The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  I picked up my own glass and some holiday napkins before going into the living room. I noticed that someone—probably Adam—had turned on the Christmas tree. Milo was building a fire. Vida was still wearing her skunk and sitting next to my son on the sofa. Leo had sat down in the smaller armchair by the tree. Ben was reclining in the easy chair where Milo usually sat when he wasn’t on the sofa with me. I wondered if the priest and the sheriff had arm-wrestled each other for the rights to the chair. I parked myself on the floor by Adam.

  “So flat in Ohio,” Vida was saying to Ben. “How can people survive without mountains?”

  “Beats me,” Ben admitted. “Some Midwesterners don’t like them. They get claustrophobia or feel menaced. Conversely, the endless vista of land that goes maybe thirty, forty miles soothes them.”

  “Maybe,” Adam put in, “they’d like Alaska. Some days, like last week, you can’t see anything at all.”

  Vida shuddered. “No! How do you know what people are doing?”

  “Hard to get ‘Scene’ items, Vida,” Leo remarked.

  Milo had the fire going. He went out to the kitchen, leaving his drink on the mantel between two wax choirboys. What now, I thought—is he tossing the damned salad? And wished I couldn’t think at all.

  “Emma!” he yelled. “Your oven’s on fire. Again.”

  “Oh!” I jumped up and would’ve knocked over my drink if Adam hadn’t snatched it off the floor.

  “Can I help?” my son asked.

  “No,” I said over my shoulder. “Evacuate, if necessary.”

  Sure enough, smoke was filling the kitchen. The sheriff had opened the back door. “Didn’t you clean the damned thing after your last fit of pyromania?” he asked, obviously irked.

  “Yes, but the turkey grease must’ve …” I started coughing as I squinted into the oven.

  Milo slapped me on the back before pulling me out of the way. “The lasagna’s safe on the counter,” he said. “I’ll get the bread. Jesus, you’ll burn this place down yet.” He hauled out the two loaves and dropped them on the counter before closing the oven. “God, Emma, how have you survived all these years on your own?”

  It was a fair question. “I don’t know. Dumb luck, maybe.”

  He ran a finger down the bridge of my nose. “Put out the bread—and don’t dump it on the skunk.”

  “What is it?” Ben asked, coming into the kitchen.

  Milo shot my brother a sharp look. “This isn’t what it looks like. I’m actually screwing the brains out of your sister.” He picked up the lasagna pan and barged past both Ben and me.

  “Oh, Ben!” I cried, torn between laughter and tears.

  Before he could say anything, Vida leaned into the kitchen. “Kip’s on the phone. He sounds upset.” She handed me the receiver.

  Ben sighed and returned to the living room. Milo announced that dinner was ready. The back door was still open and the smoke was dispersing. “Hi,” I croaked into the phone. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s that Andrews guy,” Kip said. “He’s looking for Mitch. I played dumb, but he’s coming to see you. Something’s up and it sounds bad.”

  “For Mitch?”

  “Yeah—maybe all of us. Be careful, Emma. This might get ugly.”

  And to think I thought it already had, but at least I didn’t have to call the sheriff. Milo was putting the salad on the table. Ben was waiting to say grace. I sat down. My brother’s prayer was mercifully brief—or that was my vague impression. All I could think of was Kip’s warning about Charles Andrews’s imminent arrival. I’d had no chance to warn Milo. When Adam handed me the salad bowl, I made an announcement.

  “We’re about to have an unexpected visitor.”

  “Who?” Vida asked, her eyes huge behind the big lenses. “Kip?”

  “No,” I said, with a swift glance at Milo, “a Seattle attorney named Andrews. He stopped first at the Advocate.”

  Vida looked as if she intended to vault across the table and accost me. “Who? Why? What for?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I admitted.

  “Mom,” Adam said, “are you keeping that salad all to yourself?”

  “Uh … no.” I all but shoved the bowl at Adam as the doorbell rang.

  Milo stood up at the head of table. “Stay put. This is my perp.”

  Vida gasped. “How did I miss that?” She shot Leo an accusing look. “I should never have let you take me home!”

  “Is the sheriff armed?” my son asked, looking excited.

