The Alpine Scandal

by Mary Daheim

  “That’s Snickerdoodle,” Grace said. “He’s almost four. This next one is Tiddlywinks. What do you think?”

  Tiddlywinks looked feral to me. The cat was baring its teeth, and its eyes were wild. Clearly, he didn’t seem to like the mistletoe that was tied around his neck with green and red ribbon.

  “Colorful,” I said weakly, suddenly realizing that Grace hadn’t coughed once despite her bountiful flow of words.

  “I rescued him last spring, poor thing,” she informed me. “He was out in the backyard, eating a crow, and I—”

  Ben came through the double doors. “Emma.” He spoke softly, but his voice was urgent.

  Grace shut up and turned to stare at my brother. “Oh! Aren’t you…uh…”

  Grace wasn’t Catholic and probably didn’t recognize Ben in his Levi’s and parka.

  Ben smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m that priest from out of town. Also known as Emma’s big brother. Could you excuse us for a moment?” He steered me away from Grace. “How’s Milo?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I retorted. “I haven’t had a chance to find out.”

  At last, I was able to approach the reception desk. I gave a start. Sitting warily in wait was Bree Kendall. She didn’t look very happy to see me. Maybe she thought I was being committed to the mental ward. If Alpine had had one.

  “Can I help you?” she asked frostily.

  “I’ve come to inquire about Sheriff Dodge. My brother is a priest.” I turned to look at Ben, but he wasn’t behind me.

  “What brother?” Bree inquired, looking as if she wished she had a straitjacket at hand.

  I moved a few steps away, spotting Ben on the floor, where he was helping Grace pick up some of the cat photos she’d apparently dropped. I realized Bree couldn’t see him from her seat behind the desk.

  “There,” I said, pointing out of her range of vision. “He’s helping Ms. Grundle.”

  Ben stood up. Bree saw him. “Did the sheriff request a priest?” she asked, her query sheathed in ice.

  “No. My brother and I are friends of his. The deputies told me he’d been brought here with chest pains.”

  Ben finished helping Grace and joined me at the counter. “I don’t want to offer up prayers for Sheriff Dodge unless I know what’s wrong with him,” he said quietly to Bree. “After all, this is the feast day of the baptism of our Lord, Jesus Christ.”

  I didn’t know that, and I’m sure Bree had no idea what my brother was talking about. But the frost melted slightly. “He’s stable,” Bree said, “but that’s all I know.”

  At that moment Dwight Gould came out through the double doors that led to the two examining rooms. He was scowling, but Dwight was negative by nature.

  I hurried over to the deputy. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Damn it, Emma, are you putting this in the paper?” Dwight growled.

  “The paper’s already printed,” I snapped. “How’s Milo?”

  “What do I look like?” Dwight retorted. “Dr. Kildare?”

  Dwight looked more like Dr. Killjoy to me, but I tried to be patient. “Well?”

  Again, Ben was covering my back. “Does anybody know anything yet?” he asked.

  “Hi, Padre,” Dwight said, his attitude softening slightly. “You been fishing since you got here?”

  Ben shook his head. “I’d like to, but I have to leave Sunday. How about you?”

  “Caught a ten-pounder over the weekend near where the Tye comes into the Sky,” Dwight said.

  “Nice,” Ben commented. “The river looks off-color today, though.”

  Dwight shrugged. “You can’t always tell by that. The steelhead can’t tell, either, if you ask me.” He chuckled.

  “So how’s Dodge?” my brother asked, having bonded with a fellow fisherman. Fishing, after all, was almost as good as religion when it came to male relationships.

  “Doc’s doing some tests,” Dwight replied. “Dodge is pretty pissed.”

  “Then he’s not dying,” I said.

  “Hell, no,” Dwight replied. “It could be a heart attack, but Elvis Sung isn’t sure. I’m going back to the office.”

  Dwight stomped through the waiting room, but not before Grace stopped him, brandishing her cat photos. “Not now, Miss Grundle,” Dwight said, though his tone was more kindly with Grace than it had been with the Lord siblings.

  “Thank you again,” she called after him, “for saving Chubbins last fall when he got wedged in the fence.”

