The Alpine Winter

by Mary Daheim

  “Mine. You won’t talk.”

  “I haven’t had a chance.”

  “I like going one-on-one with adversaries.” He hung up.

  Surely Milo and Ben would act like … Milo and Ben. I tried not to think about the confrontation. Instead, I wondered if the sheriff was humoring me about the camera. It was a pleasant, though unaccustomed, idea. To make sure the Maltby trip wouldn’t waste time and money, I asked Alison to go through the classifieds from early June to find anyone had taken out an ad for a lost Canon.

  “Sure,” she said. “I don’t think anybody’s lost or found a camera since I’ve been here and this is the season when people use them.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky,” I said, retreating to my cubbyhole.

  With Mitch AWOL, I used the time to brush up on the upcoming opening of Resthaven. The facility would provide rehab for addiction, therapy for the mentally ill, and recuperation for medical patients. The East Coast–based company that had bought the Bronskys’ eyesore had done a good remodeling job, given what they’d had to work with. I was glad I’d tossed the editorial saying that a can of gasoline, some oily rags, and a match would be the best way to solve the problem.

  Alison had found only one classified for a camera, but it wasn’t a Canon. A little after eleven-thirty, I decided to update Vida. She was putting on her tweed coat. “You’re leaving early for lunch?” I said.

  She looked exasperated. “Yes, we’re going to the ski lodge coffee shop. She’s picking me up any moment.”

  An idea I’d had at the back of my mind surfaced. “Ask Bebe to find a pair of men’s hiking boots Roy showed Amer Wasco. I don’t have time to explain, but they might be important. Tell her to give them to you.”

  Vida narrowed her eyes at me. “Why?”

  “Roy thought they were Mama’s,” I said hurriedly as I heard Alison greet someone in the front office. “Bebe can stop at her house—”

  “Bebe!” Vida cried, looking beyond me. “How nice!”

  Bebe Everson entered the newsroom. She was a small, dark-haired woman who skittered everywhere like a windup toy. When she ran down and stopped, she always seemed uncertain of where she was or how she’d gotten there. Her voice was high, thin, and staccato, adding to the illusion of her not being connected to the real world.

  “Vida, Vida,” she exclaimed. “And Emma. Surprise!”

  Vida pursed her lips. “To find us at our jobs?”

  “No, no,” Bebe replied, unfazed. “To see you both.”

  “Hello, Bebe,” I said, for lack of anything else. “Is Roy improving?”

  She lifted her narrow shoulders and shrugged. “I think so. He’s calmer. Poor Roy. He’s right.”

  “About what?” Vida inquired, pulling on her gloves.

  Bebe wiggled her hands. “Not giving up. We need closure.”

  “I would think,” Vida began, “that after sixteen—”

  For once, I interrupted her. “That reminds me,” I said. “I was talking to Amer Wasco yesterday about the hiking boots Roy showed him. My son lost a pair, so I thought they might be his.” I caught Vida’s irked stare. “They weren’t his size, but I wondered where Roy found them.”

  Bebe’s black button eyes widened in apparent surprise, as if I’d asked for the number to her bank account. “Oh, dear! I can’t say.”

  “Can’t,” I said quietly, “or won’t?”

  “Can’t,” she said. “Roy fibbed.”

  I feigned shock. “Really? How so?”

  Bebe swallowed hard. “He found Pike’s old boots.”

  Vida’s gaze had now turned to Bebe. “And …?” she coaxed.

  “He liked Pike.”

  “I liked Ike when he ran for president in the fifties,” Vida said, “but I don’t understand.”

  “Roy has Pike’s boots, too. And he did get those at the dump. But the others came from the berry patch.”

  “You mean,” I said, “on Mount Sawyer?”

  Bebe nodded. “Roy gets tired of people making fun of him. About Mama, and searching, searching, searching for her where she picked berries. Not funny to him. Where else would she go with a bucket?”

  “Yes.” Vida checked her watch. “Come, it’s getting on to noon.”

  I knew Vida would follow instructions, despite my vagueness. It might be a wild-goose chase, but she was game. Back in my cubbyhole, the phone rang. It was Adam asking if we could meet for lunch.

  “I can’t,” I said ruefully. “I’m following a lead on Andrews.”

