Bitter Alpine

by Mary Daheim

  I agreed and admitted Vida hadn’t been herself lately. “Is Doc sure she hasn’t had a stroke?”

  “Yes, he was certain,” Julie replied. “It struck him as more like she was suffering from trauma, but Doc didn’t put that on her chart.”

  “Very discreet of Doc,” I said quietly.

  “I think,” Julie went on, “that Doc will try to make other arrangements for Vida since her daughter is also here. He’ll probably put them in the same room.”

  “What’s the diagnosis on Amy?” I asked.

  “The same as when she was hospitalized a year or so ago.” Julie paused. She and I knew each other well enough that she trusted me. “Nerves. Ever since Roger was sent to prison, Mrs. Hibbert has been a regular visitor to Doc Dewey or Dr. Sung. They prescribe medications for her, but she insists none of them work. I suspect she either doesn’t give them enough time to kick in or else forgets to take them on a regular basis. I feel sorry for her husband.”

  “Ted’s not a very…forceful person,” I allowed, deciding that “wimp” would be unkind. “Let me know when or if I’ll be able to see Vida today.”

  “I will,” Julie promised, and we rang off.

  I’d started going through the mail when I remembered the personals ad. There was something about it that bothered me. On a whim, I dialed directory assistance for Hardin, Montana, and asked for J. L. Erskine’s phone number. The phone rang eight times before a recorded message came on: “Jim Erskine here—except I’m not. Check back this evening. Have a good one!”

  I didn’t leave a message. It was probably a wild-goose chase, something that besets journalists now and then. We, of course, call it a hunch. Once in a while the hunch pays off.

  My phone rang almost as soon as I set it down. Alison’s voice sounded a little shaky. “I’m coming into the office in a little bit,” she said, “but I sprained my wrist. My left wrist, so I can still write. Janos told me it should be okay in about ten days.”

  Evidently Alison and the new medic were already on a first-name basis. I wondered if she’d taken my advice seriously. I hoped not. “That’s okay,” I replied. “Liza’s filling in for you at the reception desk. Please take it easy!”

  “I will. See you soon.” She hung up.

  I went back to the mail, hoping there might be something that we could use in the newspaper. Usually the sources that provided any local interest came from the state capital in Olympia. But there literally was nothing fit to print. The two letters to Vida were standard fare. They were both from women whose names sounded only vaguely familiar. Ada Schnable thought her husband, Art, might be straying. His wheelchair had mud on the tires and the widow down the road didn’t have a paved driveway. Art was spending a lot of time outside lately, despite the threat of snow. The second letter was from Angela Helfinger who wanted Vida’s recipe for custard pie. Angela was another innocent who didn’t realize that Vida was the most abysmal cook in Skykomish County. Our former House & Home editor was the only person I knew who could ruin hot dogs.

  A little after ten, I called the hospital to check on both Vida and Amy. Constance Peterson was on duty again, but she had no real news. “Mrs. Runkel is still listed in stable condition, though I haven’t seen her this morning. Dr. Sung has finished making rounds. I believe they may move her daughter in with her later on.”

  I frowned. “I thought Mrs. Runkel was in with Ms. Marsh.”

  “She was,” Constance replied in her prim voice, “but Ms. Marsh has left the hospital.”

  “Left?” I repeated.

  “Yes. Excuse me. Dr. Sung is motioning for me to join him in Mr. Kubiak’s room.”

  I had no idea who Mr. Kubiak was; I thought the name Kubiak had something to do with pro football, but I doubted that the local Mr. K. was related. I was jotting down story ideas for our special section when Jean Campbell came through the newsroom and entered my so-called office. I greeted the wife of Alpine Appliance owner Lloyd with a friendly smile.

  Jean, however, was solemn. I hadn’t seen her in some time and noticed that the gray had taken over the brown in her wispy curls. She was tall and very sturdy, almost Amazonian. I felt like an aging elf and was relieved when she sat down in one of the visitor chairs.

  “I’m so worried about Vida,” she began. “Everyone at the church is.”

