The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  “No doubt,” I murmured.

  “But,” Vida added, wagging a finger, “you and Milo mustn’t make public spectacles of yourselves. You both have high profiles in Alpine. It hardly enhances your professional roles to paw each other on city streets.”

  “We weren’t pawing each other,” I asserted. “He kissed me. That’s it. He was carrying me because I hurt myself.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured.

  “Is the lecture over?”

  “It’s a warning.” Vida smiled. “I’m fond of Milo. He’s the only Dodge who isn’t an idiot. His brother in Dallas may be a fine biologist, but he openly taunted my Meg in school. Milo’s sister left Alpine and later died of cancer.”

  I knew Milo and his brother weren’t close, but he rarely mentioned his sister. “Did his sister die before I moved here?”

  Vida reflected briefly. “Yes, in the mid eighties. Emily was thirty-two. Her husband, Earl, was the high school coach at the time. Not long after they were married, Earl took a job at a school south of Seattle. Milo’s parents were still alive, but Emily rarely visited them.”

  “Except for Aunt Thelma and Uncle Elmer, I never think of Milo as having any family other than his children.”

  Vida sighed. “Michele, marrying right out of high school, divorcing six months later. Tanya and her strange suitors. Brandon had his problems, too, though he’s now a veterinarian. I wonder what Tricia will do.” She shot me a probing look.

  “I don’t know,” I said, sliding off the desk. “Nor does Milo.”

  “Young people. Such challenges. So difficult.” She looked away.

  I knew she was thinking about Roger. Back in my office, I drank coffee and kept Vida’s advice about proper public behavior in mind before heading out to see the sheriff.

  Snow had fallen during the night, but turned into more bone-chilling rain on this dark, gloomy December morning. Adam lived in the land of the midnight sun—and endless winter nights. I admired him for testing his limits. I was not so self-sacrificing.

  At the corner I met Leo, who was carrying a lavender bakery box along with his ad portfolio. “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Kind of,” I admitted, the cornflakes not having filled my stomach. “I’ll wait. Did they go for the color at the Upper Crust?”

  “Yeah. I cut a deal on their website ad. Later, babe. I acquired a dislike for gray skies and rain with possible snow while in California.”

  My ad man moved on, leaving me wondering if Vida was right about Leo considering a lifestyle change. Selfishly, I hoped not.

  Lori was back on duty, chatting with Bill Blatt and Doe Jamison.

  “No Laskey?” Doe inquired.

  “Not yet,” I said, “and don’t ask. Did Troy go back to Monroe?”

  “Yes, last night.” Bill grimaced. “I’d better call Aunt Vida now before I get in trouble and end up with a sore butt like my sister, Marje.”

  I inquired after Lori and her family. She told me they were coping, but the holidays seemed cheerless without Grandpa Cobb.

  I scanned the log. Troy’s recapture, the traffic tie-up caused by the stalled semi, three minor collisions, one DUI for an out-of-towner, a domestic dispute involving a couple whose names I didn’t know, and a mountain-lion sighting near the fish hatchery were duly noted. Nothing, however, about Roy’s trashing of the clinic waiting room.

  “No charges pressed on Roy?” I asked.

  Doe shook her head. “That’d be up to Marje or Dr. Sung.”

  The sheriff ambled out of his office, coffee mug in hand. “Hi, Emma. You the new cub reporter?”

  “So it seems. You the same old bear?”

  His hazel eyes sparked. “You bet.”

  I resumed staring at the log. “I guess I’ve got everything.”

  “No, you don’t,” the sheriff said. “Come into my office.”

  I glanced at Milo’s underlings. Bill was on the phone, presumably with his Aunt Vida. Doe was also on a call, asking for a license plate number. Lori was searching through the files. “Okay,” I said warily.

  Milo closed the door behind us. I was about to protest when he went to the other side of his desk and sat down. “What’s wrong?” he inquired as I settled into my usual spot across from him. “You look like a scared rabbit.”

  “Vida gave me a lecture. Mary Lou Blatt spotted us outside the clinic yesterday.”

  “So?”

  “Mary Lou probably wants Vida to put it in ‘Scene.’ ”

  “So?”

