by Mary Daheim
Vida twirled one of her plump gray curls. “Hmm. Initiative. I wouldn’t have thought that. I really can’t believe I misjudged her. I pictured her as flighty. Still, I resent her rather officious attitude.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my! It’s almost four-thirty! I’m leaving a bit early. It might be wise to talk to Billy at the sheriff’s office.”
Leo and I watched Vida hurry out of my office. “Something’s up,” he murmured.
“Why do you say that?”
Leo waited while Vida turned off her computer, gathered up her belongings, and made her exit. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Vida can’t help horning in on a juicy story, but she’s usually coy about it. An accidental meeting with Bill Blatt or one of her ‘I-just-happened-to-run-into’ tales. I don’t play detective, but why do I think she was blatant about talking to her nephew? It’s got to be a cover-up for something else that’s going on under those goofy hats of hers.”
“You may be right,” I said. “Would she be paying a visit to Clive? She hardly knows him.”
Leo chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her. If he isn’t one of her bosom bodies, this is her big chance to get to know him better. He can’t escape from jail.”
“Let’s hope she hasn’t baked him a cake. The file inside would be easier to eat than the rest of it.”
Leo obligingly chuckled again before heading back to his desk. Five minutes later, I went out to the front office, wearing my empathetic boss’s face. It never fooled any of my regulars, but Amanda Hanson didn’t know me very well.
“How was your first day?” I asked, quickly adding, “I thought it best to let you ease into the job without me looking over your shoulder.”
Amanda put aside the classified ad form she’d been studying. “Thanks. It’s been fine. Much less pressure than the post office during the holiday rush.”
I caught a whiff of her perfume. It probably was a jasmine scent. “Did Kip tell you about the morning bakery run?”
“Yes.” Amanda smiled, a facile expression that matched my own ersatz empathy. “My first morning is Tuesday.”
I leaned on the counter. “Any problems or questions?”
She looked thoughtful. “Not offhand. I assume Monday will be busier than today was.”
“True. The closer we get to deadline, the more action. No crank calls, I take it?”
“No.”
“They usually come in Wednesdays after the paper hits the street and the boxes. Say,” I said, as though I’d just thought of it, “I meant to ask if you’d recovered from the incident at the ICT Saturday.”
Amanda wrinkled her pug nose. “Recovered?”
“Yes. It must’ve been traumatic.”
“It was stupid. Walt and I hardly ever go there. The tavern’s a dump.”
“It’s better now than it was before the Canbys bought it.”
“I never saw it back then. I’m glad I missed it.”
“How come you were there Saturday?”
Amanda yawned. Maybe I was putting her to sleep. “We’d gone to see Closer at the Whistling Marmot,” she said after twisting this way and that in her chair. “I guess it was okay, but we got out before nine-thirty and didn’t feel like going home. On a whim we decided to check out the Icicle Creek Tavern. That was a big mistake.”
“Because of the brawl?”
I saw a fleeting, almost mischievous expression on Amanda’s face before she shrugged. “The brawl, the other customers, the food, the whole sleazy mess.” She made a face. “Walt and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
I hesitated, recalling Marlowe Whipp’s different account of the Hansons’ behavior. He’d told us that not only had the couple played pool, but Amanda had been flirtatious and Walt had used strong-arm tactics to get her to leave. “How come you didn’t take off sooner? You might’ve avoided the rough stuff.”
“We were hungry.” Amanda’s face was impassive. “We’d skipped dinner and got some popcorn and Cokes before the movie started. As long as we were at the tavern, we figured we might as well eat. It took forever to get served. I think both the waitress and the cook spent half their time outside smoking.”
“Norene and Julie?”
Amanda frowned. “I guess that’s who they are. The cook’s married to Spike, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. The waitress, Norene, is Bert Anderson’s wife.”
“Slow as mold. And Julie’s not much of a cook.”
“She does a nice job with onion rings,” I remarked. “I’m sorry you had such a miserable time. Was the fight as bad as it sounded?”
“If somebody ends up dead, I suppose it was.” Amanda seemed unmoved. “I didn’t see much of what was going on. Norene had finally brought our food. We ate as much of it as we could and were about to take off when that De Muth guy fell down.”
