The Alpine Uproar

by Mary Daheim

  “All the steak sandwiches are medium,” Liz said in triumph.

  “Okay. In that case, I’ll have the beef dip rare.”

  Liz smirked. “All the beef is well done.”

  “I see. How about a bowl of gruel?”

  “We don’t serve gruel,” Liz said.

  “Gee, that’s a shame.” I gave up. “Let’s do the steak sandwich.”

  Without another word, Liz stalked away.

  Vida’s eyes could have drilled holes in the disagreeable waitress’s back. “She won’t last long here, either. I’m sure she was fired from the Burger Barn.” Vida rested her chin on her hands. “Why is Liz so unpleasant? Why, having an obvious dislike of other human beings, does she work as a waitress? There are many kinds of jobs for unskilled people in which you don’t have to interact with the public.”

  “Why Alpine?” I mused. “Did you ask her?”

  “Of course. She mumbled about wanting a change of scenery. Ah!” Vida was leaning halfway out of the booth. “Here comes Betsy O’Toole with Roseanna Bayard.” She paused and frowned. “They’re being seated toward the front. We must stop to chat on the way out.”

  Liz served us without comment. Vida asked for a refill of her water. Her request was granted with a frown. The rest of the lunch hour was spent in speculation about what might happen to Clive Berentsen, Holly Gross’s threatened lawsuit, how Buzzy and Laura O’Toole would cope in the wake of Mike’s death, and the need for another doctor in Alpine.

  “Which reminds me,” Vida said as we got out of the booth, “I should try again to talk to Marje and ask if Doc is doing too much. Maybe I’ll go to the clinic now. Marje usually eats in.”

  I was surprised. “You’re passing up a chance to talk to Betsy?”

  Vida grimaced. “I can’t be everywhere at once—though I’d like to.”

  I sensed that Marje and Doc weren’t the only people on her inquisition list. The Laskeys might still be at the clinic. Even if they’d come and gone, Vida could still quiz her niece about Brenda. “Here,” I said, handing over two fives and my lunch bill. “Pay this for me. I may spend a few minutes with Betsy and Roseanna. No tip.”

  Vida nodded. “Certainly not.”

  She paused at Betsy and Roseanna’s booth just long enough to be polite. Roseanna offered to scoot over so I could sit next to her. Betsy, who hadn’t yet shed her air of grief, still made an effort to lighten the mood. “I hope you learned your lesson about shopping at Safeway, Emma. How do you feel?”

  “Better.” I tried to smile. “The truth is, I couldn’t bear to see the reader board again.”

  “Understood.” Betsy passed a hand across her forehead. “I was going to see you after lunch. The funeral will be Thursday at ten. We’d have preferred to hold it sooner, but we wanted to get it in the paper and have Vida mention it on her program Wednesday night. In fact, I wish we could’ve held the services today. Jake suggested putting the funeral information on the reader board, but Buzzy and Laura couldn’t deal with that. The message up there now is heartbreaking enough.”

  “It is,” I agreed, noting that Betsy had eaten only a small portion of her Reuben sandwich.

  Roseanna, however, had demolished most of her Cobb salad. “I thought they’d have an autopsy,” she said. “There was one for Buddy’s mother a few years ago. Of course,” she added with a slight shudder, “that was different. Genevieve had been poisoned.”

  My mind went back to those disturbing days that followed Genevieve’s death. It had occurred at the parish rectory on my brother’s watch. Ben had been filling in for Father Den while our pastor was on sabbatical. The tragedy had far-reaching consequences beyond the Bayard family. I felt like shuddering, too.

  “An autopsy on Mike wasn’t necessary,” Betsy said, bringing me back to the present. “The surgeon in Monroe asked if we wanted one, but Doc Dewey advised Jake that the family should refuse to consent. We knew the cause of Mike’s death. Why put us through more misery?”

  “I agree,” I said. “How are Buzzy and Laura doing?”

  Betsy crumpled her napkin and put it next to her plate. “Not very well. How could they be otherwise? Buzzy’s beating himself up for not making the trip to Monroe and Laura is inconsolable.”

  Roseanna shook her head. “It all falls on you and Jake. I marvel at how well you’re coping.”

