Bitter Alpine

by Mary Daheim

  Kay, who was remarkably well preserved in her late fifties, especially for having been married five times, looked grim. “I’ve got a news release for you, Emma. It’s nothing you need to rush onto your website.” She handed me a letter-sized envelope before sitting down.

  I removed the single sheet of paper and read the first line. “Iain Farrell is resigning?” I said in surprise.

  “Yes, as of February first.” Kay’s expression didn’t change while I skimmed through the rest of the announcement. She’d unzipped her green bubble coat and pulled off the fur-trimmed hood. Farrell’s reasons for quitting were summed up as feeling he’d grown stale in the job and needed new challenges.

  I stared at Kay. “He’s only been at RestHaven for a little over a year,” I said. “Have you any idea why he wants to move on?”

  Kay sighed. “No. Iain and I are not close. I tried to offer him my friendship, but he remained aloof. He seems to be a true loner.”

  It occurred to me that Kay might have offered more than just friendship. She wasn’t the type of woman who could survive very long without a man. “He gave your boss less than a week’s notice. I assume Iain has another job?”

  “If he has, Dr. Woo doesn’t know about it.” Kay looked miffed. “Iain has never concerned himself with the feelings of others.”

  She made a move on him and he turned her down? The thought stayed with me. “He’s always struck me as a very self-centered person. I walked out on my first and only interview with him.”

  “Good for you,” Kay asserted with the hint of a smile. “I remember your article about him was very brief, especially compared with the lengthier and more flattering ones you and your reporter wrote for the rest of our administrators.”

  “It’s not easy turning a jackass into a Shetland pony.” I paused. “I shouldn’t say that, but he was very difficult.”

  “I know.” Her expression turned ironic. “Yet his methods with patients were quite successful. I always wondered if he related to them because of his own unpleasant personality.”

  “How did he get along with the rest of the staff?”

  “Iain avoided his colleagues as much as he could,” Kay replied. “He rarely spoke up at senior staff meetings—or so I’ve been told. Basically, he was antisocial. He should have been treating himself.” She paused to put her hood back up. “When will this run in the paper?”

  “In next week’s issue,” I replied. “I’ll call Dr. Woo to get a quote, of course. Will he be around this afternoon?”

  “Probably.” Kay stood up. “But could you wait until Monday? I imagine Dr. Woo is focused on finding a replacement. Iain should’ve given more notice. Typical, though—always thinking only of himself.” With a shake of her head, she turned toward the door. “Have a pleasant weekend.”

  I wished her the same. But I noticed that her exit from my cubbyhole wasn’t as brisk as her entrance. She walked as if she were carrying something heavy. I wondered if it might be her heart.

  Chapter 20

  The snow was coming down harder when I left for the hospital. After parking in the underground visitor area, I took the elevator up to the main patient floor. The nurse on duty was again Ruth Sharp. She actually looked up from her ever-present charts to speak to me.

  “If you’re here to see Mrs. Runkel, she’s on the phone,” Ruth said with disapproval. “It’s a wonder she doesn’t wear it out. I feel sorry for her roommate, poor Mrs. Smith. It’s a blessing that she’s virtually comatose.” Without waiting for me to respond, her eyes zipped back to the charts.

  As I entered the room, Vida was hanging up. I noticed she was wearing an older pair of glasses. “You can see again,” I said in greeting.

  “Not as well with these older ones,” she replied with a grimace. “I’m due for an eye examination next month. I’ll try to see if I can’t get in earlier if someone cancels. Do tell me what’s new.”

  I decided not to mention the homicide investigation. Rachel Douglas wasn’t from Alpine and Vida had little interest in the deaths of nonresidents. “The big news is that Patti Marsh has disappeared.”

  “No!” Vida’s gray eyes glinted. “I heard from Billy that she filed charges against Blackwell. She did that once before, but didn’t carry through. Did Patti disappear as soon as she sneaked out of the hospital?”

  Deputy Bill apparently hadn’t yet relayed the news to his aunt. “She went home long enough to get some clothes, and her car’s gone. Did you hear about Patti’s inheritance in Montana?”

