The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  I saved Adam’s present for last. He looked very pleased with himself as I unwrapped the small package. Inside were a white bracelet and a pair of earrings carved in the image of polar bears.

  “A parishioner made those from walrus tusks,” he said. “I thought of bringing you some frozen seal steaks, but decided not to.”

  “They’re lovely,” I said, not wanting to tell my son that the earrings were for pierced ears, a vanity I’d avoided. I slipped on the bracelet. “Elegant,” I declared, leaning over to kiss Adam’s cheek.

  Ben had gotten a keychain made from the same material—maybe the same walrus, for all I knew. In fact, the small figure that was attached to the links was a comical walrus. Adam waxed eloquent about his villagers’ accomplishments, which included basketand doll-making. For a few minutes we seemed like real family. There was a relaxed give-and-take, no censure or hostility lingering in the air. Then it dawned on me that Adam was talking about his other family, a subject Ben could warm to from his experiences on the Delta and the reservation. I realized that the Advocate staff had become the surrogate family for me: Vida, Leo, Kip, even the newcomer, Mitch, and the truant, Ginny.

  I was still dwelling on this when the phone rang again.

  “Doc’s done his thing,” Milo said. “You want to come over to the hospital or down to the office?”

  “Where is Doc?”

  “He went home. Come to my office. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll get Ben to move his car.”

  “I’ll pick you up,” Milo said. “Or would that be a bad idea?”

  “Probably,” I said, having visions of the sheriff decking my brother and maybe my son, just for the hell of it. “It’s no big deal.”

  I interrupted a discussion about Southwest and Alaskan native tribes. “I have work to do. Ben, can you move your car so I can get out?”

  Adam got up. “I’ll take you, Mom. I’m parked by your mailbox.”

  I shook my head. “No. You two are having a good time. You yak it up while you clean the kitchen, okay? I have to earn my keep, even on a Sunday. But then, you both do that all the time, don’t you?”

  If Adam heard the spiteful note in my voice, he didn’t show it. Ben’s brown eyes sparked, however. To his credit, he made no direct comment, but dug out his car keys before he spoke. “I can use that new key ring,” he said to Adam. “This one’s been around since I started in Tuba City. It’s got desert crust and rust on it.”

  Ben went out the front door, not bothering to put on his blazer.

  “It’s great to see Uncle Ben,” Adam said. “He’s one cool dude.” My son frowned. “Do you feel like going out? You still look pale.”

  “I won’t be long,” I assured him. “I have to decide if we should put this on our site. Spencer Fleetwood is away, so his subs at the radio station might not know about it. They’re college kids and their main job is to fill up airtime.”

  When Ben came inside, he spoke only to Adam. “Let’s mop up.”

  I left them to it. It was still raining, a factor that natives like me rarely notice. Less than five minutes later, I arrived at the sheriff’s headquarters. Milo had just pulled in. He waited on the sidewalk, hatless, out of uniform, and as impervious to the rain as I was.

  “I’ve got Dwight doing the paperwork, so I’ll send Sam home,” he said, opening the door. He paused inside, taking in his domain. “God, it’s good to be back. Take a hike, Heppner. You’re off duty.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Sam said without enthusiasm. “Glad you’re here. This place really stinks without you.” He shot Dwight a dirty look.

  Milo opened the half door in the counter, ushering me in the direction of his office. “I’ll go first,” he said. “Mullins may have booby-trapped it after I left town. I wonder if he’s still pissed.”

  “Do you care?” I asked as Milo switched on the lights.

  “Nope. He deserved it. So did Fleetwood. Did his nose ever heal?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since he kept the TV watch with me during your crisis.”

  Milo made a face. “It wasn’t pretty. Ahhh.” He’d lowered his big frame into the leather swivel chair and was grinning. “There were times when I thought I’d never do this again.”

  I’d settled into a chair on the other side of the desk. The sheriff had left the door open. He was definitely back on the job. I felt a stab of disappointment, but knew it could never be any other way with Milo. I got down to business, too. “How long for Dwight to do the paperwork?”

