by Mary Daheim
I remembered the area from when I’d seen it for the first time after I moved to Alpine in ’89, a great bare swath along the middle of Tonga Ridge and Mount Sawyer, west of my new home.
“Anyway,” Milo went on, “they lost the scent after a couple of hundred yards, indicating she crossed the creek—or stopped. But there was no sign of her in the vicinity.”
I pictured the scene. “So Myrtle disappeared in the same area that the corpse was found yesterday.”
“You got it. Hell of a coincidence, I suppose.”
The sheriff didn’t like coincidences, so I didn’t say anything. But I did ask if the body in the cave had been identified.
“Not yet,” Milo answered. “There was no way Pete could make an ID from those remains. The corpse doesn’t have a gap between his front teeth like Pete, but neither does Matt or Rita Patricelli. We have to wait for Dr. Starr’s old dental records. We’ll get them tomorrow. We don’t have to send those over to Everett.”
“Who’s Matt?” I asked.
“The oldest brother, who lives in Yakima,” Milo said.
“Oh. I never met him. Did Pete simmer down?”
“He had to. We don’t need another local going off his rocker.”
I heard a car outside. “Uh-oh. I think Adam’s here.”
Milo laughed. “Are you afraid your kid will find out you talk to the sheriff on the phone?”
“I’m afraid he’ll think I sound like I’m madly in love with said sheriff. Good night.” I hung up just as a knock sounded at the door.
My son looked sheepish. “I forgot my key.”
“What a shock. Some things never change. Did you lose it?”
Adam kept going, headed for his bedroom. “Hold on,” he called.
I closed the door and sat back down on the sofa.
“Got it,” he cried in triumph. “I left it under my dirty socks.” He came back into the living room and sat down on the floor by the hearth. “Do you want me to build a fire?”
“Sure, but only a small one. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”
“It was a long dinner,” he said, putting crumpled papers and kindling in the grate.
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
He added a log. “Uncle Ben told me Ms. Foxx came on to him.”
“What?”
“She was nudging him with her knee,” Adam replied, setting off the papers. “He turned down the offer of an after-dinner drink at her place. Uncle Ben practically held me in a viselike grip so I couldn’t leave him alone with her. Needless to say, he bagged coming along to my meeting with her tomorrow.”
I held my head. “Her making a play for your uncle blows me away.”
Adam remained by the hearth. Maybe he was soaking up all the warmth he could get while still in the Lower Forty-eight. “I told Uncle Ben maybe Ms. Foxx thought his leg belonged to the table.”
“Those are wooden pedestal tables,” I said. “Your uncle does not have legs like a cedar stump.”
“He thought it was sort of funny,” Adam said. “Maybe it was the booze. We’d had a couple of drinks or so by then.”
“Great. You all seemed sober enough.”
Adam looked at me with a chary expression. “You seemed out of it. That’s too bad about your reporter’s son. Anything I can do?”
I shook my head. “The poor kid’s back at Monroe. I should call the Laskeys, but I really don’t want to. Maybe Vida already has. She’s better at that sort of thing than I am.”
“What about calling the sheriff?”
“I already did. He doesn’t know anything. It’s not his jurisdiction.”
“Oh,” Adam said. “I never figured out the county boundaries here. We don’t have counties in Alaska. We have boroughs, and the vast, uninhabited areas within the borders, those places aren’t part of the designation. They’re called ‘unorganized boroughs.’ ”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “How about ‘disorganized boroughs’? If we did that in this state, it’d fit SkyCo, especially the recent history with the county commissioners, one of whom died before Christmas.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Dubious. It was Alfred Cobb, whose granddaughter replaced Toni Andreas after her move to Alaska. Have you heard from Toni lately?”
Adam laughed at the reference to the young woman he’d dated during his college-break days. “Not for …” He paused, checking to make sure the fire was catching onto the log. “A year, maybe? She went to Alaska to find a man, and probably did. Men still outnumber women by quite a bit and Toni was good-looking, if dim.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “Speaking of old flames, what happened to that AP dude?”