  Jean apparently still worked at First Presbyterian, which Vida also attended. I nodded. “We all are. Even if she officially retired, she still spent quite a bit of time at the office.”

  “Yes.” Jean looked pensive, as if she was having a hard time trying to imagine Vida being confined to a hospital bed. I didn’t blame her. “Where was she going when she had the accident?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure she did.”

  Jean smiled faintly, revealing the small gap between her front teeth. “Vida always knows everything. I do hope she can have visitors soon.”

  I agreed, and asked if she knew that Amy was also in the hospital. Jean did. Vida had called her the previous day, obviously before she took off in the Buick. But to my surprise, Jean had more than our former House & Home editor on her mind.

  “I must confess we’re curious about that poor girl who was murdered at the motel,” she said. “Jason called us yesterday to ask if there was any news about her. Has the sheriff a suspect in mind?”

  “Jason?” I said.

  “Our nephew in Oakland,” Jean replied. “He dated Rachel. He’s been quite upset about…what happened to her.”

  “Of course.”

  Jean grimaced. “It’s hard to tell when you’re not around a person. We haven’t seen Jason for a while. He had a longtime girlfriend—they were living together—but they broke up over a year ago. Then he started seeing Rachel. I have no idea how serious the relationship was. I do know they weren’t living together.” Jean obviously wanted to let me know she didn’t approve of unmarried couples sharing the same roof.

  “Did Jason say if Rachel had any family in the Bay Area? I understand her parents are dead.”

  Jean nodded. “That’s true. I got the impression that Rachel was on her own. Maybe I should call Jason and ask if he can find out who’s making arrangements. Would Sheriff Dodge know?”

  “I doubt it,” I replied, wondering if she knew I was Mrs. Dodge. “Once his headquarters has sent a body to another jurisdiction, especially in another state, what happens next is out of his hands.”

  “Oh—I suppose that’s so.” Jean frowned. “Sad, really. If you see the sheriff, could you ask him, just in case he does know something about what happened to poor Rachel? Jason would want to know.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, keeping my expression deadpan.

  “Thank you.” Jean stood up. “I do hope Vida feels better. She’s always so full of…news. I must admit I haven’t seen her lately, not since before the holidays. Except at church, of course. But that’s no time to visit. Besides, Vida’s always surrounded by so many of her friends and relatives.” She gave me her gap-toothed smile again and went on her way.

  Jean’s last comment made me smile. Vida would be pumping everybody she could glom on to after the service was over. She had a knack for loosening tongues about even the most intimate matters.

  But Vida wasn’t going to be doing that now. My smile went away. I worried that she wouldn’t ever be able to pump anyone again.

  Chapter 17

  Feeling antsy, I decided to call on the sheriff, known to those better informed than Jean Campbell as my husband. I marveled that in such a small town, Jean—and probably Lloyd—could be so wrapped up in their own little world that they were unaware of what the rest of us were doing.

  Before I could leave the premises, Alison arrived just as I stepped into the front office. I noticed that she had a brace on her left wrist. She saw Liza sitting behind the receptionist’s desk and let out a little shriek. “I’
ve already been replaced?”

  Liza and I both laughed. “Ms. Walsh is temping for you this morning. Does the wrist hurt?”

  “Kind of,” Alison replied as Liza stood up. “But Jan—that’s what he prefers—gave me some pain meds. He says the J is like a Y in Hungarian.”

  “That’s right,” Liza said, picking up her coffee mug and making way for Alison, “I have a cousin in Santa Monica who’s married to a Hungarian. His name is spelled J-A-K-O-B, but it’s pronounced Yakob.”

  Alison removed her navy quilted jacket. “Is he good-looking?”

  “He used to be,” Liza replied, “but he’s put on a lot of weight and gone bald. At sixty-seven, I figure he’s entitled to do that.”

  Alison frowned. “I suppose that can happen.” Her tone indicated a touch of anxiety. Maybe she was picturing Jan in his retirement years.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Liza cautioned with a smile before returning to the newsroom.

  After sitting down, Alison sighed. “Why do we have to get old?”

  “Consider the alternative,” I said. “I’m off to see my old duffer of a husband.”