  “What kind of lead?” Adam sounded suspicious.

  “Nothing dangerous,” I assured him. “Really.”

  “Uncle Ben and Dodge are facing off at the ski lodge.”

  “I know. That is dangerous. Vida’s eating there, too.”

  “Relax, Mom. Uncle Ben and Dodge are both civilized.”

  “They’re both stubborn as mules and go by the book. Milo’s is the law, your uncle’s is Holy Writ.”

  “Hey—let them sort it out. You know Uncle Ben’s running on fumes right now. Cut him some slack.”

  “He could do the same for me,” I said. “Got to go.”

  I arrived at KSKY as Spence wrapped up his fifteen-minute midday newscast that covered not only SkyCo but adjacent parts of SnoCo, KingCo, and over the pass in Chelan County.

  He regarded me warily. “Why do I sense I’m being used?”

  “You are. Isn’t that the way we work?”

  He nodded. “So it seems.”

  I removed our food from the bag with its PITS logo, an acronym I found off-putting for an eatery. “I never thanked you for what you did during the Bellevue standoff—and what you didn’t do afterwards.”

  Spence shrugged. “You were my lifeline when I was sinking. As for Dodge’s story, if it doesn’t happen in Alpine, it doesn’t happen.”

  We’d sat down at his desk in his small office. “Thanks anyway.”

  “So how might I help you?”

  By the time I finished my Laskey-Madison theory, he’d eaten half his sandwich. “Who do you know that might fill in the blanks?”

  Spence gazed into the booth where the student engineer manned the console. “A radio news producer, a TV reporter. I’ll call this afternoon.” He nibbled a potato chip. “It’s worth a shot.”

  I checked the big clock in the booth. “It’s almost time for your hour turn. I’ll leave you in peace.”

  We both stood up. “Thanks for lunch,” Spence said. “And the tip.”

  I shrugged. “I was up a stump.”

  “Hey—what are rivals for?” Spence said. “When we can’t hinder, we help. Which reminds me, I’ve got something to show you.” He opened a file drawer in his desk. “When my sister, Marsha, finished serving out Krogstad’s term on the bench, she found some of his belongings in his chambers. She gave me this because she thought there might be a tie-in with the retired SkyCo VIPs I was working on for my weekly nostalgia segments.”

  Curious, I opened the small manila envelope. “It looks like letters or …” I unfolded a flimsy sheet of ecru stationery. “Poetry.”

  “I remembered the poems after our Everson bones chat.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to make of it when Marsha gave them to me, so I stuck them in a drawer. Maybe you can connect the dots.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  It seemed we all needed whatever help we could get.

  THIRTEEN

  VIDA RETURNED AT ONE-TWENTY. “NO BOOTS,” SHE SAID IN disgust. “Bebe insisted she didn’t have time in case they were discharging Roy. I told her I’d come by this evening or tomorrow and pick them up.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I may be nuts.” I offered her my theory that maybe—just maybe—whoever left them had been in the company of Gus before he died.

  She seemed ambiguous. “Well … it’s possible. I did ask Bebe if she knew how long Roy had had them and she thought it was about six months. But if they were pricey and almost new, why would anyone leave such good boots?
And what would they wear on their feet with a long trail back to where whoever it was parked?”

  “People do strange things,” I said. “Maybe the person had taken them off to rest at the trail’s end. Maybe he got scared by a bear.”

  Vida allowed for that possibility, but promised to retrieve them from Bebe.

  Milo called at two o’clock. “Want to look at pictures with me?”

  “Uh … sure. Where will we do this?”

  “In my office. Door open. Dustman just brought in the camera.”

  “Oh! Sure, I’ll be right there. I have to ask—how did lunch go?”

  “It went. We can talk about that later. I’m working.” To prove the point, he hung up on me.

  I was there in five minutes. My arrival didn’t seem to cause any undue looks or comments from Lori, Bill, or even Jack. I headed straight into the sheriff’s lair.

  He picked up the camera and frowned as I sat down. “This thing’s complicated. Too bad the owner didn’t leave instructions with it. Whoa—maybe it’s easier than I thought.” He peered at an image. “Huh. Take a look. Where is that?”