  “No problem.” Dwight hurtled out through the door.

  Ben drew me over by the aquarium, as far as we could get from the others without climbing out a window. “Now what?” he asked.

  “We wait?”

  “That could be quite a while,” Ben pointed out. “Believe me, I know. I’ve had to sit with plenty of anxiety-ridden parishioners in emergency rooms and hospitals in my time.”

  I knew Ben was right, but I couldn’t leave without making sure that Milo wasn’t in danger. Dwight might describe his boss as “pissed,” but I’d expect that of the sheriff on his deathbed.

  “I’m going back there,” I declared, waving in the direction of the examining rooms.

  “Okay.” Ben came with me. Bree called out to stop us, but we ignored her.

  “What’s with her?” Ben asked as we went through the double doors.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said. “She must be temping.”

  “What?”

  “Later.”

  Constance Peterson, LPN, was coming out of the room on the right. She saw us and frowned.

  “May I help you, Ms. Lord?”

  “I come with clergy,” I said, taking Ben’s arm. “I’m inquiring about Milo Dodge. This is my brother, Father Ben.”

  “Oh.” Constance’s frown eased a bit. “I remember you. When your church’s organist became ill a year or so ago, you came to visit.”

  “Yes,” Ben replied. “I was filling in for Dennis Kelly.”

  “Sheriff Dodge isn’t a Catholic,” Constance said.

  “That’s not a problem,” Ben said dryly.

  “I mean…” Constance’s usual professional aplomb teetered a bit. “I thought maybe you came to…do whatever priests do when somebody’s…very ill.”

  “We’re here as friends,” Ben said. “How is he?”

  “He’s stable,” Constance replied, resuming her usual efficient manner.

  “Is it his heart?” I asked.

  Constance’s round face was expressionless. “The doctors are doing tests.”

  Ben sensed my frustration. “Nurse Peterson,” he said quietly, “can you assure us that Sheriff Dodge is in no immediate danger?”

  “I don’t know. Medical personnel don’t own crystal balls, Father,” Constance replied primly. “As I’ve already told you, the most I can say is that the patient is listed as stable. I’m in no position to second-guess Dr. Dewey or Dr. Sung. Excuse me.” She glanced above the door on the right. “The light is on, summoning me. I must go.”

  Nurse Peterson opened the examining room door only enough to allow her to slip inside. I couldn’t see a thing; neither could Ben.

  “Foiled again,” Ben murmured.

  I scowled at the closed door. “If Milo’s in that examining room, what kinds of tests are they taking? Shouldn’t he be where they have the specialized equipment?”

  Ben shrugged. “Some of it’s mobile these days. You’d know more about what Alpine Hospital has than I would.”

  “They don’t have as much as they need,” I said. “Like everything else in a small town and a small county, they’re short of the expensive new high-tech stuff. I’ve written plenty of editorials about those problems, from the sheriff’s office, to the hospital, to the highway and transportation departments.” I turned as Olga Bergstrom, RN, bore down on us from the far end of the corridor.

  “Ms. Lord,” she called out. “You can’t wait in this part of the emergency area.” She studied Ben for a brief
moment. “I know you—you’re Father Lord.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve been here so long, I feel like Grandfather Lord. Is the sheriff going to be released or hospitalized?”

  The direct question seemed to catch Olga off guard. “I don’t know. That’s up to the doctors. Really,” she went on, “you must go into the waiting room.”

  We had no choice except to move on. But there wasn’t much point in sitting around looking at the rest of Grace Grundle’s cat photos. “We’ll go out the back way,” I said.

  “Fine.” Olga stepped aside to let us pass.

  We exited on Cedar Street, catty-corner from St. Mildred’s. Ben decided he might as well go back to the rectory and catch up on any messages from East Lansing. We agreed to meet for dinner at the diner, since I already had a lunch date with Tamara Chamoud.

  I steeled myself before entering the newsroom. The only staff member present was Vida, with her steely gray eyes fixed on me as if I were an enemy target and she were a bombardier.

  “Well?” The single word shot out of her mouth like a bullet.

  “Marje Blatt?” I said, moving slowly toward her desk.

