that took up a lot of emotional space in your soul; I don’t think Lucian could have tolerated that kind of occupancy.
I shifted my thoughts to Mari Baroja. I wondered if she would have preferred to die in one of the small rooms in the Euskadi Hotel rather than in Room 42 of the Durant Home for Assisted Living. Some of their lunches must have been longer than their three-hour marriage. I thought about the effect she might have made on the old sheriff’s life had she been able to remain nestled there, the good she would have probably done, the holes in his tattered sails that could have been filled. Why hadn’t they remarried? Religion, maybe, but perhaps the clandestine weight of Charlie Nurburn had been too much. Things like that have a way of gathering momentum until there simply isn’t a way of dealing with them in one lifetime. Maybe they were two different people by then. Maybe it was that those three hours weren’t to be tampered with, that those three hours for those two people had been enough. Some fires can’t bear to dampen and can provide heat even from the distance of time.
As soon as I closed the door of the truck and fired her up, I spotted a well-worn unit of the Absaroka County Sheriff’s Department sliding down Main Street. She was driving too fast, like she always did, but didn’t stop beside me; rather, she pulled around and parked. She got out, ducked her head against her collar, and trudged through the snow with a silent determination. She stood beside the window, and I noticed a piece of folded paper in her gloved hands. I hit the button, but the window only made a brief herniated sound; it was apparently frozen shut. She raised an eyebrow, then calmly unfolded the paper in her hands and slammed the face of it against the glass. It was a fax from the medical examiner’s office in Billings, and it said that Mari Baroja had died of complications due to naphthalene poisoning.
“Mothballs?”
We both stared at the speakerphone on my desk. “It’s where the smell comes from but, for it to be toxic, it has to be ingested. It forces the hemoglobin out, causing kidney damage and other assorted niceties.” We continued to stare at the little plastic speaker cover. “Some people have a hereditary deficiency of glucose-6- phosphate dehydrogenate that makes them particularly susceptible to naphthalene poisoning. Mari Baroja was in that group. It’s usually in people of Mediterranean descent, and Basques are on the list.”
I shook my head and looked at Vic who seemed lost also. “How would someone know that?”
“The same deficiency makes them sensitive to aspirin. If somebody knew that, it would give them a pretty good indication.”
I thought about the stuffed and golden brown crow I was preparing to ingest. “There’s no chance that this could be something else?”
“None.” The little speaker was silent for a moment. “The amount in her kidneys was miniscule, but her medical records showed that the deficiency was diagnosed back in the forties.”
“What medical records?”
“The ones I had faxed up from your hospital.”
“Who was the attending physician?”
There was a brief pause as he shuffled some papers. “You know, doctors really do have the worst handwriting.” I waited. “I. Brumfield ring a bell?”
“Isaac Bloomfield.” I looked up at Vic; I had already filled her in on the Bloomfield front. “Yep, that’s the personal physician of the decedent.”
“I guess you need to go talk to him.” I thanked Bill McDermott, punched the button, and looked back up at my smiling deputy.
“I’m glad I’m not you right now.” She started to get up and head for her own office as somebody opened the front door. I assumed it was Ruby. “Sancho is out at Sonny George’s checking the Mercedes. Do you really think somebody tried to kill the Doc?”
I took a breath. “I don’t know, but the accident sure seems fishy.”
She was grinning, enjoying my quandary. “You want me to head over to that hotbed of illegal activity, the Durant Home for…?”
“Do me a favor first?” I couldn’t resist, she was looking so satisfied with herself. I stood and pulled the Post- it from my shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Call Charlie Nurburn down in Vista Verde and ask him when he’s going to be up here next?”
She took the slip of paper and frowned at me. “You don’t think we have more important things to do?”
I smiled back. “It’ll just take you a second.” She gave me the finger as I passed her on the way to Ruby’s desk. Dog was already there. “Isn’t Cady supposed to arrive sometime this afternoon?”
“All the flights from Denver have been canceled.”
I looked down at her, hoping what I had heard was wrong. “What?”
“All the flights from Denver have been canceled, and I’m not even sure if she made it there yet.”
“I better call.”
She held the receiver up to show me. “What do you think I’m doing?” I glanced at my pocket watch as Ruby watched me. “Got an important meeting?”
I continued to watch my sweep second hand. “No, but I’m expecting an explosion any time now.”
“Fuck me!” It resonated down the hallway from her office and, a moment later, my highly agitated deputy was standing beside me and requesting a private audience in chambers. I looked back at Ruby. “Let me know what’s happening with Cady.”
She smiled. “You bet.”
“He’s dead.”
“No shit.”
“But Lucian didn’t kill him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure he didn’t, he’s too busy providing his answering service.”
“She did it.”
Her eyes widened. “She did it?” I told her the story just as Lucian had told me and watched as she sat there. “Ugh.” She looked at the fax on my desk. “I guess that puts a whole new profile on our victim, huh?”
“That and, from what the foreman told me, she was worth millions.”
“Methane?”
“Yep.”
She pursed her lips. “By the way, your buddy stopped by this morning.”
“Which buddy?”
“Cecil Keller, the roustabout that shot his foreman? Big fucker with bad teeth? Nice of you to give me the heads-up on that one. He said you wanted him to come in and have a little chat.” I smiled. “Go ahead and smirk. No current wants or warrants, but I confiscated the weapon and had a little talk with him about resolving his conflicts.”
I felt the muscles pull at the corner of my mouth. “I forgot about him.”
She shook her head. “You know, I’m glad I’m around, considering the laissez-faire attitude the two previous administrations seem to have taken toward capital crimes.”
I looked at the fax. “Yep, well, I guess the salad days are over.”
She grew quiet. “I’ll go over to the home. Where are you headed?”
“I figured I’d go over to the hospital and talk to Isaac, then I guess I’ll start with the family by telling Lana that somebody poisoned her grandmother.” She started out. “Hey?” She turned back. “There were some cookies on the floor beside her bed. I know it all sounds very Dorothy Sayers, but I thought I’d mention it.”
“And I’ll check the drawers for mothballs. Maybe Mari was schnockered and thought they were breath mints.”
Isaac Bloomfield wasn’t in his room, but he wasn’t hard to find; he was snoring in the staff lounge with a large bandage running from his temple and around his ear. I sat in the chair opposite his sofa, unbuttoned my coat, and placed my hat on my knee. The old guy snored like a Husquavarna chainsaw. “Isaac?” I said it three times before he heard me.
“Walter?”
“How come you’re not in your room?”
“I’m more comfortable here.” He leaned in and took my hands. “I understand I owe you my life?”
I shrugged. “I almost got both of us killed, if that’s what you mean.”
He shook his head at my inability to accept thanks. “How is my car?”