  “Yes,” Vida replied. “You recall that my niece Judi Hinshaw works for Marisa Foxx at what now will be officially called Foxx and Sibley, since Simon Doukas retired a couple of years ago. Patti called to make an appointment, but Marisa was booked until toward the end of next week.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I admitted, feeling piqued. Marisa and I had formed a friendship over the years. “Marisa should’ve told me. I saw her after church last week, but we didn’t talk. I’ll have to call her.”

  Vida waved a hand. “Oh, lawyers! My son-in-law in Tacoma is always so wrapped up in whatever case he’s working on. He never seems to have time to sit down and visit with me. Patti will spend that inheritance as fast as it comes in. Much of it will go into her liquor cabinet. My, my!”

  I was about to say I agreed when I noticed that Mrs. Smith seemed to be twitching a bit in the other bed. She was also trying to say something that sounded like “Wa, wa, wa…”

  “She must want some water,” I said. “Why don’t you ring for Nurse Sharp?”

  Vida sniffed. “Ruth is a sorry excuse for a nurse. She was in school with my Beth and was always full of herself, fawning over the teachers.”

  “I’ll give Mrs. Smith some water,” I volunteered, seeing a glass and an almost full pitcher on the table by her bed. But as I stood up, I saw that she had rolled over and apparently had gone back to sleep. I filled her glass halfway and set it within reach.

  “You needn’t have bothered,” Vida said. “She’s always saying ‘wa-wa-wa,’ but she never seems to take a drink. In fact, the poor woman hardly moves. I don’t think she lives in Alpine or I would recognize the name. One of the nurses told me her husband paces the hallway but never seems to come into the room to see her. Of course, men are useless when it comes to illness.”

  “They feel helpless, I suppose. It hurts their masculinity.”

  Vida nodded in vigorous agreement. “Speaking of men, it’s absurd that Dr. Sung says I need another day here. I need to catch up with my housework and tend to Amy. The main thing is telling her to get some spunk.”

  Before I could respond, a young, freckled orderly arrived with two lunch trays. He set one in front of Vida but left the other one on a stand between the beds. “I guess she’s not ready to eat,” he said, then shrugged before leaving the room.

  Eyeing the tray with suspicion, Vida made a face. “The food here is barely tolerable. I’ll be happy to cook for myself when I get home.” She paused to lift up the lid. “A cheese sandwich on whole-wheat bread? Tapioca pudding? Three white mints for dessert? Really now!”

  Vida replaced the lid while I wondered if the lunch wouldn’t have tasted better than what she made for herself. “I’ll wait to eat until after you leave,” she said. “It’s not as if I have to worry about it cooling off. Now do tell what I may’ve missed besides Patti’s disappearance.”

  There wasn’t much to tell. I mentioned Alison’s injuries from her fall, which evoked mild sympathy. Noting that it was almost twelve-thirty and my stomach was growling, I told her I should be on my way.

  “I hope to do the same a bit later,” Vida declared. “Oh—I forgot to tell you that Jean Campbell stopped by this morning. She keeps track of our Presbyterians who are hospitalized. Jean’s what we call our Florence Nightingale. Their nephew Jason called on her and Lloyd last night. He’s visiting old friends h
ere. Jason was amazed how much Alpine has grown since his last trip ten years ago. He was, of course, much impressed.”

  He’d better be, I thought. Vida wouldn’t have mentioned his visit if he hadn’t been. But I noticed she made no mention of why he’d come here. Maybe Jason had never given his reason to his aunt Jean.

  I left Vida to her wretched lunch and drove away from the hospital’s underground parking into what was now a thick snowfall. Navigating cautiously, I went straight down Third and turned right on Front to drive the two blocks to the office. As soon as I arrived, I called the Venison Inn and asked them to do takeout for me.

  Except for Kip, who rarely went out to eat, the office was empty. His wife, Chili, made his lunch. On our Tuesday pub night, she brought him dinner. If the MacDuffs were Catholic, I’d ask the Vatican to submit Chili’s name for future sainthood. She was also raising two young boys.

