The Alpine Scandal

by Mary Daheim

  Tara answered the phone.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I need some background for a follow-up article on the Nystrom tragedy.” Like most people, Tara wouldn’t stop to think that I had an entire week to write the article. If she thought about it at all, she’d figure I was still working on this week’s edition. “How many employees does Dr. Nystrom have in his office?”

  “Not counting our daughter?” Tara said dryly.

  “Right.” I couldn’t resist the opening Tara had given me. “Did you find out why she quit?”

  “Jess didn’t like the environment. Whatever that means.” Tara sounded annoyed. “Hang on. Maybe I can get a straight answer out of her on your question.” I waited. I could hear voices in the background but was unable to understand what was being said. “Two assistants,” Tara finally informed me. “Jess doesn’t know their last names and doesn’t think they’re from around here. The dark-haired girl is Christy, and the one with blond highlights is Alicia. You’ll have to check with the office to get their last names. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I assured Tara. “I know the environment bit with the younger set. It can be anything from not liking the workplace’s computer keyboard to hating a coworker’s shoes.”

  “Exactly,” Tara said. “Still, I expected better of Jess. It’s not like her to be vague. Got to go, Emma. I was just loading the dishwasher.”

  After hanging up, I checked my e-mail to see if Adam had responded to the message I’d sent to him in Alaska. He hadn’t. As usual, I worried that he’d been kidnapped by marauding polar bears.

  An hour later, I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom. When I was ten or so, our family dentist suggested that I get braces because I had an overbite. The cost was out of my parents’ price range, and I didn’t ever want to wear those ugly metal things. I’d preferred the overbite despite the dentist’s dire warnings that I’d do all kinds of damage to my jaw and teeth. By middle age, I had never suffered any such problems, nor was I self-conscious. Still, I wondered if I couldn’t use my slight deformity as an excuse to see Dr. Nystrom.

  I stood there looking in the mirror and trying to tell myself it was a dumb idea. For one thing, Carter Nystrom might not be taking appointments until after his father’s funeral. And, I asked myself, why was I trying so hard to play detective? Didn’t I trust Milo? Or had I gotten into the habit of helping solve murder cases over the years?

  I turned away from the sink and flicked off the light switch. None of the above, I thought as I went into my bedroom. My rationale was quite different and very simple: The prehomicide obituary had been sent to the Advocate. Had it been a warning? An attempt to stop the murder before it happened? Or was it a cruel hoax to play on my staff and me? If Vida hadn’t known the Nystroms, we might have run the obit and looked like idiots. Or, even worse, gotten slapped with a lawsuit. Whatever the answer, I had to find it. The Alpine Advocate was already involved, and that meant I was, too.

  Pub day—Wednesday to the rest of the world—usually meant the pressure was off. It was a good day for haircuts, doctor and dental appointments, or whatever else had to be done during the week between eight and five. But this time there was no letting up for me on the day the newspaper came out. As soon as I reached the office, I dialed Carter Nystrom’s office.

  After four rings, a recorded message came on, informing me that the office was closed for the rest of the week due to a death in the family.

  Shot down again.

  I went out to Vida’s desk. “Alicia and Christy, Carter’s orthodontist assistants. Do they have last names?”

  Vida had just turned on her computer. “A moment. I’m still never sure if I’ve done this right.” She gazed at the screen, which was black. “Oh, dear. Now what did I do wrong?”

  I leaned over her chair and poked the button on the monitor. “See if that helps.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Yes, it’s doing something now. You’re very clever, Emma.”

  “Hey,” I responded, “plugging things in and turning on switches are as clever as I get. As far as I’m concerned, the computer is just a typewriter with pictures. Now, what about Alicia and Christy?”

  Sadly, she shook her head. “I know at least two Christys and one Alicia, but none of them work for Carter Nystrom. Like Bree, they must be out-of-towners he hired when he went into practice. Very foolish of him, really. Alpiners prefer dealing with people they’ve known a long time. Strangers can be so off-putting.”