“So you didn’t see the fight?”
“Not really.”
“But you stayed on afterward.”
“Like we had a choice? Spike told everybody to stay put.” Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Are you working for the sheriff? Walt and I already told him or one of the deputies what we saw—or didn’t see.”
I tried to look sympathetic. “One of the things that we’re responsible for at the Advocate is making sure we check the facts of any articles we run. This particular story is complicated. I’m having a hard time getting everything straight. And no, I don’t work for the sheriff—I work for our readers, who want to find out exactly what happened. That takes checking and rechecking.” I’d managed to keep my voice pleasant. “I’m confused because I understood you and Walt were playing pool when the fight occurred.”
Amanda’s gaze shifted to the front door. “Not really. We were just standing by the pool table. Here comes a visitor.” She put on her frozen smile.
To my chagrin, our former ad manager, Ed Bronsky, waddled in. “Aha!” he cried, beaming at me. “Caught you before closing time!” His grin faded as he saw Amanda. “Whoa! Where’s Ginny?”
“She had her baby yesterday,” I replied. “Do you know Amanda Hanson?”
Frowning, Ed approached the counter. “Yes.” He nodded, his triple chins jiggling as he held up a hand. “Let me think—I never forget a face. You’re … something to do with Santa Claus …”
Amanda didn’t bother to hide her impatience. “Last December at the post office. You were sending back a too-small Santa suit the day after Christmas. You wanted a return receipt to make sure the item had been delivered so that you could get a refund because there was a big rip in the pants.”
Ed looked indignant. “There was. The suit was damaged goods.”
Amanda shrugged. “Maybe. But you refused to pay the first-class postage that’s required to get the return receipt. You got very angry with me. I had to ask my supervisor, Roy Ever-son, to take over.”
“Roy got it sorted out,” Ed murmured. “I didn’t understand all those rules and regulations. They’re pretty darned confusing.”
During this exchange, I tried to figure out how to escape from Ed, but his bulk blocked the exit to the front door. I knew he’d follow me if I went into my office to collect my belongings. I was stuck, so I bit the bullet, asking if he needed help.
“No,” Ed replied, turning away from Amanda’s obvious hostility. “In fact, I’m the one who can help you.”
I was skeptical. “How?”
“Let’s talk.” He grunted slightly as he made a little bow. “After you, Madam Editor and Publisher.”
I trudged back to my cubbyhole but didn’t sit down. Leo wasn’t at his desk so I assumed he was in the back shop with Kip. “It’s ten to five. What are we going to talk about?” I asked, turning off my computer.
Ed looked somewhat longingly at my visitors’ chairs, but remained standing. “I hear the paper’s going online. I can help you with that. It’s not as easy as Kip thinks.”
“Kip is very sharp,” I said. “He’s been one step ahead of everybody around here when it comes to computers. I have
implicit faith in him.”
Ed chuckled. “Oh, sure, all the techno stuff is his ticket. I’m not talking about that. I mean input.”
“What kind of input?”
“Look.” Ed grabbed a yellow legal pad on my desk and turned it sideways so we both could see whatever he was about to put down. “You’re not talking once a week any more, this new deal is twenty-four seven, with updates almost every hour. Sure, it won’t attract a lot of local folks in the middle of the night, but what about subscribers living in other parts of the country or Europe, Asia, or Africa?”
“We don’t have any subscribers in Asia or Africa,” I pointed out. “We have two or three in Europe, but they spend only part of the year there. Even when they’re abroad they don’t seem to mind waiting to get the paper by mail.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ed murmured, writing some numbers on the pad. “Let’s say every two hours for updating. Breaking news, weather, sports scores from the college on down to Little League, even some of Vida’s gossipy stuff,” he jabbered on, drawing a circle—a big circle—that I assumed indicated himself. “I’d be the point man, tracking every possible angle and lead.” Ed added an arrow and a square—presumably the Advocate office. “All I’d have to do is sit at my computer and post every new development almost as it happens.”