  I checked my phone for messages, but there were none. We officially close between noon and one, so any calls I receive while Alison is away from her desk trunk over to my phone. I’d gotten so distracted by Kay’s news about Farrell that I’d forgotten to ask about the proposed construction of an Alzheimer’s patients’ wing at RestHaven. I made a note to call her later on. Meanwhile, I sank my teeth into the Venison Inn’s Dungeness crab salad sandwich. Such a delicacy wasn’t available at the Burger Barn.

  Ten minutes later, my phone rang. Mitch’s gloom-laden voice informed me he was taking Brenda to visit Troy. She couldn’t wait until Saturday, and after all, it was their son’s birthday. I wished them luck and rang off.

  Just after one the phone rang. Milo’s voice was on the other end. “Blackwell’s skipped town. I can’t officially charge the bastard if he’s not here. You can’t put that in the paper, can you?”

  “It’s not illegal to leave town,” I replied. “Maybe he’s looking for Patti. Who’s running his mill?”

  “His second-in-command, Bob Sigurdson. I ran into him at the Burger Barn. He swears he doesn’t know where his boss has gone, and I figure he’s telling the truth.”

  “He probably is,” I agreed. “Why are you telling me this? You often like to keep secrets from your wife.”

  “Because I want to keep my wife,” Milo retorted. “Are you able to drive home with just those snow tires?”

  I grimaced. “I did okay getting back here from the hospital a half hour or so ago. I went to see Vida.”

  “The forecast’s pretty grim. I’ll call you before five.” He hung up.

  Alison skittered through the newsroom, waving a phone message. “I forgot to give this to you. It came in just before I left for lunch. Guess what? Jan called and asked me to eat with him in the hospital cafeteria. I walked up there and he drove me back.”

  “Gee,” I said, “I could’ve eaten there with you two. I was visiting Vida during the lunch hour.”

  “Emma…” But she knew I was teasing. “He told me my wrist was doing really well. The downer is that when it’s healed, I won’t have an excuse to see him after work.”

  “If he asked you out for lunch, can dinner be far behind?”

  Alison looked uncertain. “I thought maybe he would, but he didn’t. Now I wonder if I made a poor impression.”

  “Dubious,” I responded. “Did you hear the story of his life?”

  “Not exactly. That’s one of the things I like about him. He asked me questions.” Alison all but simpered.

  I, however, kept a straight face. “That’s a good sign. He’s not stuck on himself.”

  “He’s not. I mean, he comes from a big family. Jan has four sisters and two brothers. Yes, his father is Hungarian. He says he’s Magyar, not Slavic, but Hungary is surrounded by countries that are. Slavic, I mean.”

  I agreed that Jan probably knew his roots. Then I asked if I could see the phone message she was clutching. To my surprise, it was from Patti Marsh. “What did she say?”

  “Not much,” Alison replied. “She sounded kind of strange. But Patti drinks a lot—or so I’ve heard. She told me she’d try to call back later.”

  “Okay.” Obviously, our receptionist was so wrapped up in Jan that she hadn’t heard Patti was missing. I wondered if I should let Milo know that we’d heard from her, but decided I’d wait to see if Patti called again.

  Just after three-thirty, Lori Cobb phoned for Mitch, not realizing he wasn’t at work. Alison put her through to me. “There’ve been two bad accidents out on Highway 2,” the sheriff’s receptionist informed me. “I didn’t realize Mitch hadn’t come in today.”

  “He took the day off,” I said, not wanting to violate my reporter’s privacy. “Any locals involved?”

  “Yes, just one, Lee Anne Gustavson. Isn’t she related to Mrs. Runkel?”

  “Probably. Half of Alpine is. Was she badly hurt?”

  “No, only minor injuries,” Lori replied. “But a couple from Cashmere were killed when their car crashed into that cabin by Baring. Fortunately, nobody was inside. The car they were driving had no chains and it skidded off the highway. Do you want their names?”

  I told her that I did.