  Having been a stranger in Alpine, I knew that Vida spoke the truth. I pointed out, however, that Carter was a local.

  “True,” she said slowly, “but he’d been away for many years completing his studies. He’d grown up in Alpine and should have known better than to hire outsiders.”

  Scott had been assigned to the morning bakery run. “I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets in,” I said. “If Scott met any of these young women when he did the feature article on Carter, they might thaw a little if he talks to them again.”

  Vida nodded. “Just because he’s married now doesn’t mean he’s lost his appeal to the fair sex.”

  Leo entered the newsroom, looking grim. “I got a call from Carter Nystrom at seven-oh-five this morning. He wanted to know if it was too late to place a paid obit in this week’s paper. I had to restrain myself from telling him he couldn’t put it there but I knew somewhere else he could shove it.”

  “There’s no need to be crude, Leo,” Vida chided. “The poor man has just lost his father.”

  “He’s also lost track of time,” Leo grumbled. “I was just getting into the shower. Why the hell did he have to call me at home?”

  “He probably thought we hadn’t printed the paper yet,” I put in. “So many readers don’t get it.”

  Leo glanced at the coffeemaker, seeing that the red light hadn’t gone on yet and that the baked goods hadn’t arrived. “So I’m supposed to stand there buck naked listening to Carter natter on about how his mother knows for an absolute certainty that Elmer wasn’t murdered but just had a freak accident? Talk about denial!” He glared at the coffeemaker, as if he could compel it to finish the brewing process.

  “An accident?” I said. “How can Polly believe that?”

  Vida made a disgusted face. “Polly doesn’t want to think that their perfect little family could be involved in anything as messy as murder.”

  “Then Polly is an idiot,” Leo declared, lighting a cigarette.

  “Perhaps,” Vida allowed. “And please don’t blow that smoke in my direction.”

  “Right, Duchess, right. I’ll blow it up my—”

  “Leo!” Vida wagged her finger. “You are out of control this morning! Please overcome your foul mood so that the rest of us don’t have to suffer.”

  The red light came on. “Yeah, okay, fine,” Leo grumbled. “Carter talked so much that I didn’t have time to get my first jolt of caffeine at home. He got me off to a bad start. You don’t need caffeine, Duchess. You never sleep. All that hot water you drink must have a magic potion in it.”

  Vida ignored the comment. “Did Carter say anything of interest?”

  Leo poured mugs of coffee for me and for himself. “Damned if I know. I told you—I wasn’t really awake and I was stark—”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned all that,” Vida interrupted. “Please drink some coffee, stop cursing, smoke your awful cigarette, and try to remember. I’ll give you five minutes.” She turned away, fiddling with her computer.

  I was about to retreat into my cubbyhole, but just then Scott made his entrance, purple Upper Crust box in hand.

  “Apple slippers and pear boats,” he announced. “The new hot items from the Upper Crust. Almost literally. They’re still warm.”

  I pounced, all but ripping the box to get it open. Leo waited until he’d finished his cigarette. Vida shook her head. “They sound very fattening. I’m on a diet.”

  Vida always claimed that she was on a diet, yet she never seemed to gain or lose an
ounce. Her large frame supported her weight, not to mention her hat, which she was still wearing this morning. It was a bright green turban with a large brooch of multicolored fake gems.

  Ginny and Kip appeared, as if popping out of a genie’s bottle. After eating a bite of the delicate pastry layers surrounding the pears, I sat down on the edge of Scott’s desk.

  “Tell me everything you know about the people who work for Carter Nystrom.”

  “Hang on.” Scott waited for Ginny and Kip to make their selections, then chose an apple slipper and poured out a mug of coffee. Vida, who had heard my query, came over to stand by my reporter’s desk. “You mean the two assistants and the receptionist?” Scott said, sitting down in his chair. “Bree quit last week.”

  “We know,” Vida said impatiently. “Jessica Wesley took over but stayed only one day. She resigned yesterday morning for reasons that don’t satisfy her parents.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Scott said, looking apologetic. “Anyway, the only one I knew was Bree Kendrick.”