  “I doubt it,” I said.

  Mr. Law Enforcement took his time opening the door. I assumed Charles G. Andrews would recognize the man who had arrested him a few hours earlier. But Milo wasn’t in uniform. While there weren’t many other six-foot five-inch, mid-fifties graying sandy-haired men in SnoCo, there were probably a half dozen within a block of Andrews’s office in Seattle. I could see only the newcomer’s dark overcoat and his hand from my vantage point, but the initial exchange between the two men seemed cordial. A moment later, Andrews stepped inside.

  “Someone to see you, sweetheart,” Milo said in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his usual laconic tone. Nor had he ever called me “sweetheart” or any other term of endearment, unless I counted “dumbshit” and “pain in the ass.”

  Milo closed the door and ambled back to his place at the table. I stood up, discovering I was a trifle wobbly. “Thank you, darling,” I said. “Don’t let your dinner get cold.”

  Vida choked on her screwdriver. Leo patted her on the back. Ben and Adam frowned at each other. Seemingly unconcerned, the sheriff served himself more lasagna. Andrews’s ice-cold blue eyes surveyed all of us. He was a broad six-footer with receding black hair and soft features that no doubt belied a sharp mind and sharper legal tactics.

  “May we speak privately?” he inquired, not offering his hand.

  “This is private,” I said, “unless you prefer the carport.”

  Andrews didn’t even blink. “Fine. I think on my feet in court.”

  He’d thrown down the gauntlet. For one fleeting moment, I wished Milo was wearing his uniform and my brother and my son had on their clerical garb. I even wished Vida hadn’t finally removed the skunk from her head. “Why are you here, Mr. Andrews?”

  “You know who I am,” he said, looking smug.

  “My production manager called me. Why are you intruding here?”

  Andrews looked amused. “I want another of your employees, Mitch Laskey. Is he here?”

  “Do you see him?” I gestured at the table where my guests were pretending they were interested only in their food.

  “If not here, where is he? He’s not at home, either.”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “That’s a shame. Without your cooperation, it’s likely that you won’t be seeing him very soon.”

  “Oh?” I said calmly. His attitude had steeled my spine. “I didn’t know you two were dating.” I let my gaze travel from the top of his balding head to his expensive, if wet, wing tips. “Nice coat.”

  Somebody at the table snickered. Leo, I thought.

  “You’re very foolish,” Andrews said, though his aplomb seemed slightly dented. “Laskey could be facing a prison sentence. By the way, I’m a married man with children.”

  “Did I ask? You’re not my type. Why would Mitch be doing that?”

  Andrews smiled sardonically. “How many charges would you like to hear? Since you won’t help me, I’ll hire someone who can. I’ve already wasted two days in this drab little town. Good night, Ms. Lord.” He turned on his well-heeled heel and headed for the door.

  “Well now!” Vida cried after I checked to make sure Andrews had closed the door all the way. “How dare he speak of Alpine like that?”

  I sat down. “That’s not the point. Why is Mitch in trouble?”

  Milo was fingering his chin. “If he is and this S.O.B. is on his trail, why hasn’t anybody notified me?”

  Vida scowled at the sheriff. “Watch
your language. Though I don’t blame you. That man’s intolerable. Did you really arrest him?”

  “Yeah.” Milo waved a hand in dismissal. “That had nothing to do with Laskey.” He turned to me. “Where is Mitch?”

  “He was still in Monroe this afternoon,” I said. “Brenda was a wreck, so he was taking her somewhere to get help. For all I …” Something clicked in my brain. “Andrews was at their house when they were at the hospital. Now I know why that Escalade rang a bell. Kip saw it parked outside when he went to see Mitch and Brenda but apparently he told Alison he thought it belonged to the Laskeys.”

  Adam looked at Ben, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table. “Hey, this is a lot more exciting than hearing confessions.”

  Vida was aghast. “Surely not! You must hear outrageous things.”

  My brother shrugged. “Not after the first two years.”

  Milo got up, almost knocking over his chair. “I’d better check with Dustman in case this asshole shows up at headquarters.”

  “Language, Milo …,” Vida began, but he’d gone out to the carport.

