The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

  “Vida hasn’t said a word. Maybe she’s hoping it won’t happen.”

  “Could be.” Milo paused in the act of grabbing a third piece of bread. “Oh—I almost forgot. I picked up something at the courthouse. It’s in my jacket. Let me get it before it slips my mind again.”

  He went into the living room. I used his absence to snatch up the last claw. “Here,” he said, returning with a single sheet of paper and handing it to me. “Knowing you, I figured you’d want to read this before you do anything about it.” He ruffled my hair before he sat down again.

  My jaw dropped. “It’s a m-m-marriage license th-th-thing!”

  “Right.” Milo scratched at the graying sandy hair behind his ear. “You want a ring, too?”

  I was stupefied. “You kn-kn-know it’s going to t-t-take a long time to get the allumnut,” I gasped. “I mean an—”

  Milo reached across the table and wiped my chin with his napkin. “Stop. You’ve got butter on your face.” He swabbed my cheek, too. “Yeah, I know that, but we should get a justice of the peace to marry us first. I’d like to call you Mrs. Dodge. While Mulehide was here I kept thinking how she trashed that title and it made me want to puke. Besides, it’ll put an end to some of her weird ideas.”

  I’d regained my equilibrium. “What weird ideas?”

  He leaned back in the chair. “She’s been jabbering about how great it was to have me around while Tanya was recovering, how it was like being a family, and maybe after all this time we … you get the picture.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t want to think about it. She and Jake the Snake are kaput. He’s got somebody else, maybe whoever he was banging when Mulehide filed for divorce last fall. She started in on me again last night. She knows about us—her chums here keep her informed—but she doesn’t believe it’s serious. It wasn’t on our first go-around, as you may recall.”

  “I know.” I smiled feebly. “I was an idiot when I dumped you.”

  Milo waved a big hand. “No, the timing was wrong. As long as Cavanaugh was still around, you wouldn’t have married anybody. It galled the hell out of me, but you’re a stubborn little twit and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.”

  I looked again at the application. “There’s a waiting period, right?”

  “Three days. Hey, I’m not rushing you. But sometimes you have a hell of a time making up your mind. Relax. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s to Sekiu with Doc Dewey for some Chinook fishing next week.”

  I was finally able to smile. “I guess that’s not a honeymoon trip.”

  “Hell, no.” Milo went back to decimating more crab. “You’d get seasick. Or so you’ve said.”

  “It’s true. I did that when I had to take the ferry across the Columbia River.”

  “You want an engagement ring?” he asked again.

  “I gave the one I got from Don back to him thirty years ago. A wedding band’s fine. What about you?”

  He shook his head. “I never wore one the first time. I was afraid a ring might get in the way if I had to use my sidearm.”

  I nodded. “Are you sure it won’t bother you if I keep my maiden name for the newspaper?”

  “Hell, no. It’s better that way. Mrs. Dodge calling Mr. Dodge an idiot in one of her editorials would be even weirder than Ms. Lord doing it. Never mind that everybody knows us. We have to separate our jobs—”

  Milo’s cell phone rang. He stood up, glanced at the caller ID, and went into the carport. Assuming the sheriff had finished eating—and wanting to save some crab for sandwiches—I began clearing the table.

  “Dare I ask who that was?” I ventured when he came back inside.

  “Doc.” Milo frowned as I loaded the dishwasher. “We’re done?”

  “Yes. Did Doc say anything of interest?”

  He sighed. “It’s official. Eriks died from electrocution. Doc thought so, but he wanted to make sure there weren’t other injuries.”

  I stared at Milo. “No chance he fell off the pole?”

  “No.” He fingered his chin. “That’s why Doc looked for other signs of trauma. Nothing. Now I’m wondering if it was an accident.”

  “You mean …?”

  “You got it.” He grimaced. “Murder.”

  FOUR

  A MID A LOT OF THUMPING, THUDDING, AND CUSSING, THE sheriff took down the double bed. I kept out of his way. It was only after he’d finished putting up the new one that I realized the sheets I’d ordered hadn’t yet been delivered.