  “Of course.” She cleared her throat. “You could at least have called me from the hospital. How is Milo?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, standing by her in-box. “They’re running some tests. Did Marje know anything?”

  Vida’s lips were pressed tightly together. She shook her head. I waited. “All she could tell me,” Vida finally said, “was that Doc Dewey had been called away from the clinic to tend to Milo. It’s a good thing I have reliable relatives to keep me informed.”

  The reproach stung, as it always did when coming from Vida. Marje was Doc’s receptionist and Vida’s niece. I was surprised that Bill Blatt hadn’t alerted his aunt from the sheriff’s office. But maybe Bill wasn’t on duty that morning.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Frankly, I panicked.”

  Vida sighed. “Yes, perhaps you did. Word is getting out. Ginny’s telling callers that we have no information. That’s very galling for a newspaper to have to admit.”

  It was even more galling for Vida to admit such a thing. I eased myself into her visitor’s chair. “Did Rick Erlandson have anything interesting to say at the bank?”

  “No,” she retorted. “Bankers! So closemouthed! It was as frustrating as dealing with the Bartlebys.” She paused, her eyes darting up to the window above her desk. Vida kept watch on that window, able to identify most pedestrians by their feet and legs. “It was what he didn’t say that intrigued me.”

  “Which was…?”

  “Reading between the lines, Carter Nystrom wasn’t making large deposits to the Bank of Alpine,” Vida explained. “He has a checking account there but apparently doesn’t deposit much of his income. That’s very puzzling, since it’s the only bank in town.”

  “But not the only bank in the area,” I pointed out. “Sultan, Monroe, Snohomish—they all have bank branch offices. Who knows? Maybe Carter’s using a Seattle bank he set up during his student days.”

  “That’s not very wise,” Vida declared. “He’s from Alpine, he lives here, he has his practice here. I’d consider his banking elsewhere as disloyal.”

  Naturally. “Well, maybe. But it could be more convenient for him. Anyway, what I’d like to know most is what Rick thought of him—and his family.”

  Vida literally rolled her eyes. “The same old story. Elmer and Polly have banked with BOA forever. Lovely people. Or at least Elmer is. Was. Polly apparently didn’t handle the money. I’m not surprised. She’s one of those helpless females who’s probably never written a check in her life and now will have to hire a CPA to keep her accounts balanced. Ninny.”

  I held my head. “This is getting tiresome. Let’s face it, somebody didn’t think Elmer was so lovely or kind or decent or whatever. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten his head bashed in with a shovel.”

  Vida frowned at me. “A shovel? Did you hear that from the sheriff’s office?”

  “No. I’m guessing. It could’ve been a brick or a board or…who knows?”

  “We certainly don’t,” Vida asserted. “We know very little.”

  I remembered to tell her about Bree working behind the emergency room desk. “Temping, maybe,” I suggested.

  “Or it’s her new job.” Vida looked thoughtful. “Who’s been at the desk in recent months? They seem to change personnel quite often. Stress, I would think. That is, I wouldn’t find it stressful, but so many people take the problems of others to heart. It’s not a healthy approach. One should keep a certain amount of distance. That’s far more sensible in dealing with demanding situations.”

  I translated that as allowing Vida to meddle and criticize without guilt. “I wouldn’t think the hospital job would pay as well as working for Dr. Nystrom,” I remarked.

  “Perhaps not,” Vida said as Leo came into the newsroom carrying an inflated snowman. “Goodness! What’s that for?” she inquired.

  “Alpine Ski is praying for snow,” Leo replied, placing the snowman behind his desk. “So’s the ski lodge. This is a leftover from Safeway’s Christmas decorations. It’s also our new god. Should we call him Baal?”

  “How about Bald?” I suggested. “Snowmen never have hair, only hats.”

  “True,” Leo said, tapping his lower lip as he studied the plastic figure that didn’t want to stay upright. “I’m going to take a picture for an ad. Nobody at Alpine Ski had a camera. Can you believe that?”

  “Maybe they can’t afford a camera,” I remarked. “The ski industry has been hit hard the last couple of winters.”

  “Money,” Vida said. “Leo, if you were Carter Nystrom, where would you bank?”

  Leo looked at Vida. “What?”