  “It’s an act,” Betsy replied. “Somebody has to prop up the rest of the family, and I’m it. Jake is channeling his grief by fixating on the truck. It may have been old, but he kept it up. It was totaled, of course. But my husband considered it as … well, part of the family, an heirloom from his father and a symbol of … what? The store’s longtime presence, I guess. Maybe Jake’s the wise one. It’s easier to mourn a thing instead of a person.” Her expression turned droll. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but I almost think Jake would like to hold a memorial service for the truck and have Bert Anderson bury it instead of demolishing the darned thing.”

  Roseanna finally put her fork aside. “Betsy, you’re awful. Keep it up, it’ll help you and everybody else get through this. Life’s no picnic.”

  I smiled at Betsy. “Roseanna’s right. Haven’t we all had some horrible bumps in the road?”

  All three of us were quiet for a few moments. It was only the approach of Liz that made me slip out of the booth. “I don’t know about you two, but I’ve had enough lip from that waitress for one day.”

  “She’s a pill, all right,” Roseanna said softly. “Maybe she’s had a few horrible bumps, too.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll see you both … later.” I didn’t want to say at the funeral. I suppose it was because none of us should have to attend a funeral for a young man. Or maybe we three middle-aged women didn’t want to acknowledge our own mortality.

  IT WAS AFTER ONE WHEN I GOT BACK TO THE OFFICE. IT WAS ALMOST two when Amanda showed up. I wasn’t in a mood to coddle her. “Lunch here is an hour unless it involves business.”

  Amanda seemed unfazed. “Okay.” She turned to her computer in an obvious gesture of dismissal.

  I stalled for a few moments, pretending to study the posted ad rates. It was very difficult to keep from asking Amanda why she’d had lunch with Marisa. But that would switch the boss-employee relationship to girl talk. I kept my mouth shut and retreated to my cubbyhole. If I wanted to know what the long lunch session was about, I’d have to take my turn at telephone tag and call Marisa.

  I told her I had a couple of questions, adding that she could bill me since they were lawyer-client queries. “First, is it likely that Holly Gross can sue me for allegedly running into her car and then beating her up?”

  As was customary, Marisa didn’t answer immediately. “Those are two questions. Were there witnesses?”

  “Holly claims Mickey Borg saw the incident. She must be lying.”

  “I’d have to depose him,” Marisa said. “Has Dodge talked to him?”

  “I don’t know. He told me he would.”

  “Good.” Marisa paused. “As for the alleged attack on Holly, that’s another matter. Once again, witnesses would be crucial. Are you aware of anyone who saw how the fracas began?”

  “No, but Dane Pearson, the Safeway manager, showed up with a couple of employees about the time Holly finally surrendered.”

  “Bad choice of words,” Marisa murmured. “It makes you sound like the aggressor, going for the jugular. Better to say ‘hostilities ended.’”

  “Right. I suppose it’s a ‘she-said, she-said’ situation.”

  “It is without witnesses,” Marisa agreed. “As for Holly actually carrying out her threat, you’ll have to wait and see what happens. There might be some reckless attorney out there who’d take note of the fact that you’re a newspaper owner and think big bucks are involved.”

  “Gee, I could disprove that in about thirty seconds.”

  “I know,” Marisa said, “but the shyster lawyer might not. I’d better hang up. I’ve got a client coming in at
two-thirty.”

  “One last thing,” I said, lowering my voice. “Amanda Hanson mentioned having lunch with you. I didn’t realize you were pals.”

  “We’re not,” Marisa said. “It was business.”

  “Ah. And you can’t tell me because of attorney-client privilege.”

  “Right. Talk to you later, Emma.”

  “Sure.”

  Business. I wondered what kind of business. The way my last few days had gone, maybe Amanda wanted to sue me, too. I glanced at my watch. It was two-twenty-three. Not yet time for more pain pills.

  Unfortunately.

  LEO GAVE ME A RIDE HOME. HE WAS ON HIS WAY TO THE SKI lodge for the annual fall chamber of commerce dinner. Vida had also volunteered to be my chauffeur, but she was going in the opposite direction to the country club for a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary party honoring old friends who had lived in Alpine for years, but retired to Palm Springs.