  “Kendall,” Vida corrected, edging a few inches along the front of the desk.

  “Oh.” Scott shrugged. “Sorry. Anyway, I knew her because she lived at Pines Villa and knew Tammy from the UW. They were in the same sorority.”

  “Ah.” Vida looked pleased and moved to the corner of Scott’s desk. “So your bride and Bree are friends?”

  “Not exactly,” Scott said, using a paper napkin to wipe some of the apple substance from his fingers. “Tammy and Bree were three years apart. I don’t know much about the Greek sorority and fraternity scene, but Tammy felt she should at least ask Bree to dinner. That was before we were married, when Bree first got here. They’ve seen each other a few times since and going in and out of the apartment, but I wouldn’t call them close. We had Bree to our place a year or so ago and told her to bring a date.” He paused to take a sip of coffee.

  “Did she?” I asked, noting that Vida was now at the side of the desk.

  Scott nodded. “She brought Carter Nystrom.”

  Vida stopped just short of the coffee and baked goods table behind Scott’s chair. “Scott! You should have told us this sooner!”

  “I didn’t know it mattered,” he said. “Honest, I’d kind of forgotten about it. The dinner wasn’t a social highlight on our calendar. Tammy didn’t even invite Bree to the wedding. At least she wasn’t there. As I recall.”

  “Men!” Vida shook her head and snatched up a pear boat. “I’ll save this for later,” she murmured, wrapping a napkin around the pastry. “Emma, we must talk to Tamara. Or,” she continued, looming over Scott’s chair, “can you tell us if this was a serious romance between Carter and Bree?”

  Scott was looking annoyed. “They weren’t pawing each other, if that’s what you mean. How would I know?”

  Ginny, who had been observing the exchange, lifted her hand as if asking permission to speak. “I saw Carter and Bree once having dinner at the ski lodge last summer. They looked friendly but not what I’d call in love. I told Rick I thought Carter was kind of a stick. He said Carter was a nice guy and always very pleasant when he came into the bank. In fact, he always asked for Rick to help him instead of going to one of the tellers.”

  “No doubt Carter’s carrying a box full of money,” Leo put in, finally finishing his cigarette and coming toward the baked goods. “Those orthodontists make a killing.”

  “Ginny,” Vida began, “you must tell Rick I’ll be coming by for a private chat.”

  Kip, who had been silently munching away, announced that he felt left out. “I don’t know Carter Nystrom or any of these people. Except Elmer, I mean, and he’s dead.”

  “That’s the problem,” Vida asserted. “Not Elmer being dead—which he is, and that’s a different sort of problem from what I intended to say. It’s that nobody really knows the Nystroms except on a professional level. That’s very odd, since they’ve lived here forever.”

  Leo gave Vida his crooked grin. “You can cure that, Duchess. I have faith in you.”

  But for once Vida seemed uncertain. “I’m not sure I can. I don’t think the Nystroms want to be known.”

  Vida, however, was as good as her word. As soon as the Bank of Alpine opened, she headed off to talk to Ginny’s husband, Rick Erlandson. I called Tamara Rostova Chamoud to set up a lunch date. She couldn’t take a break until one, as she had to meet with some of her students after her eleven o’clock class.

  After Ginny delivered the mail at around ten, I left for the sheriff’s office. It was a mild January day with fog that would lift by noon. The damp air was invigorating despite the smell of diesel trucks and the faint but unpleasant odor of pulp from the only surviving mill in town, Blackwell Timber.

  The law enforcement staff seemed to be holding an informal meeting behind the curved mahogany counter that separated the public from the employees. Dustin Fong, Jack Mullins, and Doe Jameson were huddled around Lori Cobb, who was seated at her console. None of them looked happy.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Jack Mullins, who had seniority among the group, gave me a woebegone look. “The sheriff’s sick.”

  This was shocking news. Milo never got sick except for the occasional cold that he always toughed out in his usual macho fashion. “What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t Scott tell me when he checked the police log?”