  “You heard me. He must make a great deal of money,” Vida asserted. “Heavens, it cost the earth when Amy and Ted got braces for Roger. Of course they had to have it done in Monroe because Roger needed his braces before Carter set up practice. I must say, Roger has the most engaging smile. But it certainly set his parents back several thousand dollars.”

  I felt like saying that I’d never seen Roger smile. He was usually sulking or sullen when I encountered the wretched kid. But I kept quiet and waited for Vida and Leo to finish their conversation.

  “I’m not sure,” Leo said, “what you’re getting at, Duchess.”

  “He doesn’t bank in Alpine,” Vida responded. “That is, he doesn’t use the local bank for payroll and such. I find that very strange. And how many times do I need to tell you to stop calling me ‘Duchess’?”

  “As many times as I keep doing it.” Leo shrugged. “I can’t answer your question about Nystrom. Maybe he has some elaborate financial setup with a bank in Seattle. Maybe that’s how he’s paying off his student loans. Or,” he went on, finally getting the snowman to stop bobbing and weaving, “maybe he’s laundering his money in the Caribbean like a lot of professionals do.”

  Vida thought a minute. “To avoid taxes?”

  “I guess,” Leo replied. “When I was living in southern California, there were several doctors and dentists who sent their money offshore or even to Switzerland and Liechtenstein. I wouldn’t know, being a poor newspaper ad man.” Leo glanced at me. “I’m not complaining. It’s my choice. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get mad and fire me so you can bring back Ed Bronsky.”

  “Ease your mind,” I murmured, going into my office. It was almost eleven-thirty. I wondered if I should call the hospital to check on Milo. But surely someone from his office would let me know what was going on. Maybe I’d stop by the sheriff’s headquarters on my way to lunch with Tamara. We’d agreed to meet at the new Pie-in-the-Sky Café by the Alpine Mall. The six-block walk would be good exercise.

  Just before noon Ginny came into my cubbyhole. “There’s a whole bunch of rumors going around town,” she told me, her plain face looking worried. “People are calling to say all kinds of things about Sheriff Dodge, including that he
’s been shot and that he tried to commit suicide.”

  “Jeez.” I shook my head. “What are you telling them?”

  Ginny straightened her shoulders and assumed a virtuous air—easy for her to do, being a staunch adherent of virtue. “That he’s been admitted to the hospital for observation.”

  “That’s good.” I smiled kindly. “You don’t need to say anything else. I assume Fleetwood will carry the story on the noon news.”

  “Was he at the hospital?” Ginny asked.

  “No, thank goodness,” I said. “But for all I know, he may be there now, doing one of his breaking news remote broadcasts.” I poked the button to turn on the transistor radio I kept on the filing cabinet by my desk. “We’ll find out. Or I will. You go ahead and have lunch.”

  KSKY aired two commercials before the newsbreak, the first for the Upper Crust’s new “flaky, fruit-filled European-style pastries” and the second for Bernie Shaw’s insurance agency, where “your agent is your neighbor.”

  Spence was at the mike, greeting his listeners in his mellifluous baritone. “It’s noon in SkyCo, and here are the latest headlines from KSKY-AM, the voice of the Cascade slope.”

  That phrase was an innovation. Of course I didn’t usually listen to Spence’s station except for the Wednesday night broadcasts of Vida’s Cupboard. Everybody listened to my House & Home editor while she presented her weekly shelf full of homely gossip, helpful hints, and an interview with a local personality.

  Spence’s lead story was about the ongoing investigation of the Nystrom homicide. Spence didn’t seem to know any more than we did. Or so I thought until he paused ever so briefly and said, “Later this afternoon around three o’clock I’ll be interviewing someone closely connected to the case. Stay tuned for the exact time of our live and direct broadcast.”

  I was stupefied. Who did Spence have up his well-tailored sleeve? But his next words grabbed my attention. “Meanwhile,” he said, “Sheriff Milo Dodge was taken to Alpine Hospital with an undisclosed illness. Doctors Gerald Dewey and Elvis Sung are conducting medical tests to determine the cause of Dodge’s illness. The hospital has listed his condition as stable. KSKY will be reporting breaking news when further word is released.”