  The mail was prosaic; there were no calls on my answering machine. Rolf apparently had given up. After I poured some Pepsi over ice and opened my laptop, I saw an e-mail from Adam. “What,” he had written, “has two arms, two legs, and could offer up a Mass for his mother if his teeth weren’t ch-ch-chattering?”

  I grimaced at the monitor. How could I have forgotten my son’s needs? I couldn’t claim that I’d been out of commission and unable to buy the required items. Not only had I intended to shop online for him in the comfort of my living room, but I’d gone to a real store to buy a baby gift for Ginny’s newborn. Where were my priorities? I looked at the time on Adam’s message. He’d sent it only ten minutes ago. Since it was midafternoon at St. Mary’s Igloo, he might still be at the computer.

  “Your mother is an idiot,” I began. “Never mind that some doofus hit my car in the grocery store parking lot or that I screwed up my back in the kitchen (no ambulances or sirens involved—I’ll heal, so will the Honda). I’m going to order your gear right now and have it sent via express mail. Meanwhile, please offer Masses for two recently deceased Alpiners, Alvin De Muth and Mike O’Toole. If you have any Masses left over, say one to give me the grace so I don’t flatten the above-mentioned doofus the next time I run into her—or vice versa.”

  I was on a site that sold thermal wear when another message from Adam popped up. “I should’ve given you more notice re the warm stuff. Suddenly it’s below freezing at night and I should know better by now, but … well, maybe you’ve noticed that getting ordained doesn’t guarantee personality changes. Skip the express because if it snows too much that doesn’t mean the stuff will get here any faster than by standard delivery. Are you sure you’re okay? Who’s the doofus? Maybe I shouldn’t ask, since it might cause you to have Bad Thoughts. On the other hand, being a priest’s mother doesn’t change your personality, either, so you’re probably wishing that the doofus would drive over a cliff. Meanwhile, who are the dead people? I don’t think I ever heard of the first guy but is the O’Toole one of the Grocery Basket family?”

  I wrote back, assuring Adam that I was doing fine. I also told him he wouldn’t know De Muth, but that Mike was Jake and Betsy’s nephew, though I doubted that he and Adam had ever crossed paths. After I saw the steep increases for express shipping to Alaska, I followed my son’s advice and opted for the cheaper rate. By six-thirty, I’d filled his requests and hoped the items would arrive before he was buried under four feet of new snow. I was heading for the kitchen when the phone rang.

  “Ms. Lord?” a male voice said in an uncertain voice.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Walt Hanson. Is my wife working late tonight? She hasn’t come home and nobody answers at the newspaper office.”

  I thought back to my leave-taking with Leo. It had been a little after five. Vida had already offered to take me home, but that was when my ad manager spoke up and said he was headed for the ski lodge. At that point, Vida bade us good night and went on her way. I recalled glancing out into the front office but couldn’t see Amanda from that angle. Vida hadn’t paused in her exit, but that didn’t mean Amanda wasn’t still there. My House & Home editor might have simply snubbed our temporary receptionist. It had taken a few minutes for Leo and me to gather our own belongings. I couldn’t remember seeing any sign of Amanda when we left around five-ten.

  “No,” I finally answered. “I think she quit around five. You might call Kip MacDuff. He usually stays on a bit later than the rest of us, especially when we’re this close to deadline. He’d be home by now.”

  “Okay,” Walt said. “I’ll do that.”

  Five minutes later the phone rang again. “Kip told me that Amanda was gone when he left around five-thirty,” Walt said. “He was sure there was no sign of her and he closed up.” A slight pause followed. “Did Amanda mention anything about what she was doing after work?”

  “No.” I hadn’t spoken to her after the reminder about taking only an hour for lunch.

  “Would she have said anything to anybody else?”

  Obviously, she hadn’t given Kip any information; nor did I think she and Vida had spoken during the course of the afternoon. If Leo had talked to her, he hadn’t brought up her name on the short ride home. “I honestly don’t know where she might have gone. Shopping, maybe?”

  “I don’t think so,” Walt said, sounding worried. “We were supposed to have dinner with Derek and Blythe Norman and some other people from the hatchery. We planned to arrive at the Normans’ house around six. I called them before I called you just in case Amanda was running late and had gone there first. They hadn’t seen or heard from her.”

  “Do you know if her Miata is still parked by the office?”