  “He still has his hair,” Alison reminded me. “So do Leo and Mitch.”

  “They’re lucky.” With that remark, I headed outside.

  The snow was starting to melt. I passed Parker’s Pharmacy, the Sears outlet store, and the entrance to the VFW Hall before crossing Third Street to the sheriff’s headquarters. I’d only gone about ten feet when Jack Blackwell came tearing out of Milo’s domain.

  He saw me and paused just long enough to yell: “Dodge is the biggest sonuvabitch in the whole frigging state. Put that in your rag of a paper!” He hurtled into his new black Porsche and gunned the engine.

  I was still shaking my head when I entered headquarters. Lori looked alarmed, Consi seemed puzzled, and Milo was thumping back to his office. I swore I could see smoke coming out of his ears. He slammed the door behind him, apparently not having noticed my arrival, and I wondered if I should give him time to calm down.

  “Hi,” I said innocently. “Is your boss in a bad mood?”

  Consi started to say something, but deferred to Lori, who said, “The sheriff and Mr. Blackwell sort of got into it. But they didn’t come to blows. Patti Marsh finally filed a complaint about Jack beating up on her.”

  I was stunned. “No kidding! After all these years?”

  Lori nodded. “I know. But this time he put her in the hospital. I guess he went too far.”

  “Not far enough,” Consi asserted. “I’ve seen this kind of crap in Tacoma over and over. The woman calls the cops but then refuses to press charges. They claim to love the guy or that he’ll change his ways. Dumb.”

  I glanced at the closed door. “Dare I go in?”

  “Why not?” Lori replied. “You can probably calm him down.”

  I marched through the reception area. At least Milo hadn’t locked the door. “Hi,” I said. “I hear you had an unwelcome visitor.”

  Milo had lighted a cigarette. “Did you see the bastard leave?”

  “Yes. He indicated you and he had a disagreement. Has he ever figured out that we’re married?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Blackwell is only interested in things that affect Blackwell. It turns out that Patti Marsh got a phone call the other day from somebody in Montana. She inherited a cattle ranch from an uncle. It’s about ten thousand acres and worth some big bucks. Patti declined to share with Jack. That’s how she ended up in the ER.”

  I sat down in a visitor chair. “Well! It’s a good thing Patti kept her own house all these years. She’d better change the locks. Does he know she left the hospital this morning?”

  “He didn’t until he went to see her there about an hour ago,” Milo replied. “That’s when he found out Patti was AWOL. She wasn’t at her house, either. He has a key, so he could get in. I wonder if she left town. Maybe she wants to see her big chunk of Big Sky land. If I were her, I’d want to get as far away from Blackwell as possible.”

  “You always do,” I said. “Someday Jack might do permanent damage to Patti. He’s the type who can get out of control. Did you see her when she came in?”

  Milo shook his head. “She called yesterday from the hospital to ask me to send a deputy to take her complaint. I sent Bill Blatt. He’s almost as good at calming people down as Fong is. I thought about Jamison or De Groote, but I didn’t want Patti going into a tirade about men who beat up on…” Milo’s phone rang. He glared at it, but picked up the receiver and spoke his usual greeting: “Dodge here.” Then his expression changed. “When do you plan on getting to Alpine?…Okay, I’ll expect you sometime this afternoon. My headquarters is just two blocks from the bridge….Oh, right, you’ve been here before. Make sure you rent a car with snow tires. This is Alpine, not the Bay Area. See you then.” He put down the phone and saw my curious expression. “That was Jason Campbell. He flew up from Oakland this morning. Apparently he’s damned upset about what happened to Rachel.”

  I told Milo that his aunt had visited me earlier. “It sounds as if Jason and Rachel may’ve been a serious item.”

  Milo nodded. “Damned right. You never can be sure about people.”

  I couldn’t argue that point.

  * * *

  —

  I wondered if I should walk up the hill to see Vida in the hospital. My conscience won out. It was after eleven, so I thought perhaps Amy and her mother were already in the same room.