I shrugged. “Rolf retired and moved to France. He sent me a gift package from a fancy Paris shop recently, but I never thanked him. Bad manners, I know, but I didn’t want to encourage him. I haven’t heard from him since, which is fine with me.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I did, but he was an enigma. I never knew whether he was telling me the truth or blowing smoke.” I shrugged. “Vida and I ate some of the food he sent and we both got sick.”
Adam grimaced. “Unless he was seeing Mrs. Runkel on the side, poisoning both of you is extreme. It sounds as if he felt rejected.”
“I kept turning down invitations to visit his Loire Valley hideaway.”
“I take it you’re not looking for a replacement?”
“I’m not.” This was the perfect opening to mention Milo. But I couldn’t, not with Ben’s disapproval hanging over me. Maybe Adam would side with his uncle. Maybe my son wouldn’t want to know I’d finally shoved his father’s memory to the back of the linen drawer.
The log burned brightly. Adam had stretched out on his back. I felt drowsy. The silence was pleasant. It had been a long time since I’d had my son all to myself. I should have turned on the Christmas tree, but I didn’t want to get off the sofa. I wanted to spend this time with Adam to remind myself that first and foremost, I was a mother. But it wasn’t easy. Maybe that was because my son didn’t give me many opportunities to practice. Using my credit card to meet his material needs and receiving sporadic emails and rare visits did not fulfill my maternal instincts. Adam no longer needed me. For the first twenty years, Tom had flunked fatherhood. I’d done it all, and not such a bad job at that. Then Ben had taken over. I often felt as if my brother had stolen my son. No wonder I’d had such a void in my life until these last few weeks. Only one person had needed me for the last fifteen years. It had cut both ways, though I’d tried to ignore the fact for too long.
But for now, I was going to savor this time with Adam. To be fair, he’d rallied to my side when I’d been menaced by the wretched, greedy crooks who had posed a threat not only to Tom’s legitimate children, but to me as well. I’d misjudged my son at the time, and was sorry for it.
“Mom?”
I gave a start. “What?”
Adam was raised up on one elbow. “Were you sleeping?”
“No,” I said. “I was just thinking. About you, mainly.”
He grinned. “Not bad thoughts, I hope.”
“No.” I had to stop. There was a lump in my throat. I swallowed and tried to smile. “I wish you weren’t so far away.”
He was now sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. “So do I, but there’s not much I can do about that. One thing, though—I can’t get much farther from here unless they send me to Florida.”
“How long do you think you’ll be in Alaska?”
“Oh—it’s basically Jesuit territory,” Adam said. “But they’ve had those lawsuits over the perv priests, and it’s going to take them a while to earn back the respect of the people. I can’t believe how that all happened for so long and nobody blew the whistle. The only thing that can even begin to explain it is that until recent years, nobody talked about pedophilia. Not the schools, not the Boy Scouts, not the camp counselors, not the Little League coaches, not the other religious faiths. No excuse, but of
course the Catholic Church is always fair game.”
I agreed. “The bigger the target, the easier for outsiders to point fingers. And righteous indignation often masks bigotry.”
Adam nodded. “Hypocrisy, too. Look at all the politicians and businessmen screwing everybody and getting away with it. You can ruin people without touching them—or knowing who they are except as some poor schmuck way down the food chain. But,” he went on, standing up, “until the Jesuits get their act together, a secular priest like me is good to have around. Unless I get caught selling crack or diddling a seal, I’m an icon. Maybe I’ll stay on for another three, four years at least.”
I made a face. “That’s a long time. For you, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Guess I skipped the fine print on God’s contract.”
It was pointless to press Adam. Except for the rigors and dangers of his assignment, he seemed content. “Maybe someday I’ll visit you.”
“If you do, come in July or early August. If you think Alpine is small and primitive, you’ll pitch a five-star fit when you see how I live. Stay ignorant. Do you ever wonder why I don’t send videos?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to watch them?”
