vida frowned. "Where is Ginger?"

"She's not around here." I paced a bit. "It couldn't be Kelsey, even if she is blond. I doubt very much that Kelsey could carry off an impersonation of somebody like Ginger. And Sophia's very dark. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless," I said, leaning against the filing cabinet, "Sophia was disguised. Come to think of it, Ginger had green eyes. So does Sophia. She strikes me as far more aggressive than Kelsey. You saw the so-called Ginger when she was here. What did you think?"

"Hussy. California. Not a genuine human being."

"In what way?"

"In..." Vida paused. "Oh. I see what you mean. Physical attributes as opposed to personal. Both. The hair, the makeup, the very large sungla.s.ses, the skimpy clothes-rather theatrical, I thought. I didn't speak to her but would a.s.sume she was...acting. Is that not a California type?"

"Often a cliche," I allowed. "But you're right about Ginger. It seems obvious now that she wasn't real."

"You're certain Kelsey couldn't have played the part?"

I nodded. "Very certain. She couldn't have done it unless she's the greatest actress to not yet win an Oscar, and because she'd also have to be pretending now that she's a very pa.s.sive and probably troubled young woman."

Vida stuck a stray hairpin into her unruly gray curls. "Yes...and I really should meet her. How do you think she'd respond to my request for an interview about moving here?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "First, they haven't moved yet. We've no idea if they took one look at the Bronsky house up close and ran as fast as they could back to...San Francisco, I guess. I suppose Snorty or Ed could tell us."

"They'd lie," Vida a.s.serted. "Or at least hedge. What about Sophia? A visitor's reaction to Alpine."

"That might work," I said. "We don't have room for it this week."

"Then next."

"Go ahead. Have you time to do that this afternoon?"

"My, yes," Vida said. "I've sent everything to Kip. I'll call the ski lodge to set a time." Sniffing the scent of new quarry to stalk, she went on her splayfooted way.

Curtis returned a little before three. "Same guy," he informed me, handing over the driver's license photo. "Terri Burdette and Oren Rhodes both agreed this was who they saw at their restaurants."

"Bourgette," I corrected. "Terri Bourgette." I paused to let the name sink into Curtis's skull. As usual, he seemed unfazed by the correction. Either he was used to being wrong or he chose to reject any criticism. "Okay, we've confirmed that much. Did you ask the sheriff if he'd done the same?"

"Dodge wasn't in," Curtis replied. "He was out with the bears."

"The bears?"

"Right. Those cubs. I guess they found them by some old mine shaft."

Taking a deep breath and staring at my bobble-head doll of Edgar Martinez in his Mariners uniform, I refrained from screaming at Curtis. Edgar wasn't just a two-time American League batting champion but an icon of patience at the plate. And I needed patience, lots of it, in dealing with my exasperating reporter. Finally, I looked up at him. "Can you get a picture and some information so we can put the cubs in this week's edition with its five o'clock deadline?"

"I guess. Sure. Okay." Curtis started to turn around but stopped. "Where is that mine shaft?"

"If it's the one by Disappointment Avenue," I said, getting up, "it's off of the Icicle Creek Road, otherwise known as Highway 187." I pointed to the spot on my wall map. "If it's a different old mine shaft, then it's somewhere else around here," I went on, biting off each word more sharply than the last, "but you can find that out by asking one of the deputies."

"Will do. I'm outta here."

Curtis rushed out of my office and straight to the newsroom door. "Hey!" I shouted after him. "Camera?"

"Oh, snap!" He laughed lamely and went over to his desk to get his camera. I turned my back and looked again at Edgar. Patience, patience, patience. The young and the f.e.c.kless were fraying my nerves.

"Five o'clock," Vida called to me. "Sophia wants me to join her for c.o.c.ktails at the ski lodge."

I walked to the newsroom doorway. "Are you going to order a drink with actual alcohol?"

Vida looked uncertain. "I have upon rare occasion done such a thing, as you know," she mused. "Perhaps I should, if only to demonstrate that I'm not utterly opposed to liquor. That might get us off on the wrong footing. A Tom Collins-I always remember that c.o.c.ktail. Years ago, there was a bucker by that name at the Alpine Mill. But I can't linger. I should be at KSKY by six-thirty for my program."

"Frankly," I said, "I'm surprised Sophia agreed to the interview. Did she mention if Dylan and Kelsey are really going to buy the Bronskys' atrocity?"

"She told me they were in negotiations." Vida grimaced. "I hope that involves demolition."

"We'll see," I murmured, heading into the back shop to see if Kip had enough room for a front-page picture of the bear cubs. If Curtis managed to take it.

My production manager was uncertain. "If the shot's any good," he explained, "we should run it three columns by six inches. That means the photos of Fuzzy Baugh's carving have to be cut way down, and probably the head shot of the dead guy, too."

"We need the head shot to run large enough so that anyone who's seen this guy can recognize him," I said after a moment's consideration. "Can we eliminate the pix Curtis took at the carver's studio and put Fuzzy and his porcupine on the back page?"

Kip stroked his goatee and shook his head. "The mayor won't like that."

"The mayor isn't in charge of the Advocate," I retorted. "If he b.i.t.c.hes, we'll tell him our only other choice was to hold the picture off until next week."

Having made that decision, I returned to my office and called the sheriff. He might still be with the cubs, but I wanted to make absolutely certain that we weren't overlooking anything involving the homicide investigation.

Milo was in. "Just got back," he said. "The Dithers sisters found the cubs. They ride their horses on a trail that follows Carroll Creek. One of them stayed with the cubs while the other went back to notify us."

I wasn't surprised that Judy and Connie Dithers had managed to corral the cubs and keep them from running off. The sisters led lives that were all about animals, especially the half-dozen horses they owned. One of their few diversions was playing in our bridge group, but even then, they spoke only if necessary, and I always expected them to whinny or neigh when it was their turn to bid.

"Curtis is taking a picture," I said. "He probably didn't get there until after you left."

"Didn't see him," the sheriff remarked. "Doe Jameson told me he'd been in a while ago to see if there was anything new on our murder. There isn't."

"I figured as much," I said, "but I'm trying to train Curtis in very small doses. Anything new on this Maxim Volos?"