  I stared at a shot that could have been anywhere around Alpine—or the Pacific Northwest. Conifers, ground cover, bare cliffs rising out of the frame. “I’m stumped,” I admitted, handing the camera back.

  He clicked off a dozen or more images. “Ah! I’ll be damned!” Milo handed me the camera. “Look closer at the background.”

  Vine maples framed the scene. A trail cut through an open expanse of ferns, salal, and vines. In the distance, I saw an outcropping of rock with more ferns, moss, and a clump of branches from fallen trees.

  I looked helplessly at Milo. “What am I supposed to see?”

  He pointed to the frame. “Those branches in the background didn’t fall naturally. Somebody put them there. That’s the cave where Gus was found. I’m betting it was done by the bastard who killed him.”

  I sucked in my breath. “You’re sure?”

  “You bet. It’s near the creek where the dogs lost Myrtle’s scent.”

  I felt stupid, but I’d never ventured that far up on Mount Sawyer. Milo had probably tramped all over that part of the area as a kid. It wasn’t far from town. It wasn’t even far from my little log house.

  “Is this all?” I asked.

  “No. I must’ve started this backwards. There’s a whole slew of other shots. If only we could’ve lifted some prints off …” Milo peered at the next series of pictures. “Interesting, if not helpful. See for yourself.”

  More trail scenes, but from a different angle. “Maybe the same trail—and a stream. “Sawyer or Carroll Creek?” I asked.

  “Carroll. Consider when these were taken, especially the ones closer to town, about four frames down.”

  “Alpine Falls,” I said. “No snow, plenty of ground cover, so it’s late spring, early summer. The clump of bright green leaves is Indian poke, not open all the way. My mother called it false hellebore.”

  “Right. Go past the next dozen shots of the bridge and the Sky.”

  “No people.” I gave Milo a curious look. “Whoever took these was only interested in scenery. How far back did you go?”

  “A couple dozen,” he said. “Hand it over. Burl Creek area next.”

  I watched Milo load photo after photo, looking increasingly frustrated. “Damn! This thing’s just a scenic tour. But why end at that cave?” He looked inquiringly at me. “You got it, don’t you? I do, too.”

  I nodded. “Those pictures were taken by Gus, except the last few frames his killer took. That’s why Pete asked if Dwight found a camera. Gus liked photography. Pete and Shari bought him a nice one. Whoever killed him,” I said, with a sinking feeling, “stole the camera and took those last shots as … a trophy?”

  “And the Laskey kid had a medal.” Milo grimaced. “It doesn’t make sense. If Troy killed Gus while he was at large for those two days in June, why? Or are we talking two different people?”

  “Was Gus killed for his camera? Something about it bothers me.”

  “Me too.” Milo fingered his chin. “Pete can tell me if this belonged to Gus. I’m going over there now.”

  “Can I go …”

  He bagged the camera and stood up. “No, you can’t. This isn’t a tag-team match.” He put on his jacket and came around the desk to where I’d stood up. “Where are the priests going to be tonight?”

  “Adam will be with me,” I said.

  “I don’t know what’s tougher,” he said quietly. “Not being with you or being with you when we can’t …” He nudged me out of the line of sight and put his arms around me. “Don’t worry, I won’t mess up your face.”

  I clung to him, eyes shut, closing out everything but Milo.

  “Oh, shit!” Jack cried. “Sorry, boss, didn’t know you were … busy.”

  “Damn!” Milo bellowed, letting me go. He shot me a fierce look. “See what I mean? Beat it, Emma, before I deck Mullins again.”

  I forced a smile. “Thanks, Sheriff,” I said. “Don’t forget Vida’s Cupboard with the priests tomorrow night.”

  Milo followed me out of his office. “I won’t miss it. I haven’t heard her show since … the last time.”

  He lingered inside so I could escape by myself. “The last time” referred to the night we’d unleashed ourselves all over my living room floor. I was still thinking about a repeat when I reached the office. And stupidly realized I’d forgotten to tell Milo about the boots Roy had found near the cave on Mount Sawyer. Love was turning my brain to sawdust.

  I finished researching Resthaven by three-fifteen, hoping Mitch would return for the complete coverage. I just hoped Mitch would return, period.