  “Milo …”

  “Vida won’t do that. Why do you care? Back before you decided to dump me, you didn’t seem to mind if anybody knew we were lovers.”

  “My bridge club boycotted me for a while,” I reminded him.

  Milo took a swig of coffee. “That was after you dumped me. Is it the priests?”

  I winced. “That might be part of it.”

  “Is Vida pissed at us?”

  “No. She approves, but she thinks we’re … undignified.”

  The sheriff burst out laughing. “Oh, God! Hey, we had our clothes on. Relax. Are you scared of being happy?”

  “I’m scared of being sappy. So, why did you close the door?”

  Milo grew serious. “Nothing personal, but I don’t want to start a different rumor. I got a call last night from Don Krogstad. We went to school together. This is more up Vida’s alley. You can pass it on to her. Bill Blatt’s too young to know about it, so there’s no point telling him.” He took a pack of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket. “You want one?”

  “Why not?”

  Once again, Milo lighted mine as well as his. “Don asked if Dwight had found anything else in the cave where he and his wife, Dee, discovered the body. I told him Dwight would’ve told me if he had. It was a weird question, so I asked Don why he wanted to know. He stalled a bit before saying his dad—our former judge—had a lady friend. They used to picnic by the creek up there. You following this?”

  “I guess,” I said. “You know my reporters cover the court. I never got to know His Honor. Up until he got goofy, he seemed a model of rectitude. Did the picnics with the girlfriend occur before his wife died?”

  Milo exhaled smoke and nodded. “Mrs. Krogstad died eight, nine years ago. The judge has been in the Everett nursing home for about four years. He has his lucid moments, mostly focused on the girlfriend. He keeps asking if she’s come home.” Milo’s eyes held the penetrating look he used to elicit information from suspects. “Guess who.”

  “Myrtle Everson?”

  “You got it.” He drank more coffee before continuing. “I don’t remember the affair. Or maybe I’ve forgotten. If anybody knows, it’s Vida. Try it out on her. Maybe it’ll distract her from bugging you.”

  I didn’t respond right away. “It’s odd,” I finally said. “As we know, there are few secrets in this town. Wouldn’t their affair cause gossip after Myrtle disappeared? Wouldn’t the Eversons be suspicious? If Don knew, why were Roy and his kinfolk in the dark?”

  “Don didn’t find out until after his dad was in the nursing home,” Milo said. “He had to go through the old guy’s belongings and found a couple of notes from Myrtle. His dad’s nonstop questions about her forced his hand. Don thought if any trace of her was found, it might ease the judge’s mind. He’d never told his wife, Dee, about it. Even if he had, he couldn’t do much with her puking after they found the body. All she wanted was to get out of there and go home.”

  “Are you going to search the cave again?”

  Milo turned thoughtful. “I doubt it. Dwight may drive me nuts sometimes, but he does his job.” He put out his cigarette and stood up. “Mount Sawyer has always been a curse on this job,” he said, pointing to it on a section map on the wall. “Between meth labs, lost hikers, forest fires, and all the rest, that area has been a pain in the ass. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” He ran a finger above his right eyebrow, a remnant of a face-off with bikers and druggies. One had cracked Milo with a broken beer bottle bef
ore being subdued. “None of us knew what was going on until some of our halfwit teenagers got involved.”

  “Including Roger and poor Mike O’Toole,” I murmured.

  “Right,” Milo agreed, picking up his mug. “I’ve wondered if that wasn’t what started the trouble those two kids got into later.”

  I put out my cigarette. “At least Roger didn’t end up dead.” Even I wouldn’t wish that on the feckless kid. But Buzzy and Laura O’Toole’s son, Mike, had been killed in October when his truck went off the road.

  “I need a refill,” Milo said, standing up. “Any chance you can escape the paper or the priests today?”

  I’d also risen. “It doesn’t look good. It’s deadline day.”

  “Oh—right. I don’t know why I keep forgetting about that.”

  I refrained from punching him. “That makes two of us, big guy.”

  Milo hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Oh, shit.” He sighed. “You better go before I decide you look like you need a refill, too.”

  “No comment,” I said as he opened the door. “See you around.”

  “Right.” Milo went over to the coffee urn. I went through the reception area and out the front entrance.

