'Come to think of it, though, I wouldn't have thought he'd have anything to do with another woman, either, so I guess you can't set much store by my opinions.'
A door opened and closed somewhere else in the house. Moments later, Inge Didriksen propelled her creaking, wheeled walker across the living-room floor and into the kitchen. Else raised a cautioning finger to her lips and shook her head.
'Shhhhh,' she whispered. 'Don't you tell her. Let me do it.'
But Inge's hearing was far better than Else knew, or else she had come much closer to the kitchen than either of us realized.
'Don't tell me what?' Inge asked sharply, pushing over to the kitchen counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee.
A small wire basket-a pink-and-white webbed-plastic bicycle basket-had been welded between the two uprights near the handlebars of Inge Didriksen's walker. Despite the shaking of her palsied hand, the old woman somehow managed to lower a full coffee cup down into the basket. Then, without spilling a single drop, she maneuvered herself, the walker, and the steaming coffee cup over to the kitchen table.
Else waited until her mother was seated at the table before she took a deep breath. 'Mother,' she said, 'Detective Beaumont has discovered that Gunter had a girlfriend. Now she's been murdered as well, most likely by the same person who killed Gunter.'
Inge Didriksen looked harmless enough. Comic almost. She was wearing a dainty, lace-edged housecoat. The topmost button was fastened properly, but she had skipped the second one, leaving the rest of them crooked. Her thinning hair peaked at the top of her head, making her resemble a white-haired Woody Woodpecker. Her eyes, huge behind thick glasses, focused on her daughter.
'Oh, that,' Inge said. 'My stars, Else! Are you just now finding out about her?'
I don't know who was more taken aback by Inge Didriksen's surprising revelation-Else Gebhardt or Detective J. P. Beaumont. I know Else's mouth gaped open, and mine probably did as well. Else's already pale face faded to ashen, but the spark came back to life in her voice.
'Mother!' she exclaimed, her voice tense with outraged indignation. 'Do you mean to tell me you knew about this? You knew Gunter was carrying on an affair, and you didn't bother to tell me?'
Inge took a delicate sip of her coffee. 'You know I make it a practice never to interfere between husbands and wives,' she replied primly.
'Only when it suits you,' Else retorted angrily. 'How did you know about it?'
'She was here one day. I saw her.'
'Here?' Else asked in shocked dismay. 'Right here in my house?'
'My house,' Inge corrected blandly. 'But, yes, she was here. At least I believe it was the same one. A brunette, wasn't she?' The old woman peered at me slyly over her coffee cup and waited for confirmation.
In less than two minutes, that little no-holds-barred verbal exchange between Else Gebhardt and Inge Didriksen taught me more about open warfare between mothers and daughters than I ever wanted to know.
'Well?' Inge prodded. That's when I finally realized she was looking at me and waiting for me to answer.
'Yes,' I said. 'A brunette.'
'When?' Else demanded. The fire was back in her eyes now-her eyes as well as her voice.
'When did I see her?' Inge returned after another question-deflecting sip of coffee.
'Yes.'
'It must have been three years ago, now. Maybe a little more. Yes, three, I think. It was just after Kari came back from being an exchange student. And it must have been around this time of year, too. I remember I was going to go with you to spend the day at the Christmas bazaar, and then I didn't because I wasn't feeling well. I believe my arthritis flared up.'
'Stick to the point, Mother,' Else insisted.
'I'm sure Gunter had no idea I stayed home,' Inge continued. 'If he had, they never would have come here in the first place. After you left for the bazaar, I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I heard voices-someone laughing-a woman's voice laughing. I thought you must have come home early, but then the back door slammed shut. I looked out the window and saw them. They were just leaving the house. I sat on the edge of my bed and watched the whole thing.'
'And never told me,' Else breathed. 'You knew about it, and you never said a word!'
'What good would telling you have done?' Inge returned petulantly, with an air of offended innocence.
'If I had known and chosen to leave then, I would have been three whole years younger than I am now,' Else replied with commendable self-control. 'I would have been a hell of a lot smarter a hell of a lot sooner.'
'Please don't swear, Else,' Inge scolded. 'I've told you time and again, that kind of language isn't at all necessary or ladylike.'
'I'll talk any damn way I want to!'
My pager went off right then. The number displayed on the tiny screen was from the Seattle P.D. Homicide Squad. Sergeant Watty Watkins's extension, to be specific. I recognized the number. Normally, I ignore my pager until the second or third try. This time I welcomed the interruption.
I don't like being a party to petty domestic disputes. Witnessing Inge Didricksen pick away at her daughter reminded me of a crow I once saw snap the head off a helpless baby sparrow that had fallen out of its nest. But the crow was only doing what came naturally. There was something almost malevolent about Inge Didricksen.
'Could I use a phone for a moment?' I asked.
Else nodded curtly toward the built-in desk across the kitchen. 'You can use the one here if you want. Otherwise, if you need some privacy, there's one in the family room and another in the bedroom.'
'This one will be fine.'
Hurrying across the kitchen, I picked up the phone and dialed Watty's number. The phone was answered by Chuck Grayson, Sergeant Watkins's counterpart on the night shift. I was surprised when Grayson answered the phone, but I went ahead and asked for Watty.
'What've you been smoking, Beau?' Grayson replied with a laugh. 'Watty isn't here yet. It's only seven o'clock. He won't show up for at least another half hour. Longer if traffic's backed up on I-Five.'
I glanced at my watch and was startled to see it was only seven o'clock. I had been up and around for hours. It didn't seem possible that shift change hadn't happened yet.
'Somebody paged me,' I answered, without bothering to attempt an explanation.
'It was me,' Chuck returned. 'I tried your home number first. When no one answered, I tried the pager. And it worked like a charm. You're calling back, aren't you?'
'Right. What's up?'
'First off, there have been three calls so far from someone named Maxwell Cole. Isn't he that columnist…?'
'That's the one,' I said, cutting Grayson off before he could finish asking. 'Maxwell Cole can wait. Anything else?'
'That's about what I figured. More important, there's somebody here waiting to see you.'
'Already? Who?'
'She says her name's June Miller.'
'Doesn't ring a bell. What does she want?'
'Try the name John Miller. Does that one sound familiar?'
'Sergeant Grayson, could we please stop playing games and cut to the chase?'
'How about former congressman John Miller? June Miller, as in Mrs. John.'
'Okay, okay. Mrs. John Miller, married to a former congressman. What does she want?'
'To talk to you. Now.'
'What about? I'm working a case. I'm trying…'
'Which case? Fisherman's Terminal?'
'That's right.'
'According to Mrs. Miller, that's the one she wants to talk to you about.'
'What about Sue Danielson? She's my partner on this. Couldn't this Miller woman talk to Sue?'
'She says Maxwell Cole directed her to see you and no one else.' Maxwell Cole strikes again. 'Sergeant Grayson…' I began, but he never let me finish.