  Leo was serving himself more lasagna. “This has to tie in with Troy. Or does Mitch know what really happened to Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “No,” I said. “Mitch hadn’t started on the Detroit paper when Hoffa disappeared. You’re right about a connection with Troy. But how? The kid’s back in prison, sick with pneumonia. It isn’t as if Mitch helped him escape or harbored him when he was out.”

  Ben reached for more bread. “You sure of that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did—Troy?—get out?”

  I looked at Vida. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Do you?”

  “I left town soon after Mitch got the call,” she said.

  “Same with me,” Leo said.

  “And,” I murmured, “I never thought to ask.”

  Milo returned. “Dustman said there’s been no sign of Andrews.” He sat back down and polished off his drink. “By the way,” he said to me, “you can thank me for yanking that picture out of the paper.”

  “What?” I exploded so loudly that Adam jumped in his seat.

  Milo shrugged. “Hey, Vida—toss me another piece of bread.”

  She complied. Annoyingly, the sheriff caught the slice with one big hand. I’d hoped he’d drop it and have to crawl around the floor where I could kick him. “Wait till I get you alone,” I said so low no one else could hear, with Vida yapping about Andrews’s denigration of her hometown.

  “That,” Milo said quietly, “is what I’m waiting for.”

  “Mom,” Adam said, “are you okay? You look feverish.”

  “Why not?” I snapped. “Now I’ve got a reporter on the run.”

  “Hey, Sluggly,” Ben said, “this Andrews may be blowing smoke.”

  “ ‘Sluggly’?” Milo said under his breath. “Jesus.”

  “He didn’t come up here and spend two days blowing smoke, Stench,” I retorted. “This guy’s high-end. I’ll bet he’s a criminal lawyer.”

  “Aren’t they all,” Leo mused.

  “Now, now,” Vida said, “my son-in-law in Tacoma is an attorney.”

  By a fortuitous stroke of luck, the talk turned to lawyer-related anecdotes. Ben recalled a black Delta bluesman named Poteet with a law degree from Vanderbilt. He never charged clients, impoverished or not. Years later, Ben learned Poteet wasn’t a sharecropper’s son as he claimed, but the scion of a wealthy Memphis banker.

  After I’d served ice cream sundaes for dessert, we lingered at the table for another twenty minutes. Vida checked her watch and announced it was almost nine-thirty and she should be heading for home.

  “It sounds as if we’ll have another busy day tomorrow, post-deadline or not,” she said, putting her skunk back on.

  Leo agreed. They left together, though I assumed they’d arrived in separate cars. But Milo and Ben appeared to be settling in. I considered faking my own death. Instead, I went into the bathroom and called Kip.

  “How’s it going?” I asked, running the faucet and speaking quietly.

  “So far, so good,” Kip replied. “Did Andrews show up?”

  “Yes, but he left pretty fast. What did he say about Mitch?”

  “Andrews sounded as if Mitch was in some kind of trouble. Is he?”

  I sighed. “If he is—and this jerk made it clear he could be—I don’t know why. I’ll bet that Escalade you saw at the Laskeys’ house was Andrews’s.”

  “Wow. Maybe it’s a good thing Mitch wasn’t there. I wonder if Andrews talked to Spence.”

  I’d forgotten Spence had also been at the Laskey house. “I should call him. Hey—you still have that Durgan pic on page one, right?”

  “Uh … no.” Kip sounded as if he were being strangled.

  “Why not?”

  “Dodge called.” Kip paused. “He said it was a bad idea. He’s at your place, right? I assumed you agreed. Dumping the photo is a good plan if I want to interview Turk. Henry Bardeen says he’s still at the lodge.”

  Kip wasn’t at fault. “You get a pass on this one, but never make a change like that again without consulting me first. The sheriff is not my boss.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not at you,” I said.

  “Good. I was worried.”

  “Given the chance for a story on an Olympic snowboarder, I’ll fold this time. Without Mitch, we need to fill space.”

  “Thanks. I hope we don’t have to fill space with a story about Mitch instead of by him.”

  I agreed and rang off.

  The Three Stooges were lolling around in the living room. Milo had reclaimed the big easy chair. Ben was in the side chair. Adam was on the sofa. They were all drinking something.