  I paused on the sidewalk, gazing across the street at Amer Wasco’s cobbler shop. It was almost nine o’clock and time for him to open his door. After waiting for a Blue Sky Dairy truck to pass, I crossed Front on a whim. Before I could get to the cobbler’s, Janet Driggers unlocked the entrance to Sky Travel.

  “Emma Lord, my all-time favorite hussy!” she exclaimed. “Come in, give me every lurid detail of your amoral adventures with our not-so-straight-arrow sheriff! My God, I’ve been fantasizing ever since I heard about you two! I’m going to buy Al a fake badge and just pretend. I kept wishing our house had been one of the places burglarized in The Pines so Dodge could tie me up and drill … I mean, grill me. No such luck.”

  I should’ve known I couldn’t avoid the bawdy wife of Al Driggers, the local funeral director. “I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got—”

  She grabbed my arm and literally hauled me into the travel agency. “I don’t care if you’ve got diphtheria. Five minutes, that’s all I ask. Sit,” she commanded, taking off her faux-fur-trimmed winter jacket. “I figured that with no bridge club until the second week of January, I might not have a change to pump you. So to speak. I saw you come out of Dodge’s office. Did you two spend the night in a cell?”

  I remained standing. “Janet …”

  “Sit. Please.” She pushed me into a chair by her desk. “Sorry I haven’t made coffee yet. I cannot believe that you and Milo are … doing whatever you’re doing in public these days. Is it true he shot Tricia because she flew into a jealous rage over you two?”

  “What?”

  Janet’s eyes were wide with mock innocence. “That’s what Dixie Ridley told me last night at dinner.”

  “Dixie’s never liked me,” I said. “Of course it’s not true.”

  “Damn. I never could stand Tricia. I was so hoping it was true.”

  “For all I know, Tricia isn’t aware I exist,” I said.

  “Ha! She and Linda Grant were always tight. Linda dislikes you more than Dixie does. She feeds every bit of gossip about you and Dodge into Tricia’s pointy little ears. Linda had her gloms on Jake Sellers at the high school before Tricia came along and caught his eye. Then, after Tricia ran off to Bellevue, Linda made a play for Dodge.”

  I stared at Janet, but said nothing.

  “He never told you?” she gasped. “That’s why Linda can’t stand you. You hadn’t been here long before he lost interest in her. Oh, I know he went with that Honoria for a long time, but some of us figured you were the one he was really after.” She sighed. “I love that high school. So much goes on in the storage rooms, the boiler room, the library stacks, the basement … and that’s just the faculty.”

  I tried to divert Janet. “Isn’t Linda seeing Henry Bardeen?”

  “Well … maybe,” Janet said. “He’s a bit old for her, but she’s desperate. Linda could do better. Being a P.E. teacher, she’s in good shape and must have some serious moves, unless you look at her face. But,” she said, clasping her hands and leaning toward me, “dish!”

  “You know I won’t,” I said.

  Janet glared at me. “No. You won’t.” She sat up and beamed. “That means it’s fantastic. I actually saw Dodge smile yesterday.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Okay, go away. Leave me to my fantasies.” She stood up. “But next time you and the sheriff go at it in public, let me know in advance. I’ve always wondered what that great big guy was like in the sack. It must be pretty awesome. What you see is what you get?”

  I stood up, too. I didn’t know what my expression looked like, but it must have revealed something. Janet gave me a big hug.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy for you!” she cried. “You deserve it. You’ve been through some awful crap. So has Dodge.”

  “Thanks, Janet,” I said as she let me go.

  She opened the door for me. “If you two ever want a foursome …”

  “Goodbye, Janet,” I said. “See you at the Cobb funeral.”

  “Hey—that’s a thought! We could do …”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. I’d already turned in to the cobbler shop next door.

  Amer was polishing a pair of wing tips when I approached the counter. “Missus Emma,” he said with a smile. “You are better now?”

  “Just a bruise or two,” I replied. “Thanks for untangling me from the light cord.”

  “Did you hurt your shoes?”

  “No,” I said, “though I have a pair of flats that need resoling. But I have an odd question for you about those boots Mr. Everson brought in here. You told him they were fairly new and couldn’t have belonged to his mother. What kind of condition were they in?”