  I went straight to the patient floor, where Debbie Murchison was the nurse on duty. She was one of the younger nurses, a pretty, cheerful type who couldn’t annoy me if she tried. Of course, my first question was about Vida’s condition.

  “She’s doing much better,” Debbie replied, “though she didn’t really eat any breakfast. I know hospital food is kind of bland, but Mrs. Runkel runs all those amazing recipes in the newspaper, so I expect she’s used to eating much fancier meals at home.”

  I managed to keep a straight face. “Vida is careful about what she eats,” I replied. That much was true. She had yet to make a casserole with Drano as the main ingredient.

  Debbie smiled, revealing her dimples. “She and Mrs. Hibbert are in the same room now, though Dr. Sung feels Mrs. Hibbert can go home today. He diagnosed her as suffering from stress.” Debbie lowered her voice. “Of course, she could be menopausal. That does cause a lot of stress. Men—even doctors—don’t always understand.”

  “Probably not,” I said. “That’s because they’re men.”

  “How true,” Debbie said soberly. “They can’t help that, can they?”

  I assumed the question was rhetorical. “Is Mrs. Runkel in the same room that Ms. Marsh was in?”

  Debbie went from sober to somber. “Ms. Marsh shouldn’t have left the hospital. She needs to rest and heal. When you fall down and hurt yourself that badly, it takes time to get over it.”

  So that was the story Patti had told the nurses. Why not? On the other hand, why was she now pressing charges against Blackwell? And where was she? But I merely agreed with Debbie and headed to Vida’s room. Before I could get there, a stoop-shouldered elderly man came out of the first room on my left. He bumped into a tray of instruments, swore under his breath, and stumbled off down the hall. I noticed that the room was occupied by Mary Smith, Amy’s former roommate.

  I squared my shoulders and told myself to prepare for the worst in terms of Vida’s condition. But I was surprised. She was propped up on pillows and lecturing her daughter. Her color was off, but her gray eyes were clear. They were easy to see because she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

  “Emma!” Vida exclaimed. “How nice of you to come. I’m afraid I can’t offer you as much as a cup of tea.”

  I smiled in relief and acknowledged Amy’s timid wave from the other bed. “I was here yesterday, but you we
re not yet in a room. I checked with the hospital last night, though I was told only that you were stable. What happened to your glasses?”

  “They were broken in my mishap,” she replied. “Ted will bring me my older ones. Very annoying not to be able to read smallish print.” Vida gestured for me to pull up the only visitor chair in the room. I decided to put it between the beds, not wanting Amy to feel left out. Vida’s three daughters were used to playing second fiddle when their redoubtable mother was around.

  After I sat down, I told Vida I’d called the hospital but hadn’t been able to learn much. Seeing that she had a bandage on her left arm, I asked if anything had been broken.

  “A sprain,” she replied. “I twisted an ankle as well and broke three ribs, which heal themselves, of course. Dr. Sung was afraid my spleen was severely damaged, but it was only a bit bruised. I’ll probably go home tomorrow.” Amy’s gaze was riveted on her mother. “Ted is going to pick up Amy on his lunch hour. There’s no need for her to stay here with me.” She shot her daughter a flinty glance. “You need to be up and doing, dearest. You mustn’t mope.”

  “I can’t leave you here alone, Mother,” she said in a whiny voice. “And I need to get back my strength.”

  “Piffle!” Vida exclaimed. “You have a house to keep up and a husband to cook for. Show some spunk! I’ve no time for lollygagging.”

  Amy hung her head. I decided it was time to change the subject. “Where were you going when the car went out of control?”

  Vida’s expression suddenly looked guarded. “Sultan,” she replied. “I heard a store there had a wonderful post-holiday sale. I thought I might find some nice items for next Christmas.”

  “Which store was it?” I asked.

  “I forget the name.” Vida’s gaze didn’t quite meet mine. “Now tell me what’s going on with the murder investigation.”

  I got her caught up with whatever she had missed in the last twenty-four hours. Then I told her about Alison’s fall and her sprained wrist. She evinced suitable compassion. “Poor girl. This is the time of year for misadventures. The snow, the ice, the extreme cold.” She shrugged her broad shoulders.