  Milo had taken a pack of Marlboro Lights out of his denim shirt pocket. “As long as it takes him to look up all the words in the dictionary.” He held out the cigarettes. “Want one?”

  “Yes,” I said, still feeling rebellious. “Thanks.”

  He lighted both at the same time, and handed mine across the desk. “Just to give you the main points—are you taking notes?”

  “Uh … yes.” I got the ubiquitous notebook out of my handbag.

  Milo pushed the NRA ashtray toward me so we could both use it. He looked worried and dropped his voice. “You sure you feel all right?”

  “How do you think I feel?” I said in a virtual whisper. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since you left.”

  He nodded. “Neither have I. In fact, I was lucky to get in three or four hours in a row, between Tanya and Mulehide. Nightmares, hysteria, the whole nine yards. I haven’t had a decent meal, either.” He patted his midsection. “I figure I lost at least ten pounds. I almost took Adam up on his offer of staying for dinner. Then I decided it was a bad idea.”

  For the first time, I realized his face was thinner, too. “Bad idea is right.” But I couldn’t resist smiling. “You can spare that much, big guy.”

  We sat there just looking at each other for a long time. Finally Milo took a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaled, and sat back in the chair. “Okay. The deceased is a male, probably between thirty and fifty—that’s as close as Doc can come. We’ll have to ship the damned stiff to Everett for the full autopsy. Might as well send Roy’s bones, too. Maybe SnoCo can give us a discount. Probably been dead for six months or even more. Hard to judge, because Dwight couldn’t tell if the entrance to that cave was sealed before the rockslide came down off the ridge.”

  I frowned. “You mean the body could’ve been there for a year?”

  Milo shook his head. “I don’t know, but that’s doubtful. Doc said he thought animals or birds may have gotten at what was left of the clothes. There wasn’t much, though, which made me wonder if the guy was wearing shorts or some other kind of summer rig. He wasn’t a serious hiker—no boots, just the remnants of sneakers.”

  I’d gotten over feeling light-headed after the first two cigarette puffs, not having smoked in some time. “Any way to tell how he died?”

  “No. Not a blow to the head, Doc said. Dwight looked for shell casings, but no luck. The guy could’ve been shot somewhere else. Or it could’ve been an accident. He’s alone, goes in the cave, gets hurt, dies of starvation and dehydration. It happens.”

  I shivered. “Horrible. No cell or other way to call for help?”

  “Not even ashes from a fire to send smoke signals.” Milo looked faintly peeved. “Wouldn’t I mention it if there was?”

  “Sorry. I won’t ask about ID, though it’s possible an adult would’ve had some. He didn’t walk from his house to the end of that trail.”

  “He might, in good weather. It’s not too far from Deception Falls.”

  “A good three miles on foot. No abandoned vehicles in the log?”

  “Dwight already checked. No such report in the past year and none that either of us remembers ever in that area.”

  I grew thoughtful. “Why do I sense you’re thinking foul play?”

  Milo stubbed out his cigarette. “Because that’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Can I say that in print?” I asked the sheriff.

  “Nope,” he replied. Putt
ing his feet up on the desk, he folded his hands behind his head. “I doubt the autopsy will show anything that leads to that conclusion. All we can hope is that a missing-person report was filed. The problem’s obvious. We don’t know where he came from, and we’ll get a boatload of reports even if we only go statewide.”

  “You’re sure there was nothing even vaguely personal?”

  “Dwight says no.” Milo lowered his voice again. “If nothing else, he’s thorough.”

  “True.” I turned to look into the deputies’ area. Dwight was still hunched over in his chair. “Slow, too,” I murmured. “How long does it take him to fill out paperwork?”

  Milo looked at his watch, which was new. “Want to spend New Year’s Eve here with me?”

  “Not if Dwight’s here.” I pointed to the watch. “Is that a present?”

  “Are you nuts? I bought it at a drugstore on Pill Hill in Seattle,” he said, referring to the area where many of the city’s hospitals were located. “You may recall how my old one exploded when I was rolling around on the carpet with a certain female predator.”