  “What do you mean, we don’t have sheets?” he bellowed. “You’ve had three weeks to get the frigging things. Is Adam sending them by dog sled from Alaska?”

  “Maybe I should’ve checked with Ronnie Blatt,” I said humbly. “I placed the order online from Penney’s at the end of January.”

  “What year?” Milo grumbled, kicking at a screwdriver on the floor. “Damn it, I should’ve followed my instincts and gone back to the office.”

  “To do what?” I inquired, still docile.

  He took out a blue-and-white handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I had Sam and Doe collect Wayne’s gear from the site. I wanted Todd Wilson from the PUD to check for tampering or other safety flaws. It looked fine to me, but I wanted to be sure. Now I have to figure out how Eriks could have gotten fried.”

  “How long had he been dead?” I asked, sounding less meek. “You never told me who found him.”

  “Marlowe Whipp, coming back from the end of his River Road mail route. Marlowe practically needed an ambulance ride, too. He swore he blacked out for a minute.”

  “He often does that on his route,” I remarked. “No doubt that’s why he drops so much mail along the way. What time was that?”

  “Around one-thirty,” Milo replied. “Eriks hadn’t been dead for more than a few minutes. He was still warm when we got there. Nobody else has come forward to say they saw anything, but the weather was bad. That’s probably why Eriks wasn’t up on the pole. But it doesn’t explain why his body was on the ground and not inside the van. His PUD jacket wasn’t on quite right, either. Maybe he got hit while he was putting it on or taking it off. There’s something not quite right about any of this.”

  “That does make electrocution suspicious,” I murmured. “Did you say he wasn’t wearing gloves?”

  The sheriff looked pained. “Right. Eriks was the kind of macho guy who might not always wear them. I suppose there could be hot wires in the van. I’ll ask the PUD about that. It could’ve been lightning. It’d help if a witness turned up. But once you get past Ed’s old villa, there aren’t a lot of houses. Those big Bonneville cross-state power lines go right through there, and somehow they discourage home owners.”

  “The river narrows about fifty yards from there, too,” I recalled. “Flooding’s another problem.”

  “True.” Milo stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You didn’t put Doc’s report online, did you?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure what to say at this point. You hadn’t made a formal statement, and Doc’s conclusion is … awkward.”

  “Good,” Milo said, giving my rear a squeeze. “Want to try this thing out? You didn’t make dessert. I’ll settle for seeing if the springs work.”

  I hesitated, but saw the gleam in his hazel eyes. Didn’t the man ever get tired? But that too-long enforced separation made me forget that I’d been shortchanged in the sleep department without Milo lying beside me. “Why not?” I said, grabbing his shirtfront. “But we’ll have to fake it with the short sheets.”

  “Fake it, hell.” He unzipped my bathrobe. “With you it’s the real thing. Took long enough, though.”

  “But worth it,” I sighed as we fell onto the bed. And forgot about putting on the sheets.

  Morning has never been a good time for either of us. We both tend not to talk much and move like automatons. Milo left ten minutes before I did. I arrived at the Advocate under still cloudy but rainless skies, finding only Amanda and Kip
on the premises. Leo had the bakery run, and Mitch showed up as I was stalling in the newsroom waiting for Vida. I wondered if she’d mention Holly’s release from jail or wait until Rosemary Bourgette made the official announcement.

  “I hope,” I said to Mitch, “you have better luck with the RestHaven people than I did. In fact, I really messed up with Farrell.”

  “Woo and Hood, right?” Mitch remarked, standing by the coffee urn as if he could will it to finish perking. “How come Woo didn’t follow Vida’s show last night?”

  “I meant to call Vida,” I said, “but I got … distracted. By the way, the autopsy report’s in on Eriks. Dodge should have something to say about it. There’ll also be an announcement from the prosecutor’s office on another matter, but I’ll handle it. I don’t want to overload you.”