  To Milo’s chagrin, Pete had been uncertain about whether or not the camera was the one he’d bought for Gus. “The dumbshit got it here in town,” the sheriff explained on the phone, “but Gus wanted a lens that didn’t work with that model, so they went to Monroe to get the right kind. Pete’s going to look for the receipt.”

  I started to tell him about the boots, but he was interrupted by what sounded like Dwight delivering bad news. “Got an overturned RV on 2,” Milo said, and hung up.

  Vida finished her current spate of advice-seeking letters and tromped into my office around three-thirty. Sitting in my surviving visitor’s chair, she asked me to explain Amer Wasco’s role in the hiking boots saga.

  I related the cobbler’s account. Vida accepted my odd notion without question. “I’ll pick them up tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe Billy can talk Milo into doing something with the boots. DNA, I assume. You’re thinking Troy or Gus?”

  “Neither, maybe. Those two sound too big for size nines.”

  “Hands and feet can fool you,” she said. “Sizes are so iffy. I used to be a twelve in dresses.” She shook her head and made her exit.

  Ten minutes later, Sunny Rhodes timidly rapped on my doorjamb. “Emma,” she said softly, “where’s Leo?”

  “The back shop, maybe,” I said. “Can I help?”

  She entered my cubbyhole, but didn’t sit down. “It’s a change in the Venison Inn ad. We’re opening at six instead of seven on weekends as long as there’s enough snow up at the pass.”

  I told her that was easily fixed and asked how her family was enjoying the holidays. I hadn’t seen the VI’s hostess lately. She worked evenings while her husband, Oren, tended bar.

  “Fine,” Sunny replied. “Davin’s home from Western for the holidays. I hear Roger is thinking of going there.”

  “He toured the campus over the Christmas holiday,” I said.

  “Roger visited last night.” She glanced into the empty newsroom, making sure Vida wasn’t in hearing range. “I’m so glad Davin was in Bellingham when Roger got into trouble. Roger seemed subdued, though typical in some ways. He wanted Davin to order a pizza, but our son hasn’t eaten any since he almost swallowed that thing last June.”

  I’d forgotten about the incident. “Oh—the quarter in the topping
?”

  Sunny nodded. “Thank goodness Dr. Starr is such a good dentist. It wasn’t a quarter, but something metal that broke his tooth.”

  “Yuck,” I said. “Part of a utensil?”

  “No, more like … jewelry. I told Davin he should save it in case someone lost it, but he told me he’d already thrown it out.”

  An odd thought came to me. “Do you recall what it looked like?”

  Sunny shook her head. “I was too upset over Davin breaking his tooth. I’d better go. I still have Avon deliveries to make.”

  After Sunny left, I went to the back shop, where Kip and Leo were conferring. I interrupted them to alert Kip about the overturned RV.

  Vida reappeared a few minutes later. “I just spoke with your brother about my program,” she said. “He wondered if we might get together now to go over some of the topics we should cover.” She made a face. “I suppose he doesn’t think Presbyterians know anything about the Catholic clergy. Very presumptuous, really. So little difference between the major faiths in terms of Christian goals.”

  “I suspect Ben is thinking more of geography,” I said. “St. Mary’s Igloo, the Mississippi Delta, and Tuba City are a lot different than Alpine.”

  Vida gazed at the low ceiling. “Yes, but that can’t be helped. Perhaps you’re right. Ben did have some interesting tales to tell last night. I enjoyed Adam’s story about whale blubber. Anyway, we’re meeting at the rectory at four. Am I leaving you in the lurch?”

  I thought about the poems Spence had given me, but they could wait. I hadn’t read them yet. “Go ahead. I assume Mitch won’t be back, so tomorrow we’ll have a staff meeting and divvy up the workload. By the way, did you see Milo and Ben at the ski lodge coffee shop?”

  Vida again looked at the ceiling, this time as if she could see through the roof and was seeking divine assistance. “Bebe was so aggravating. She insisted we sit behind a pillar for privacy. The only time I saw either Milo or Ben was when they came in—separately.”

  I shared Vida’s disappointment, though I’d known all along that if she’d seen or heard anything that had gone on between my lover and my brother, she would’ve said so as soon as she got back from lunch. I’d have to wait for Milo—or Ben—to tell me about their confrontation.