  “Hush!” I whispered. “I was not the predator. You started it.”

  He scratched at the graying sandy hair behind his ear. “I suppose so—in a way. But I didn’t toss the old watch out.”

  “Oh, Milo,” I said under my breath, “what’s to become of us?”

  He grew serious. “I won’t know until I hear about your brother.”

  “I can’t tell you here.” I put out my cigarette and stared into my lap. “Let’s stick to less ghastly subjects, like dead people.”

  “Sure.” He moved his legs off of the desk and swiveled around in his chair. “Hey, Gould,” he called. “You finished that novel yet?”

  Dwight didn’t turn around. “Almost. What’s the rush?”

  “Ms. Lord has company,” Milo replied.

  Dwight grunted. I suspected there was more he wanted to say, but didn’t care to end up like Fleetwood and Mullins.

  “Oh,” I said suddenly, “how big was the dead man?”

  “Doc put him at five-ten, five-eleven, with a frame that could carry anywhere from a hundred and thirty on up. The SnoCo crew will be more accurate. We aren’t sure of his race, but Doc says not Asian.”

  “Hair?”

  “Enough to tell it was dark brown. No gray in it.”

  I closed my notebook. “Still nothing on Troy Laskey?”

  Milo shook his head. “No SkyCo sightings. I haven’t had a chance to check the other counties.”

  “Did Mitch come here to make inquiries?”

  “I don’t know.” Milo stood up and went to the door. “Hey, Dwight, has anybody seen Laskey since his kid busted out of Monroe?”

  Dwight turned around in his chair, looking toadlike with his squat physique. “Why would he? We’re not hiding the S.O.B. in the break room. I’ve been juggling all the crap I can handle since you took off.”

  “That’s your job, Deputy,” Milo said.

  “Awrrr …” Dwight hunkered down again over his paperwork.

  Milo sighed and gazed at the ceiling. “Don’t take all night. I’d like to finally get some kip.”

  “I’ll bet you would,” Dwight muttered, but hastily added, “sir.”

  The sheriff made a choking gesture with his hands and mouthed the word “asshole” at me. “You want to stick around or do you have enough?”

  “I do. By the way, is there a description or a photo of Troy?”

  “There must be. Ask …” He peered at Dwight. “Skip it. I’ll look.”

  We went out to the wire basket by Lori’s desk, where the sheriff kept bulletins. “Oh,” I said, “did you know Alfred Cobb dropped dead?”

  “Yeah,” Milo replied, flipping through a stack of printouts. “Dustin Fong told me when I checked in on Friday. Cobb was way past his pull date … Here. No photo of the Laskey kid, though. Lori was probably gone when this came in, so maybe some of it got mislaid.” He glanced again at Dwight.

  I read the APB information: “Twenty-three-year-old Caucasian male, six foot, a hundred and forty-five pounds, light close-cropped brown hair, green eyes, tattoo of wolf on left forearm, tattoo of Star of David on right bicep, small mole just under right jawline.” My sympathy for his parents rose up. “Damn,” I said, “why couldn’t he stay put?”

  “Busted for dealing or using or both?”

  “I’m not sure. It wasn’t Mitch’s favorite topic of conversation.”

  “He’s in a real world of hurt now,” Milo said. “Damn kids.”

  “Right.” I felt guilty for my irritation with Adam. It was so petty.

  “What’s wrong?” Milo asked.

  “I’m an idiot,” I said, biting my lip.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, steering me away from Dwight, “do you want to say something? I can close my office door.”

  “Not now. Really.” I fought my urge to cry. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car. You’re not going to the office, are you?”

  “I thought about it, but I’ll call Kip when I get home.”

  “Good. Even if Laskey hasn’t been sighted, be careful. It’s surprising he hasn’t contacted his folks. Hell, maybe he has and we didn’t hear about it. Aside from their house, what other place in Alpine does he know but the newspaper?”

  “True.” We were outside. “I’ll see if Troy’s hiding in the backseat.”

  “No—I’ll check it for you. Give me your keys.”

  I handed them to him. Milo went to my Honda, opened the doors, and peered around. “All clear.”