  “We thought you’d died in the bathroom,” Ben said, getting up. “I was ready to take a leak outside.”

  “Why not?” I muttered as he passed me on his way to the hall. “Dare I enter the kitchen or does it look like Omaha Beach after D-Day?”

  “Hey,” Adam said, “we’re taking a break. The table’s cleared.”

  “Vida did that,” I said, and kept going. Milo and Adam resumed talking about fishing in Alaska.

  The kitchen wasn’t as big a mess as I’d feared, but I started emptying the dishwasher, which I hadn’t had time to do before dinner. I was reloading it when I heard Ben come back into the living room. As I turned the washer on for another load, Milo joined me.

  “I should head home,” he said wistfully. “You okay?”

  I was about to give him hell for pulling the photo, but I couldn’t. Instead, I collapsed against him and didn’t say anything.

  “Hey,” he said, mussing up my hair, “what’s wrong?”

  “I’ve never seen you play host before.”

  “I’ve had some practice,” he said. “You’ve seen me cook on your barbecue. Unlike Mulehide, you didn’t bitch every ten minutes for not testing the coals with my bare hands.”

  “I never think about you and Mulehide. As a couple, I mean.”

  “Neither do I.” He gave my backside another squeeze. “I better go before I take you with me.” He leaned down and lightly kissed my lips. “Damned good lasagna, by the way. Better than any box.”

  I followed him into the living room. Adam had put on some Christmas music. Ben looked as if he might nod off at any moment. Milo took his heavy jacket off the rack by the door.

  “You leaving, Sheriff?” Adam asked, moving from the CD player.

  “Yeah,” Milo said. “Try to keep your mother from hurting herself.”

  Ben got to his feet. “I should go, too, or morning Mass will be midmorning Mass.” He kissed my cheek. “Take it easy, Sluggly. Dodge is right. You’re always one step away from going through a wall. No wonder you need round-the-clock protection.”

  I kept my composure. “Drive safely, Stench. In fact,” I said to Ben, darting Milo a look as he opened the door, “you should drive behind Dodge so that he doesn’t see you’
re always one slip of the foot away from replacing Durwood Parker as the most reckless driver in SnoCo.”

  Ben grunted. Milo left first, with my brother not far behind.

  “Well?” I said to Adam after I’d closed the door behind them.

  “Well what?” Adam asked, puzzled.

  I flopped onto the sofa. “Did you have a good time?”

  Adam grinned. “I did. It’s a hoot to see how you live.”

  “It’s usually calmer. I’d forgotten about Vida’s skunk. It’s been ages since I’ve seen it.”

  “Mrs. Runkel is awesome.” My son stretched out on his back by the hearth. The fire was still going. Milo must have added another log. The dishwasher vied with Perry Como in the background. The lighted tree lent a festive air. It was some time before Adam spoke again.

  “I like him,” he said.

  I’d been lost in thought. “Huh? Who?”

  “Dodge. Who else?”

  “Oh. That’s right—you don’t really know him, do you?”

  “This is the first time I’ve been around him in years.” Adam grinned. “When we first moved here, I thought he was one scary-looking dude. I decided then that I’d better behave and not have him bust me.”

  “I don’t ever recall Milo as looking scary,” I said casually.

  “No.” Adam had grown serious. “You wouldn’t. You were probably too busy telling yourself he was a small-town hick.”

  I stared at my son. “Oh? Why? Because he’s not like your dad?”

  “Maybe. The biggest difference is that he’s here—for you.”

  I nodded. “He always has been. Do you mind?”

  Adam shrugged. “I hardly ever saw you and Dad together.”

  I’d never thought about that, but it was true. Adam had spent time with Tom. Tom had spent time with me. But we’d never been a family. The last occasion we’d all been together was when Tom was in a coffin. “Oh, Adam, that’s so sad. You were cheated.”

  “So were you. So was Dad.” He shrugged. “That’s nobody’s fault.”

  We were silent for a while before I spoke. “Ben is upset with me.”

  Adam rolled over to look at me. “Why?”

  “He thinks I’m going to hell.”

  “With or without Dodge?”