The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  “You mean a woman?” Pete asked in surprise.

  “No, just anybody. He grew up here. A high school chum, maybe.”

  “He wasn’t interested in that. Maybe he was embarrassed. You can’t blame me for thinking something bad happened to him.”

  “Like …?”

  “Like getting hurt or lost, taking a trail and losing his way. It’s a funny thing about him being in that cave. When Mrs. Everson went missing, a bunch of the high school kids went looking for her. Gus had already graduated, but he was fascinated by the whole search thing. He did some looking around the area on his own where she was supposed to have gone berry-picking. That’s why I’m almost sure it has to be Gus whose …” He couldn’t continue.

  “You reported him missing to the sheriff?”

  “Ah …” Another pause. “Not at first. We figured he’d come home. I didn’t want Dodge or a deputy showing up to scare Gus. When I finally went to the sheriff’s office, I talked to Mullins, being a fellow Catholic. Jack’s okay, under his smart-mouth exterior. He said all they could do was put out an APB. That hit me wrong. I don’t think Jack ever told the sheriff. I knew Dodge would give me hell for not telling them sooner.”

  Pete was right. “It might not have made any difference, though,” I remarked.

  “Well … I feel guilty anyway,” Pete said. “I better let you go, Emma.”

  “I probably won’t hear anything until early afternoon. By the way, what did you mean about Dwight finding something else in the cave?”

  I heard Pete sigh. “A couple of things bother me. Remember I told you I bought him a camera because he liked photography? Shari didn’t notice if he had it with him when he took off, but we can’t find it. It was real nice, cost a bundle.”

  “That’d be hard to miss if he took it with him,” I said.

  “Maybe he lost it. Another thing … well, Gus wasn’t too religious, but he always wore a Saint Augustine medal my sister Rita gave him. Augustus is my brother’s first name. I wondered if it was in the cave.”

  I hedged. “No, it wasn’t.”

  “That’s a relief,” Pete said. “Uh-oh. The early lunch orders are coming in. Got to go. Thanks, Emma.” He hung up.

  I stared blankly at my monitor. A Saint Augustine medal wasn’t common like a Saint Christopher medal. There were two thousand inmates and five hundred staff members at Monroe. An older inmate had been Troy’s pal. Could the “big brother” Mitch mentioned be Gus?

  It fit—in a disturbing kind of way.

  NINE

  I WAS STILL MULLING AS I GOT A COFFEE REFILL. BEFORE I COULD return to my desk, Spencer Fleetwood breezed into the newsroom. “Ah! My cohort and archrival,” he said, flashing his almost genuine smile.

  “How was your weekend?” I asked, trying not to stare at his nose.

  “Enjoyable,” he replied, helping himself to the last glazed doughnut. “And yours?”

  “Wonderful,” I replied, almost convincing myself that it was true. “My son arrived late. He had a whiteout at St. Mary’s Igloo.”

  Spence poured himself a mug of coffee. “Alaska, home of the frozen friars. Aren’t you going to invite me into your inner sanctum?”

  “Since when did you need an invitation to do what you want?” I led the way. “By the way, Adam isn’t a friar, he’s a priest.”

  “As you know,” Spence said, “I’m not Catholic. Friar, brother, father, bishop, pawn, whatever—it’s all the same to me.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked after we both had sat down.

  His brown eyes danced. “I wanted to see what the sheriff’s lady looked like after the great reunion. I’ve already seen the sheriff.”

  I locked gazes with Mr. Radio. “Watch it. You only have one nose.”

  His hand lightly touched the one he still had. “True. Dodge seemed in remarkably good spirits. For Dodge.”

  I shrugged. “In other words, he didn’t heave you out onto Front Street. Darn.”

  “Emma …” Spence adopted a more serious air. “I don’t hold a grudge. I, too, have to get along with my sources. I messed up. That was then, this is now. Fill me in on the bones thing. Mullins was some help, but he’s prone to hogwash. The Mama quest and Roy’s tizzy aren’t my kind of news, but I think they’d be good material for Vida’s Cupboard.”