“There is that,” Adam said, “but I know you. Besides, I need the break coming here more than you need to come up north. I’ll have company when I go back. Uncle Ben is coming with me.”
I was only mildly surprised, since my brother had mentioned the idea. “That’s great. I thought you had to leave before the weekend.”
“Not anymore,” Adam replied, going over to the CD player and looking through some Christmas discs. “My sub, Jorge Santos-Medilla, got there late for the same reason I couldn’t get out, so he’ll stay on a couple of extra days. Nice Jesuit guy from Texas, late vocation after he finished grad school, ordained last June. He’ll be fine. Uncle Ben and I’ll leave here Sunday after Mass.”
“You’re not bored in Alpine?”
“After the village, this place is huge. I can hang with Uncle Ben.”
“I should’ve taken time off this week,” I said. “But I couldn’t foresee what would happen with Mitch.”
Adam selected a CD. “I can amuse myself. You didn’t birth a moron, Mom.” Mannheim Steamroller burst forth with “Deck the Halls.”
“I hope not,” I said under my breath.
At least Adam had given me credit for bringing him into the world.
EIGHT
MY SON HAD LEFT BY THE TIME I GOT UP ON TUESDAY. A NOTE in the bathroom informed me that he was concelebrating Mass with Ben before the meeting with Marisa. He’d scribbled, “If no deadline crisis, lunch?”
I couldn’t predict how the day would spin out. Upon reaching the office, I found Alison one step ahead of me, Vida at her desk, Kip carrying a mug of fresh coffee into the back shop, and Leo taking off his raincoat.
“Leo!” I cried, and hugged him, happy to see my ad manager. “How was your holiday?”
“Really good,” he said, with his crooked grin. “I’ll tell you later.”
Vida waved a pencil at Leo. “I must be included. It’s a pity we can’t write about staff in the paper, but I can mention in my ‘Scene Around Town’ that a local ad man enjoyed his California Christmas.”
“That’ll stump the readers,” Leo remarked, “me being the only ad guy in town, unless you count Fleetwood.”
“Let’s not,” I said. “He spent the weekend in Seattle.”
He gestured at the vacant desk across from his. “Where’s Mitch?”
Vida and I exchanged bleak glances. Naturally, she spoke first.
“Mitch’s son escaped from prison not long after you left last Thursday. He was recaptured yesterday, but has pneumonia.” She turned to me. “Have you heard anything more?”
“I’ll do the sheriff’s log. And,” I added, seeing the empty tray next to the coffee urn, “the bakery run. It must’ve been Mitch’s turn.”
“No,” Leo said, chagrined. “It was mine. I forgot. I’ll do it now. I’ve been trying to get the Upper Crust to use color in their ads anyway. Want to come with me, Emma? I’ll walk you to the sheriff’s office.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “I need coffee first. I didn’t make any at home.”
Leo’s expression was quizzical. “Your kid doesn’t drink coffee?”
“Not this morning,” I said. “He’s saying Mass with his uncle.”
Leo grinned again. “Man, you must be aglow with piety by now. Let me assure you, I went to Christmas and Sunday Mass with the family. I kind of liked it.”
“Good for you,” I said. “You’d better show up this weekend when Adam and Ben put on their final road show.”
“I think I will.” Leo put his raincoat back on. “Later, ladies.” Grabbing his ad portfolio, he left the newsroom.
Vida looked speculative. “Leo’s happy. That’s a bad sign.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, “but maybe it won’t last. I’d hate to have to replace him.”
Vida made a face. “Especially with Ed lurking about.” She shuddered, jostling not only her bosom but the small pinecones on her cloche hat. “My, my—it’s always something. By the way, Kip says the pass is open for skiing. He put a note on your desk. They must’ve had more snow up there than we did. Do you have a ‘Scene’ item? I purposely left room for post-Christmas items.”
I reviewed the past few days in my mind’s eye, which was a bad idea. “Not a thing, unfortunately.”
“That’s not like you,” she chided. “You’re usually aware. Think.”
I poured coffee and tried to come up with a memorable sighting. “How long has Stacey Bamberg worked at the hospital as a receptionist?”