  Mitch’s lean face was tired. “That’s okay. Work distracts my mind.”

  “Yes,” I murmured, “I’ve had times like that, too.”

  The coffee was done. I let Mitch fill his mug first. Leo showed up just as I was heading for my office. “Where’s the Duchess?” he asked, noting Vida’s empty chair. “She’s never late. Flu?”

  “Amanda didn’t say she called in sick,” I said.

  Leo shrugged. “Maybe she knows her show last night was a dud.” He began to place bear claws, three kinds of doughnuts, and poppy seed muffins on the tray. “I agree with Ronnie’s closing statement, though.”

  Mitch frowned. “Is money really that tight around here?”

  “We’ve been stalled for years,” I said. “The voters keep turning down every ballot measure for improvements, including school levies. They’re just too damned thrifty.”

  Vida made her entrance. “Emma! Language, please!”

  “Good morning to you, too,” I retorted. “We have muffins. They’re not fattening.”

  “I’ve already breakfasted,” she said, removing her tweed winter coat before adjusting the chapeau du jour, which was a remarkably ugly taupe-and-red striped fedora. Apparently not in a chatty mood, she sat down and began going through her in-basket. The rest of us drifted to our respective desks and got to work, too. I remembered Mayor Baugh was coming at eleven and wondered why. Fuzzy rarely had anything newsworthy to say, though he could run on about trivialities.

  When Mitch returned from his morning rounds, he had the sheriff’s statement. Wayne’s death was being investigated as a possible accident. Milo was hedging his bets. I called him after ten to ask if he knew if Rosemary Bourgette was announcing Holly’s imminent release.

  “I haven’t talked to her yet,” he said. “I had Todd Wilson in here looking at Eriks’s safety equipment. It all looked fine to him. He doubted there were any live wires in the van. His guess is lightning.”

  “Nothing from you about”—I lowered my voice—“foul play?”

  “I don’t have proof it wasn’t a freak thing. I may send the body to Snohomish County to let their fancy equipment have a go. I hate doing it on a weekend. They’ll have a dozen stiffs piled up. We’ll be last in line.”

  “Poor you,” I said, meaning it.

  “I’m used to it.” He hung up on me. Some things never changed.

  I’d just put the phone down when Vida came into my office, looking like a dill pickle. “Well!” she huffed. “The least you could do is let me announce your engagement if you’re planning to get married so soon.”

  I gaped at her but hastily recovered. Of course Vida would hear about Milo picking up the marriage license application. The county auditor was another relative, her late husband’s niece, Eleanor Runkel Jessup. “We’re not,” I said.

  She sat down, still sour. “Why did Milo request the application?”

  I sighed. “He happened to be in the courthouse and …” I paused, wondering if Vida’s tardiness had been caused by a visit to Rosemary Bourgette. “I guess he thought I should know what one looks like. As you may recall, I’ve never been married before.”

  “Then you have no immediate plans?”

  I shook my head, and felt like saying that we didn’t even have sheets. “If we do, I’ll let you know. I’d want you to be a witness.”

  Vida’s face softened. “Would you? That’s very … flattering. But isn’t it time to at least put the engagement in the paper?”

  “Let me check with Milo,” I said. “You know we didn’t want it made public those first few weeks after we’d attracted so much attention by almost getting killed. We were going nuts coping with so much at once.”

  “True. But let me know,” she said, standing up. “It would be lovely to have a photo of you two for my page this week.”

  “Hey,” I said, “how come Dr. Woo wasn’t on after your show?”

  “Oh!” Vida adjusted her glasses. “Spencer told me he felt it would be inappropriate with someone dying so close to the facility. He didn’t want Wayne’s death to detract from the grand opening.”

  I was puzzled. “That doesn’t make sense. Wayne’s still dead.”

  Vida shrugged her broad shoulders. “I gather it was more of an internal thing. Something about disturbing patients and staff. A distraction, perhaps. You know the Chinese are very superstitious.”

  “Dr. Woo was born in San Francisco,” I pointed out.