  Spence was referring to the weekly fifteen-minute program my House & Home editor did every Thursday night on KSKY. Vida’s show had amazing ratings and had been the main catalyst in a joint endeavor between the Advocate and the radio station to pool advertising. While Spence and I might be rivals for news, we tried to maintain a semblance of civility when dealing with our co-op revenue ventures.

  His idea about the Eversons didn’t strike me as a good one, however. “Ask Vida. I don’t know much about it. She should be back any time. Were you thinking about it for this week’s show?”

  Spence shook his head. “No. She told me she might do a year-end wrap-up, maybe use highlights from previous shows.”

  I grimaced. “That could be dicey.”

  “You’re thinking of the Petersen brothers almost coming to blows?”

  “True,” I said, recalling the banking family’s nightmare. “And some less dramatic episodes, including Edna Mae Dalrymple getting so nervous about speaking into a microphone that she got Charles Dickens mixed up with Charles Darwin and referred to the Holy Bible as the the Boly Hibble. Not a great radio debut for our local librarian. Edna Mae almost canceled coming to bridge club the next week.”

  Spence stroked his chin. “Maybe Vida could recount some of the less embarrassing—”

  “There she is,” I interrupted, rising from my chair. “Vida?”

  My House & Home editor turned quickly in my direction. “Oh! Spencer! How nice to see you,” she said, walking toward us in her splayfooted manner. “Did you have a very merry Christmas?”

  “Indeed I did,” he replied, pulling out the other visitor’s chair for Vida. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Well now,” she said. “I hope it was positive.”

  “How could it not be?” Spence responded, helping Vida out of her coat. “We were discussing your plans for Thursday’s show.”

  “I changed my mind,” she said, sitting down and adjusting her glasses. “It’s redundant. We’re running a wrap-up in the paper. Kip and I put it together before I went to the retirement home,” she added for my benefit. “I’m inviting Ben and Adam to be on my program. Afterwards they must come to supper. I found a tempting casserole in my file this morning. Shrimp, cheese, mushrooms, and … some other things.”

  “Nice,” I said, hiding my horror at the thought of Vida’s casseroles.

  “You could join us,” she offered.

  “Ben and Adam would love having you to themselves,” I said. Two hours without anyone at my house, except Milo … or Somalian pirates or Taliban terrorists or … anything but Vida’s casserole …

  “Perhaps,” she declared, allowing Spence to pull back the chair as she got up. “I must write cutlines for the retirement home photos. Quite ugly, but I can’t help that. We won’t waste color on them.” She gathered up her coat and purse before heading to her desk.

  Spence had followed Vida. I busied myself by going through the mail. As usual, there wasn’t much of interest. After Spence left, I got up to talk to Vida, but she was headed for the back shop. Instead, I tried to focus on the cave-remains story, but I needed an ID—if there was one. Checking my watch, I saw that it was after eleven-thirty. Maybe Vida and I could take an early lunch. She had returned to her desk, but was on the phone. In fact, she never seemed to get off the phone. Just before noon, there was a lull. I hurried into the newsroom.

  “How about lunch?” I inquired.

  Vida shook herself, always an awesome sight. “Is it that time?” she said, glancing at her watch. “The morning has flown. I still need ‘Scene’ filler. Do tell me you noticed a usable item this morning. I have two iffy ones, it not being unusual for Dar
la Puckett to drop her purse all over the sidewalk or for Crazy Eights Neffel to talk to a lamppost.”

  “Did the lamppost talk back?”

  Vida gave me her gimlet eye—just as her phone rang again. “Don’t move,” she said before picking up the receiver.

  I disobeyed, but only went as far as Leo’s desk. Watching my House & Home editor purse her lips and run an agitated hand through her unruly gray curls kept me occupied, though listening to her end of the conversation piqued my curiosity.

  “No, no,” she was saying after a lull on her part, “I won’t use that, Ione. Secondhand sightings are unacceptable. But I will pick up those sale items by tomorrow. We have a deadline here, you know.”

  Vida hung up. For one fearsome moment, I was afraid she was going to attack her eyeballs. “Ohh! People are ninnies!” She practically bolted out of her chair. “Let’s leave now. The Venison Inn?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, heading back to get my jacket and purse.

  By the time I reached the front office, Vida was waiting for me outside. Alison was still on duty, taking a call and rolling her eyes. I didn’t want to know what the caller was saying, so I made my exit.