“Since last April. Go on.”
“Honest, I’m blank.”
“You certainly are,” she said in disapproval as her phone rang.
I scooted into my cubbyhole. If Mitch wasn’t going to show up, I couldn’t waste time. I deciphered Kip’s note about Stevens Pass being open for winter sports enthusiasts and wrote a two-inch story. I was up against a stone wall on Troy’s escape and recapture. I wouldn’t mention Mitch and Brenda, but locals would make the connection and the grapevine would be abuzz. My fingers felt like they weighed ten pounds apiece.
“Emma!” Vida shrieked from the newsroom. “I’m shocked!”
I thought she meant literally. Narrowly avoiding a collision with one of my visitor’s chairs, I rushed into the newsroom. Alison was already in the doorway, apparently as alarmed as I was.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, not seeing any visible damage.
Vida was looking at Alison. “Don’t be upset, dear. I’m fine. Isn’t your phone ringing?”
“Uh …” Alison glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t hear it, but maybe it will.” She returned to her post, obviously having worked with Vida long enough to recognize a semi-tactful dismissal.
I sat on Vida’s desk, my back to the front office. “What?” I asked.
“That call was from Mary Lou Blatt, my loathsome sister-in-law,” Vida said, lowering her voice. “She’s a terrible gossip and sometimes malicious, but I can’t dismiss what she told me. Mary Lou is not a liar.”
Mary Lou was a lot like Vida—smart, opinionated, and self-righteous. Thus, they were often at crossed swords. “About my priests?”
“Hardly.” Vida licked her lips. “Yesterday she was walking from First Presbyterian on Pine across from the clinic, and …” She paused. “She saw Milo holding you in his arms and kissing you. Is it true?”
“I fell down, I told you that.”
“You fell on the sidewalk? I thought you fell inside the clinic.”
“I had trouble getting up.”
Vida harrumphed. “Were you or were you not kissing the sheriff?”
“So what? It’s not the first time and you know it.”
She glowered at me. “I told you that was no way for mature adults to act. Why, back then you weren’t even dating! Kissing
in public … has Milo no sense of the moment? Are you both insane?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no!” Whipping off her glasses, she began rubbing her eyes.
I cringed as her eyeballs squeaked. “Don’t. It drives me crazy.”
“You already are,” Vida snapped, putting her glasses back on. “What happened?”
“I woke up.”
“Well, it’s about time.” She leaned back in her chair, tapping the desk with her pencil. “When? Why? How could I miss it?”
“It … it just sort of …” I shrugged. “You’re not upset?”
Vida sighed. “Years ago, I felt you two were poorly matched. Different backgrounds, little in common. After Tommy died, I was sorry you didn’t return Milo’s deeper feelings. Then you seemed taken with the AP person, but that fizzled when he went to France. I blame him for making us ill. Flu, indeed. You can’t trust foreign food, French or not.”
“I don’t think Rolf intended to poison us.”
Vida waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. I’m glad for you and Milo. I had no time for Tricia, though I’m not one to criticize. She wasn’t local, but grew up in Sultan. They were married there instead of in one of our nicer churches in Alpine.” She made a face. “They met when she worked at the ski lodge gift shop. Tricia never understood how demanding his job was or why he’d go fishing to distance himself from the unpleasant aspects of his work. You’ve never made that mistake.”
“Our jobs are linked,” I said. “Sometimes it causes us conflict.”
“But you and he don’t hold grudges,” Vida pointed out. “Tricia was one for that. I suspect her affair with Jake Sellers was to punish Milo for so-called neglect. So silly of her. Tricia preened all over town when he became sheriff. Then she resented the time he spent on the job. She got what she deserved with the teacher. He wasn’t from Alpine, either.”
For Vida, that was the greatest sin. “I never met Tricia.”
Vida shrugged. “Nice-looking when she was younger, but not the sort that ages well. Gone to fat. You, on the other hand, have held up quite well. So has your brother. It must be genetic.”