Yes, I thought, Ed sitting. He’d never have to move his double-wide butt from his double-wide mobile home. Why hadn’t I seen this coming?
“Look,” I said, pointing to the fat blue circle on the yellow page, “I am, as you know, utterly ignorant of how this whole thing is going to turn out.” That was at least partly true. “The decision is ultimately mine, of course, but Kip’s in charge of the project.” Wiggle, wiggle, getting off the hook. “I take it you haven’t talked to him?”
Ed shook his head. “You’re still the boss as far as I’m concerned.”
“The boss is at a loss,” I asserted. “Going online is Kip’s idea and it’s a good one. But how we implement it is still undecided. Why don’t you talk to him about it in another week or so?” Or month, or year, or never. “Has Shirley got her teaching certificate?”
“Any day now,” Ed replied. “Shirl hopes she can start subbing before the holidays. She’s waiting for me out front.” He grimaced. “We only have one car now.”
I was well aware that the Bronskys had been forced to sell one of their two Mercedes-Benz sedans. It was a miracle that they hadn’t been reduced to a bicycle built for two. “Good for Shirley,” I said, picking up my handbag and hoping Ed would take the hint. “Have a good weekend.”
“Uh …” He hesitated. “Sure. Thought we’d drive by the old place and see how the ReHaven renovations are going. That’s big news, and I have the inside track on the project. You know those East Coast types—they play it close to their chests, but they know all about me.”
I took a couple of steps and tried to smile. “Right. Got to go.”
Ed glanced out into the newsroom. “Where’s Leo? Think I should mention my project to him?”
“Not now. He’s officially off the clock.”
“Hey—was I ever off the clock?” Ed retorted. “Advertising’s not a nine-to-five job.”
“It wasn’t for you,” I said, wanting to add that his job had been more like nine-to-ten, eleven-to-noon, two-to-four, and out the door. Trying to circumvent Ed’s bulk, I bumped into the filing cabinet and dropped my big handbag.
“I’ll get it,” Ed volunteered, bending down to grab the shoulder strap. He picked up the handbag, let out a howl of pain, and doubled over. “My hernia!”
The handbag fell back onto the floor. “Are you okay?” I asked, fumbling around him to retrieve my purse.
“No!” He remained bent over, clutching his groin. “You got bricks in there?”
“I do carry a lot of stuff,” I admitted. “Can you stand up?”
“Not sure.” He moved a bit, moaning and groaning, but didn’t seem able to upright himself. “Get Shirl.”
Leo, who apparently had come out of the back shop, appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Ed,” he called, “you need a hand?”
Huffing and puffing even more than usual, Ed managed to get a grip on the edge of my desk. “Yeah … yeah. I … do. Ooof!”
Somehow, Leo got an adequate grip on his predecessor’s girth and eased him into a semi-standing position. Red-faced and panting, Ed took several deep breaths while still holding his side.
“Hernia,” I informed Leo. “Shirley is waiting for him outside.”
Leo nodded. “Okay, Ed. Let’s see if I can get you out to your car. Shirley’s driving, right?”
Ed nodded weakly. Leo tried to position Ed so he could lean and walk, but my ex-ad-manager’s extremities seemed to have turned into Jell-O. He flipped and flopped like a flailing fish.
“I’ll get Kip to help,” I said, and squeezed past the pair to exit my cubbyhole.
Kip was putting on his all-weather jacket when I reached the back shop. “First Ginny,” he said when I told him what was happening, “and now Ed? Jeez, what’s going on around here?”
“Don’t ask,” I urged him, “and don’t you dare ask why Ed came in the first place. Just get him the hell out of here and into his car.”
I watched from the newsroom as Kip and Leo finally managed to haul Ed out of my office. I followed them out to the front door, where I spotted the Mercedes parked a couple of spaces down from Kip’s red pickup. Despite much moaning and groaning from Ed, Leo and Kip dragged their burden outside and down the street. I stood in the doorway until they stuffed Ed into the passenger seat. Shirley, who was behind the wheel, let out several squeals and squawks that I translated as dismay. His task accomplished, Kip headed directly for his pickup, but Leo joined me. “What’s up with the man who almost put the Advocate out of business single-handedly?” Leo inquired as Shirley started the Mercedes and pulled onto Front Street.