  Once I joined my House & Home editor, I put her on the spot as we walked the half block to the VI. “What kind of sale items did you buy at kIds cOrNEr?” I asked, referring to the store with a logo that spelled owner Ione Erdahl’s first name in caps.

  “Clothing,” Vida said—and suddenly became tight-lipped.

  “He must be growing fast,” I remarked.

  “Emma,” she said so low that I barely heard her, “please don’t vex me with questions about Diddy. The subject distresses me to no end.”

  I assumed “Diddy” was the nickname for the child that Roger had fathered with the town hooker. I’d heard Vida mention the name before. We’d arrived at the restaurant, so I had to drop the subject.

  Vida was dismayed when we went inside. “No window tables? We should have started earlier.” She stalked off to a vacant booth halfway down the aisle, slowing her pace only to acknowledge some of the locals. I was conscious of stares, whispers, and a few snickers.

  “What is it?” I demanded in an irritated voice.

  Vida was unmoved. “I warned you. What do you expect?” She opened the menu, seemingly engrossed in studying the Tuesday specials.

  I glanced across the aisle, where Lloyd Campbell, owner of Alpine Appliance, was with a man who looked like a sales rep. They were the only other diners I could see from my vantage point. “What,” I asked, “is it about Milo and me being a couple that’s odd? A long time ago, we were together for a year and a half. I don’t recall any big fuss then.”

  At first, Vida didn’t seem inclined to respond, but she finally put the menu aside. “Long before you two became intimate, there was buzz about you despite Milo having a girlfriend in Startup.”

  I kept a straight face. Honoria Whitman and the sheriff had been an item for several years, but perhaps no one in town believed it could be serious because she didn’t live in Alpine.

  “You and Milo spent a great deal of time together,” Vida went on. “After Honoria moved away, you became romantically involved. Everyone thought you were going to marry him. People kept asking me why there wasn’t an announcement in the paper. What could I say? For all I knew, that was imminent. I never pry.”

  This time, it was hard to keep from laughing. Before I could do or say anything, a dark-haired waitress named Nicole came to our booth. “Hi, Aunt Vida,” she said in a chipper voice. “Skip the specials,” she continued in a whisper. “They’re leftovers from the weekend.”

  “I wondered,” Vida murmured. “I’m back on my diet. Christmas—so fat-making. I’ll have the chicken salad with a dab of honey mustard dressing. The roll comes with it, correct?” Nicole nodded. “A bit of extra butter, though, as the rolls are often dry. Oh! I noticed something about crinkle fries. Are they new?”

  Nicole shook her head. “The kitchen crew didn’t know how to use up the leftover potatoes from the holiday. They’re not bad. Very crisp.”

  “Hmm.” Vida mulled briefly. “Oh, why not? If they’re crisp, they can’t be fattening. And hot tea, of course, dear.”

  I asked for fish and chips, a side salad with Roquefort dressing, and a vanilla malt. “Nicole is …?” I said after our waitress left us.

  “A Gustavson,” Vida replied. “She started work in early December. A relation by marriage, but she’s always called me ‘Aunt.’ Goodness, I can hardly keep track of all my relatives sometimes.”

  “I sure can’t,” I admitted. “As you were saying …”

  “Where was I?

  “Not prying.”

  “Oh, of course.” Vida adjusted her hat with its pinecones. “It’s not difficult to understand. After you broke up with Milo, Tommy came to town. An engagement was imminent—but not to the sheriff. Naturally, people in Alpine found that … strange.” Apparently expecting me to explode, she held up a hand. “No one knew Tommy. He embodied so much that’s foreign to Alpiners. A big-city, big-business type. How could he have fit in? Many felt he wouldn’t try. He’d buy the paper and whisk you off to San Francisco, putting a California sharpie in charge of our Advocate.” She paused while Nicole brought our beverages.

  I waited for Vida’s shirttail relation to leave. “As you may recall,” I said, “where we’d live was almost a deal-breaker for me. But Milo felt it was unfair that I got stuck with that decision and told me to dump it in Tom’s lap.”