  “I asked Kip about that,” Walt replied. “He didn’t think it was. She’d been pulled in next to his pickup after she got back from lunch.”

  Kip was the type who noticed such things. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Hanson. I’m sorry. Let me know when she shows up.”

  “Um … yes, I will. I … sure.”

  Walt definitely sounded upset. I almost suggested that he call the sheriff’s office, but being an hour and a half late wasn’t enough to qualify as a missing person.

  “Please do call me,” I repeated. “Maybe she ran into a friend. I’m sure she must be fine.”

  “I hope so,” Walt said. “Thanks.” He hung up.

  I sat on the sofa for a long moment, knowing that neither of us believed the last few words we’d spoken.

  SEVENTEEN

  BY TEN O’CLOCK, WALT HANSON HADN’T CALLED BACK. MY anxiety grew, though I told myself that if Amanda had shown up, the couple had probably scurried off to Derek and Blythe Norman’s house. Walt could have been in a rush and forgotten he’d promised to keep me informed.

  I finished an e-mail to my brother, Ben, who was again coming off the bench to sub for another priest. Father Jimbo, as Ben called him, was doing research on St. Leo the Great, the fifth-century pope who had guided the church through some rugged years of chaos. During a six-month leave of absence, Jimbo planned to study the Vatican archives for evidence of St. Leo’s influence in Gaul. Ben, however, figured he was actually studying menus, wine, art, and really crazy Italian drivers on the Via Veneto. My brother’s current assignment was in Boston where he was doing some studying of his own, mainly of American history, the Boston Red Sox, and the MTA.

  My next dose of pain medication was due at eleven, so I had almost an hour to go. Restless, I wandered over to the front window and looked out into the October night. All was quiet, with only the amber glow of house and streetlights blurred by the thickening fog. A car slowly passed by and turned into Val and Viv Marsden’s driveway. My brain went into overdrive as I suddenly remembered that Val worked with Walt Hanson at the fish hatchery. Maybe the Demerol had addled my mind. Feeling like a moron, I hurried through the front door.

  The Marsdens had parked in their garage, but had to come back outside to enter the house. I called to them as I ran across the yard.

  “What’s wrong?” Vi
v shouted in alarm.

  “Nothing,” I assured her, reaching the fence between our properties. “That is, nothing with me. Were you at Blythe and Derek’s house for dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah,” Val replied, laughing and shaking his head. “That was more fun than bunions.”

  I cut to the chase. “Were the Hansons there?”

  “Not exactly,” Viv said. “They came, they saw, they tried to kill each other. And that was before they ever got inside the house.”

  I was relieved that apparently Amanda was alive and well, but curious about the behavior of both Hansons. I posed a question that might’ve been considered bad manners for anyone who didn’t live in a small town or work on a newspaper. “What were they fighting about?”

  Val shrugged. “No clue. They came in separate cars, arriving at the same time.” He glanced at Viv. “When was that? Around seven-fifteen?” His wife nodded. “Anyway,” Val went on, “they started to fight. Yelling, screaming, the whole nine yards. Amanda finally got back in her Miata and took off. Walt came inside but wouldn’t talk about it. He had one drink and left.”

  “Walt didn’t even finish his drink,” Viv put in. “He just stood around, fuming and looking as if he’d punch out anybody who spoke to him. But he did mutter some kind of apology before leaving.”

  I noticed that Viv, who was wearing a bejeweled angora cardigan, had begun to shiver. “You’re cold,” I said, also feeling a damp chill setting in. “Go warm up. We can talk later.”

  Val didn’t require further persuasion, but Viv hung back. “How’s Amanda working out for you?”

  “Okay.” I wouldn’t criticize Ginny’s sub. Viv enjoyed gossip-peddling as much as most Alpiners. “Walt called to ask me if she was working late. She wasn’t.” I was shivering, too. “We’d better warm up before we get pneumonia.”

  Viv didn’t argue. I went back to my snug log cabin, wishing I’d built a fire. The reason for Amanda’s tardiness wasn’t as important as the ruckus that had followed. Val and Viv had already told me the marriage was in trouble. Maybe the Hansons had reached the end of their rocky road. Selfishly, I wished that if they were having a marital war, it wasn’t on my watch. Very few people—except perhaps Vida—could close the door on serious problems before going to the job.