The Alpine Scandal Read Online Free Page B

Milo pulled up on the verge by the mailboxes.
    “What the hell’s going on now?” he demanded as he unfolded his six-foot-five frame from the vehicle.
    “Elmer Nystrom’s dead—I think—in the chicken coop.”
    Milo made a face. “That sounds like a line out of a bad movie.”
    “It’s not very good for Elmer, either,” I retorted. “Come on, follow me. Vida’s in the coop.”
    “A good place for her,” Milo muttered. “Is she clucking her head off?”
    “No.” It seemed to me that the sheriff was unusually cranky, even for a Monday morning. “Polly Nystrom doesn’t know yet.”
    “Doesn’t know what? That her old man croaked?”
    “Right. We’re waiting for you to make it official.” I’d entered the chicken area and was walking carefully. “Mind the poop.”
    “Right, right. I’m a rural type, remember?”
    I could hardly forget. Our different backgrounds had been an obstacle in our off-and-on-again romance. Being friends was better than being lovers, but it wasn’t an easy relationship.
    The chickens fluttered and cackled as Milo and I entered the coop. Vida was leaning against a rail that supported the nests.
    “Well, now,” she said. “You made good time.”
    Milo grunted. “Where’s Elmer?”
    Vida pointed. “Is Doc Dewey coming?”
    “Doc’s busy,” Milo said, getting down on his knees. “He still hasn’t gotten around to making Sung his deputy coroner.”
    “Can’t you do that?” Vida asked. “You’re the sheriff.”
    “It’s a courtesy thing,” Milo replied. “I let Doc decide when it comes to medical-related stuff.” He paused. “Hunh.”
    “What?” I said.
    “There’s blood,” Milo answered. “It’s on the straw behind his head. Maybe I should wait for Doc or the medics.”
    “A hemorrhage?” Vida asked, trying to see around the sheriff.
    “No,” Milo said, still examining the body. “More like a blow to the back of his head. Oh, hell!”
    “Don’t curse,” Vida warned. “Are you talking about…foul play?”
    Milo didn’t look up. “Maybe.”
    Vida was incredulous. “Elmer Nystrom? Who on earth would murder Elmer? He’s one of the most harmless people I’ve ever met, even if he was a bit of a nincompoop.”
    Since most of Alpine’s population fell into the nincompoop category as far as Vida was concerned, that part of her comment didn’t matter. I wasn’t acquainted with Elmer, so I couldn’t make any judgments.
    “Shovel,” Milo murmured, standing up and looking around. “Two-by-four. Anyway, something heavy and blunt.”
    But none of us saw anything that might have served as a weapon. “You’re sure he didn’t hit his head?” I asked.
    Milo frowned. “On what?” He raised his hand to touch the rafter, which was a couple of inches above his regulation hat. “Elmer was six feet, maybe six-one. He’d have to have been wearing stilts. I don’t see anything else he could’ve banged into. The platform for the chickens? I doubt it. It’s plywood. The floorboards are a possibility, but they only run down the aisle and then stop. There’s no sign of blood on them. But I’m guessing—and you know I don’t like doing that—Elmer was dragged over here and then bled out. Look at the area between the nests.”
    Vida and I both stared at the raised wooden floor. It was no more than two or three feet wide, built on top of dirt. The well-worn boards were covered with pieces of straw and chicken droppings. But the last couple of yards between the nests were comparatively bare.
    “You figure someone conked Elmer and hauled him out of sight?” I asked.
    Milo shrugged. “Could be. In fact, we’d all better move away toward the door. There may be some other evidence. C’mon, let’s hit it.”
    Vida scowled at the sheriff but obeyed. I reached the door first and opened it. Fresh air seemed like a good idea.
    Polly was on her back porch, and that unsettled me. She looked upset. “Where’s Elmer?” she called in a shrill voice.