  Vida was startled. “Milo did that? I didn’t know. Had he gone insane? Did he know how crucial it was for you?”

  Milo had been sane—and sensible. I’d taken his advice. “Maybe he was being noble.”

  Vida sniffed. “More likely he felt Tommy would run like a deer.”

  “I don’t think—”

  She waved an impatient hand. “Never mind. I’m just surprised. Let me finish what I’m saying about now, not then. Oh—here’s our food.”

  Nicole set our orders on the table. “Anything else?” she asked.

  Vida studied the dab of dressing. “Oh, dear. I forgot how much lettuce came with this. Could you bring a bit more honey mustard? Not one of those little cups—the small boat should be about right.”

  “Sure, Aunt Vida,” Nicole said, and went on her way.

  “So skimpy,” Vida murmured. “Oh, well.” She shook salt and pepper onto the salad before tasting a crinkle fry. “Mmm. Rather tasty.” She added salt to the fries as well. “Anyway, what upset everyone was Tommy getting himself killed during the Summer Solstice parade.”

  I gaped at Vida. “That didn’t upset me? I almost lost my mind!”

  She put a finger to her lips. “Lloyd can hear you.”

  “So what?” I muttered.

  “You must admit,” Vida went on, “it ruined the town’s big event that summer. But that’s not why people are making a fuss now. They consider you fickle. You’re still an outsider. Milo belongs to us. As our sheriff, he symbolizes the law and all its virtues. He can be pigheaded, even obtuse—or pretend to be—on occasion. But except for a few critics, Milo is admired and respected. We don’t want him making a fool of himself over a woman who may discard him on a whim.”

  “ ‘We’?” I said bleakly.

  “Yes. We.” Vida’s gray eyes were hard as granite. Nicole brought the boatload of honey mustard dressing. Neither her aunt nor I spoke until she was gone.

  “Vida …,” I finally said weakly. “Do you think I’d do that?”

  “You already did it once.”

  “I was … stupid.”

  “That’s the thing about stupidity,” she said. “People don’t realize they’re being stupid when they’re being stupid.”

  I’d eaten only some of my fish and chips and almost none of my salad. I’d lost my appetite. “I won’t be stupid again.”

  “I hope not.” She slathered more dressing onto her lettuce. “For now, you and Milo must behave properly. I’ve heard ev
erything from a mere kiss to shocking activities in the sheriff’s locked office.”

  “That is not true!”

  “I thought not.” She frowned. “I hope Ben and Adam don’t hear the gossip. It could be harmful. You Catholics are a minority.”

  “They’re grown-ups,” I said. “And they don’t have to live here.”

  “A good thing,” Vida remarked, and made a face. “That is, for them. I truly feel sorry for people who don’t live in Alpine.”

  I felt sorry for Milo and me. “Is this lecture over?” I asked bleakly.

  “You wanted to hear what’s being said. After all these years, you know the grapevine is active and sometimes hurtful.”

  “Right. Let’s move on. We have a paper to put out.” I told Vida more about the body in the cave. I did not, however, mention the Saint Augustine medal. I also brought up Don Krogstad’s call about his father and Mrs. Everson. For once, Vida didn’t pounce on gossip.

  “Harold Krogstad was an unlikely man for an affair,” she asserted. “I recall some tongue-wagging, but Myrtle had a property dispute going on after her husband died. Perhaps Harold thought a picnic would be a pleasant way to discuss his ruling.”

  “For or against her?”

  “Against her,” Vida replied. “That’s why he may have wanted to soften the blow with an outing. He ruled in favor of the county. It’s that property by the dump site. Myrtle thought it belonged to her, but it had been abandoned by previous owners and reverted to SkyCo.”

  It was pointless to argue. At a quarter to one, we left the VI. A few more snickers and stares followed in our wake. It occurred to me that maybe some of them had been directed at Vida. Trying to hide an illegitimate grandchild in plain sight was harder to do than putting up with gossip about a middle-aged couple playing kissy-face in public.

  The sheriff called around two. “According to Bob Starr,” Milo said, “the dental records match Gus. I called Pete first. The poor bastard lost it. A full autopsy won’t be ready until Friday, if then. Too many people hang on through Christmas before they croak. SnoCo’s backed up.”