  “Good, not quite new, but very good.” His bushy eyebrows came together in puzzlement. “You think they belong to someone you know?”

  “No …” I grimaced. “This may sound odd, but were they the kind of boots a prisoner might wear?”

  “Oh, no!” He smiled faintly. “You think … what?”

  I didn’t want to bruit Troy’s name about or start a rumor about Gus. “I get odd ideas,” I said diffidently. “What kind of boots were they?”

  “Hiking boots,” Amer said. “Good quality, like from … that Seattle store … with the initials.”

  “REI?”

  His dark eyes lit up. “That’s it. Yes, maybe two hundred dollars.”

  “But Roy found them at the dump site?”

  Amer nodded. “He first thought they were Mr. Pike’s, from the dump site where he and Mrs. Pike … died. Then, I say Mr. Pike never had such fine boots, being a frugal man. I fixed Mr. Pike’s boots many times. Maybe, I told Mr. Roy, Mr. Pike found them somewhere. Then Mr. Roy got excited and say Mrs. Pike picked berries where his mama did and maybe she—Mrs. Pike—found them up by Mount Sawyer.” Amer sadly shook his head. “I already tell him they were men’s boots. Sometimes his mama is all he thinks about. Poor man.”

  “What size were they?”

  “Hmm … nine?”

  “Oh. Thank you,” I said. “I’ll bring my flats in next week.”

  “I’m sorry not to help so much.”

  “Actually, you did help,” I said, smiling.

  The problem was I didn’t know exactly how.

  There was no chance to tell Vida about the Krogstad-Everson affair. When I returned, she’d left to take photos of the retirement home’s New Year’s decorations. Leo was in the back shop with Kip. Only Alison was on hand, but she had news of Mitch.

  “The Laskeys are in Monroe,” she told me. “Troy is improving and his parents are allowed to see him. Isn’t this all too sad?”

  I nodded faintly. “Did Mitch say when he’d be back at work?”

  “No. He didn’t talk long.” Alison’s voice conveyed compassion
. “I suppose he can’t think of much else except his son.”

  I felt remiss for not sounding more sympathetic. “If he calls again, can you make sure I talk to him?”

  “Of course. Speaking of sons,” she said, “Adam called. He and your brother are going to lunch with the Bartons at the diner. He said they’d both see you for dinner tonight at your place.”

  “Gee,” I said in mock surprise, “they have a lull in their social schedule? I’m stunned.”

  Alison laughed. “Do Catholics have more fun than Protestants?”

  “That depends,” I said. Back at my desk, I wrote a succinct front-page piece about Troy’s escape and recapture. I started the lead story about the cave remains, but hedged my bets by calling Pete at his pizza parlor to ask if he had a photo of Gus.

  “You think it’s Gus?” he asked eagerly.

  “I’ve no idea,” I admitted. “Dr. Starr or Jeannie Clay won’t show up with the dental records until lunchtime.” Bob’s dental assistant was the nubile blonde who’d consoled Milo after our breakup. Luckily, the sheriff had great teeth and rarely went to the dentist.

  “I just feel it’s Gus. Are you sure nothing was found in that cave?”

  I frowned into the phone. I’d heard that question before, albeit secondhand. What did the locals expect? A treasure trove of Alpine relics on Mount Sawyer? “I understand that Dwight Gould searched the place thoroughly. He’s that kind of guy.”

  “Oh … sure, I know Dwight. He’s a hard worker. I have a fairly recent picture of Gus, but it’s not real clear.”

  Fuzzy front-page photos were a no-no. “I’ll call you back on that. Why do you think it might be him?”

  “Gus was still adjusting to being out of prison.” Pete sounded disheartened. “He said it’s hard to understand what freedom feels like unless you lose it. Gus was thrown for a loop. Shari and I tried to help him. We didn’t push socializing. He’d wander off for hours, come back, and we’d ask—casually—where he’d been. He’d shrug, say he’d gone to Old Mill Park or hiked one of the trails and taken some pictures. When he didn’t come home, we couldn’t imagine he’d just … leave.”

  Pete paused, apparently overcome with emotion. I felt obliged to give him a moment or two, but after what seemed like too long, I spoke up. “So you thought he’d met someone he knew and took off?”