  Lori continued. “The deceased are Jonathan and Caroline Jacobs, both sixty-seven. The other accident involved Anthony Scarpetti—” She paused to spell the last name. “He suffered chest and leg injuries and was sent to the hospital here. He’s forty-two and from Everett. His SUV crossed the center line just this side of Skykomish and hit the car that Lee Anne Gustavson was in. The driver, Tyler Evans of Monroe, suffered chest and head injuries. He was taken to the hospital in Monroe. That’s just as well since he’s from there and Alpine Memorial is at capacity.”

  “How did Lee Anne get back to town?”

  “Dustin Fong gave her a ride,” Lori replied. “He was at the scene with Sam Heppner. The boss and Consi handled the other one. I don’t think the sheriff will be in a very good mood when he gets home tonight.”

  “I’m used to it,” I said. “Do you think he’ll be able to leave at five? He may insist on giving me a ride home.”

  “Ohhh…I can’t say,” Lori admitted. “There’s a lot of paperwork involved with two bad wrecks. Maybe you’d better walk here if you have to wait for him.”

  “Okay. I won’t bother calling him before I get there. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  I finalized my story assignments for the special edition. Mitch could take on Janet Driggers—who might annoy him with her bawdy mouth, though he’d probably heard everything and more on his beat in Detroit. She could give him any information on locals who had already booked trips for the coming year. Liza could interview any of the travelers from last year that we hadn’t already covered. If Vida was willing, she could interview residents of the retirement home about their vacation plans. If not, Liza could handle that as well.

  By three o’clock, the only person in the newsroom was Leo. I went out to let him know how the special edition was shaping up in my mind.

  “Sounds good,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I’ve already put together a list of our advertisers. I can probably talk a few of the businesses farther down the Highway 2 corridor into buying some space. I might even go over to Everett to check with their motels and restaurants. Hell, a lot of visitors to this part of the state come through here on their way to Everett and to Seattle. Why not think big?”

  I grinned at Leo. “I like your style, Mr. Walsh. Maybe you should contact the Fairmont Olympic Hotel in Seattle.”

  He laughed. The prestigious hotel was where I’d dropped him off after we’d met by accident in Port Angeles almost fifteen years ago. Estranged from his family and fired by Tom Cavanaugh for drinking on the job, Leo had aimlessly ended up in Port Angeles. I’d met him on a ferry headed across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where he was doing a good imitation of someone who was about to jump over the rail and end it all. I’d given him a ride into Seattle without knowin
g his background and let him off outside of the Olympic Hotel. When I got back to Alpine, there was a letter from Tom with his latest excuses for not coming to see me. He’d added a postscript saying that if I knew anyone who needed an ad manager, they should contact Leo Fulton Walsh at a P.O. box in the Los Angeles area. I didn’t need to look far—Ed had just gotten his inheritance and quit without notice while I was out of town.

  My phone rang while I was on my way back to my desk. As usual, I answered the phone with my name. Nothing. “Hello?” I said a bit louder.

  “It’s me,” a weak voice said. “Patti. I’m…sick.”

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “At a motel by the fairgrounds. In Monroe.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  “I’m…not sure. A couple of days? What day…” I heard a rustling sound. Patti must be moving around. I assumed she was in the motel’s bed. “Is this Friday or Saturday?”

  “Friday,” I replied. “Do you have the flu?”

  “I don’t know….” There were more rustling noises. “I think I’m feverish. Can you…come and get me?”

  “You need to see a doctor,” I said. “Maybe the motel staff can get someone to come see what’s wrong with you. If you’re ill, you should stay where you are. The hospital here is full up and they’re turning patients away.”

  “Can’t you drive down to pick me up?” Her voice was a bleat.

  “I can’t even drive home,” I asserted. “We’ve got almost a foot of snow.” I may have been exaggerating, since I hadn’t looked outside in the last half hour. “By the way, Jack’s left town.”

  “That prick!” Patti sounded almost normal. “Where’d he go?”

  “I don’t know.” I considered telling her that Milo was debating putting out a warrant for Blackwell’s arrest, but thought better of it. Patti was such a fool about the jerk, she might suddenly forgive him and insist that beating her up was just his way of showing how much he cared. I also wondered if maybe Jack was looking for her, though I doubted it would be to apologize. “Why did you leave in the first place?”