“I don’t think he’s given up trying,” I said as we went back inside so Leo could get his briefcase. “Somebody ratted us out about the online project.”
“News travels too damned fast in Alpine,” Leo said. “I’ll pass on asking what Ed was doing here. I’d like to face the weekend without hearing his latest harebrained scheme.”
“I’m going to try to forget all about Ed.” I had a sudden idea. “Could you endure another dinner with me? The sheriff stood me up in favor of his ex-wife.”
Leo laughed out loud. “God, I didn’t know she was still on the planet. How come?”
I explained about their daughter’s upcoming nuptials. “So I’m stuck with two fresh crabs,” I concluded.
“And I’m stuck with one old crab,” Leo said ruefully. “I’m driving down to Monroe to meet a longtime pal who’s visiting his wayward son at the state reformatory. I hope we’ll go to a restaurant instead of the prison dining hall.”
“I take it your buddy doesn’t live around here?”
Leo shook his head. “Jim’s from San Mateo. He’s a retired radio-TV ad rep. Our paths used to cross fairly often. It was a friendly rivalry, right down to seeing who could drink the most double martinis. He blames himself for his son’s life of crime. Between work and booze, Jim was’t home much. Unfortunately, I understand too well how that goes.”
“Your kids stayed out of jail,” I pointed out. “What did Jim’s son do to end up in Monroe?”
“Drugs,” Leo replied, putting on his snap-brim cap. “The kid … no kid by now, Pete must be at least thirty. Most of the trouble he’s gotten into was pretty small-time, but the stretch at Monroe is for dealing. This is the first time Pete’s been in jail.”
“That’s too bad. Is his mother still around?”
Leo nodded. “She didn’t give up on Jim. Tough lady. They had three daughters who turned out just fine. But Angie refuses to see her son in a prison setting, so she stayed home.”
“That can’t be easy,” I murmured, wondering how I’d feel if Adam were behind bars instead of serving his parishioners in an
isolated Alaskan community. Ironically, there were times during the dead of winter when I felt as if my son actually was in a prison. Although Adam had chosen his life, I had nightmares when he talked about such harrowing adventures as confronting angry bears or clinging to a rope in blinding snow to avoid a fatal misstep.
“I’m off to dodge Friday-night Highway 2 traffic,” Leo said, interrupting my reverie. “I wish those folks in Olympia would read your editorials and do something about that road to the next life.”
“Me, too,” I murmured, leaving the newsroom with him. Amanda had returned to her desk, having been absent during Ed’s traumatic departure. She was talking on the phone. “See you Monday,” I called to her as Leo and I went out the front door. We parted company to reach our respective cars.
I was behind the wheel of my Honda when I saw Vida walking briskly to her Buick two parking spaces away. I rolled down the window and shouted at her. “Any news?”
She gave a start, searching for the source of my voice. “Oh. There you are.” She tromped over to the Honda’s driver’s side. “Not really,” she said. “Fred Engelman checked in for his weekend at the jail just before I left. He seemed quite chipper.”
“Maybe Milo has some chores for him,” I said.
“Milo left just before Fred arrived.” Vida’s gray eyes flickered up and down Front Street, taking in the vehicle and foot traffic. “Tricia came to meet him at the office.”
The light dawned in my brain. “Oh? How is she?”
“Gone to fat,” Vida replied. “She’s gained at least twenty pounds since she lived in Alpine. Those dreadful Eastside suburbs—how can you get any exercise when everybody lives right on top of everybody else and you spend most of your time driving those horrid freeways?”
“Were you able to visit with her for very long?”
“Long enough,” Vida replied, waving at Harvey Adcock as he crossed the street at the corner of Fifth and Front by his hardware store. “Tricia’s become a stranger. This wedding is an extravaganza, just showing off. I don’t blame Milo for being upset. The flowers will cost over two thousand dollars and the cake is half of that. It’s being made in the shape of Seahawk Stadium because that’s where Tanya and her fiancé met. Honestly!”