  “Thanks.” I looked around Front Street, which had been quiet when I arrived. The Whistling Marmot Movie Theatre had just let out. There were at least three dozen people milling around between the Venison Inn and the Burger Barn. To stamp a more emphatic finis to any intimacy between us, Dwight opened the front door.

  “I’m done,” he announced, with uncharacteristic glee.

  “Yes, Dwight, you are,” Milo said, turning away. “ ’Night, Emma.”

  “ ’Night, Sheriff,” I said, getting into the car.

  Milo went inside with Dwight. I drove home to the priests.

  FOUR

  ADAM OPENED THE BACK DOOR FOR ME. HE AND BEN HAD gravitated from the living room to the kitchen table, both now drinking beer. The kitchen was still a mess. The only thing they’d done was remove our dirty dishes from the table and pile them on the counter and in the sink.

  “Got a headline?” Adam inquired.

  “I’ll have a couple of heads,” I said, “if you two don’t get off your lazy butts. Who keeps house for you, Adam?”

  “A couple of local women,” he replied, looking puzzled. “Why?”

  Ben raised a hand. “Mrs. Kupchik. Absentminded but well intentioned. Attends daily Mass.”

  “Goody,” I said, yanking off my jacket. “Give her my address.”

  Ben chuckled and drank some more beer.

  Adam was studying the dishwasher as if it were a UFO left by our resident space case, Averill Fairbanks. “How do I tell if it’s finished?”

  “The green light, Idiot Boy,” I said, and stomped out of the kitchen.

  In the bathroom, I stared in the mirror. Before I left to see the sheriff, I’d put on lipstick and brushed my untamable hair. But there were circles under my eyes and I was pale. Milo had often seen me look this awful. We’d never lived together, but we’d grown older together—and that wasn’t a bad thing.

  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Ben had drunk enough to grow fairly mellow. Adam basked in his attention—and mine. By the time my brother left, he deigned to kiss my cheek, thanking me for dinner and the gifts. By then, I’d already called Kip, asking him to put the corpse recovery on our site. He could do that from home, so I didn’t feel guilty about disturbing his Sunday.

  My son finally succumbed to fatigue. During the evening, I’d learned he hadn’t reached Fairbanks until morning. He’d concelebrated Mass at Nom
e’s St. Joseph Church after spending the night at the rectory. Adam headed for bed in his old room just before eleven.

  I slept better that night. The next morning, I was eating cornflakes and drinking coffee when I heard my son go into the bathroom. It was a quarter to eight. I could wait for him to come out. Kip had the bakery run. Alison would be on the job, but Mitch was questionable. He hadn’t called, no doubt occupied with his family drama.

  Ten minutes later, Adam emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a big blue towel. “You don’t have a bathrobe?” I said.

  He shook his wet head. “Don’t need one. I just throw on a couple of bearskins back home. Of course, I have to shoot the bears first.”

  I shook my head. “I’m a bit late for work. Do you want to meet for lunch?”

  Adam thought for a moment. “Can you bring a lawyer?”

  He didn’t seem to be joking. Naturally, I was alarmed. “Why?”

  “It’s time to figure out the best way of handling my income from Dad’s newspapers,” he said. “I need a lawyer. The only time I touch the money is for my people. Even then I’m afraid I’ll spoil them. They don’t know I’m technically rich.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s hard for your mother to realize that, too.”

  He looked put off by my remark. “I didn’t think Dad would leave the newspapers to me instead of you. I guess he felt he had plenty of money to keep you in a style to which you weren’t accustomed. It’s not his fault he got killed.” He lowered his head. “Well, maybe it was, but …”

  “Skip that part,” I said. “I hate the replay.” Having Tom die at my feet was only now fading to black. “I was ambivalent when his other kids, Graham and Kelsey, made good on the later will that had disappeared. I didn’t care when the original version was filed for probate. Then your half-siblings wanted out. I had to accept their signing the newspapers over to you, if only to honor your dad’s intentions to make up for being AWOL while I raised you alone. Luckily, he had a capable man to run them.”