  “The boss man was okay then,” Jack said, his customarily puckish face as grave as I’d ever seen it. “It happened about half an hour ago. He had terrific chest pains, and Dwight Gould took him to the hospital.”

  “A heart attack?” I gasped, leaning against the counter to steady my suddenly weak knees.

  Doe Jameson, Milo’s recently hired deputy, shrugged her broad shoulders. “We don’t know. Dwight’s still there with him. Both Doc Dewey and Dr. Sung are checking him out.”

  Milo wouldn’t allow himself to be taken to the hospital unless he thought he was dying. Even then, he was the type of bearlike man who’d prefer to crawl into his cave and let nature take its course.

  “I can’t believe it,” I said faintly. “Are you sure this pain was sudden?”

  Dustin Fong shed his lost-child demeanor long enough to answer. “I didn’t think he seemed quite right when he came in this morning. He hardly talked at all, just went straight into his office.”

  Lori nodded in agreement. “I haven’t worked here long enough to know Sheriff Dodge that well, but he looked kind of…what my grandma would call ‘peaked.’”

  “Is Dwight still at the hospital?” I asked, putting some steel into my spine. I, too, could be tough—or at least in control of my emotions. God knows, I’d had plenty of practice.

  Lori nodded again. “He told us he’d call when he found out anything.”

  My cell phone rang inside my handbag. Could someone be calling me from the hospital? Had Milo asked for me in his final hour? I excused myself and took the call a few feet away from the counter.

  “Hey, Sluggly,” my brother said in his most chipper voice, “want some grease for lunch? It’s your turn to treat. I’ll let you off easy at the diner or the Burger Barn.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Milo’s in the hospital with chest pains. I’m going over there now.”

  “Damn!” Ben’s tone changed immediately. “I’ll meet you there. How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know that, either.”

  “You don’t know much for a newshound. See you.” He clicked off.

  I didn’t bother saying goodbye to the sheriff’s employees. I raced out the door, terrified that I might have to say a permanent goodbye to the sheriff.

  Chapter Seven

  THE HOSPITAL WAS on Pine, only a block uphill from the sheriff’s office. I walked hurriedly across Front Street. Through the drifting fog, I spotted Vida down the block, coming out of the Bank of Alpine. I thought of calling to her, but she had turned in the opposite direction, apparently going back to the Advocate office. She wouldn’t be pleased to find out tha
t I hadn’t told her about Milo’s catastrophe right away, but I was in a panic.

  The emergency room was virtually empty except for a couple of older people I didn’t recognize and Grace Grundle, whom I intended to ignore.

  But Grace wouldn’t let that happen. “Emma,” she called to me, struggling to get out of the waiting room chair. “Are you under the weather, too?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s this terrible cough. I can’t get rid of it. I’ve had it since before Thanksgiving. Doc Dewey gave me some kind of medicine, but really, I don’t think it helped a bit. I was awake half the night coughing and coughing. My poor kitties couldn’t get any rest, either. It’s not fair to them to have to put up with me.”

  I was trapped and tried to calm myself enough to be civil. Grace was the kind of senior citizen who spent half her time at the doctor’s for herself and the other half at the vet’s with her cats. As far as I was concerned, the Grace Grundles of this world share the guilt for the high price of medical premiums. I know that elderly folks get lonely, and if people like me would take time to visit them once in a while, we might alleviate the problem.

  “These germs seem to hang on forever,” I said rapidly, watching Grace as she rummaged through her well-worn purse. “Excuse me, but I—”

  “Just a moment, Emma. I have something to show you.” She kept rummaging; I shifted from one foot to the other. “I stopped to pick up my Christmas pictures from Safeway on the way over here. You must see them. You might want to run one in the newspaper. They are absolutely adorable!”

  Finally she took out an envelope and began removing the photos. One by one. The first three were so dark, I couldn’t see much except for glowing feline eyes. Or so I assumed.

  “This one is much better,” Grace informed me. “I remembered to use the flash button.”

  A fat gray cat wearing a Santa Claus hat stared malevolently at the camera. “Cute,” I said. “Very cute.”