  “Oh? Well … family traditions, you know. Very strong among the Chinese. Very admirable, in my opinion.”

  I merely smiled—and called Milo again as soon as she left.

  “What now?” he barked.

  I relayed Vida’s request, including the picture idea.

  “I thought she’d already put it in the paper,” Milo said.

  “No. I told her to wait. Damn it, don’t you ever read the Advocate?”

  “Yeah, sure, but you know how busy I’ve been. Sometimes I only get a chance to skim it.”

  I gritted my teeth to keep the argument from escalating. “Just answer the question, Sheriff.”

  “Hell,” he said, “she can run the announcement, but forget about the photo. That means spending a couple of hours and big bucks at Buddy Bayard’s studio. Do you really want to do that right now?”

  “No, but if I didn’t mention it to you, Vida would pitch a fit.”

  “She would. Hey, Scott Melville’s due in about five minutes to talk about the addition to the house. We’re going to add another bathroom.”

  “What?” I shrieked. “This isn’t the Taj Mahal, you dolt!”

  “Stop fussing. Got to check my notes for Melville.” He hung up.

  I knew that Vida and Leo had heard me, but I didn’t care. I held my head and wondered how in hell we were going to pay for a larger bedroom, a workshop, and now a second bathroom.

  A few minutes later Leo strolled in. “Ahem. Trouble in paradise?”

  I looked up from the mail Amanda had dropped off. “The sheriff’s turning the once-small attached workshop into a palace.”

  Leo chuckled. “Hey, as a veteran of the child support wars, I can testify that even my income rose perceptibly when our kids hit eighteen. Milo isn’t making starvation wages. His kids have been off the dole for years. Don’t you know his annual salary? It’s a matter of public record.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never checked.”

  Leo’s weathered face fell. “You’re kidding!”

  “No. My reporters have always handled budgets. I never look at what other people earn. I got into that habit on the Oregonian. It always infuriated me when I saw some worthless civil servant who was being charged with embezzlement and was already making at least four times what I earned as a journalist. It’s a crime that newspaper people don’t get paid enough. Teachers are in the same boat. You know all that. It’s so unfair.”

  “It’s also useless to stew about it,” Leo said, leaning on the back of one of my visitor’s chairs. “But if you asked your future husband, I’ll bet he’d tell you he makes at least three times what you do.”

  I stared at my ad manager. “He does? You don’t know that.”

/>   “Actually, I do. I checked it out last fall for our Labor Day special.”

  “Keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know.”

  Leo guffawed. “Emma, you must be the only woman in the world who doesn’t want to know what her other half earns. You’re unreal.”

  “I don’t care,” I said stubbornly. “If Milo tells me, that’s fine. If he doesn’t, that’s fine, too. I’m not marrying him for his money.”

  “Gosh,” Leo said in mock disappointment, “and I thought that’s why you never let me make a serious pass at you. I’m one of the few men around here whose salary you do know because you’re paying it.”

  “And it’s not enough,” I said, and meant it.

  Leo straightened up and grinned. “I’ll survive. As for Dodge, if it’s not his money, then it must be love. I never thought it’d happen.”

  I smiled wanly. “Neither did I.”

  Mayor Fuzzy Baugh arrived at exactly eleven. I hadn’t seen him up close for some time and noticed he looked older, even a bit haggard. His dyed red hair had lost any luster it once had. The sparkle in his green eyes had dimmed. In fact, his eyes looked a trifle murky.

  “Emma darlin’,” he said, the Louisiana accent in place before kissing my hand. “Love becomes you.”

  “Thank you. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked.

  He gestured at the door. “May I?”

  “Close the door? Yes, go ahead.”

  After ensuring our privacy, Fuzzy sat down and grew serious. “You recall that last month I attended the annual state conference of mayors for towns with under ten thousand people.”

  I nodded. “We did an article on it.” It was a rather informal affair, more cronyism than politics. There was, however, some beneficial exchange of ideas along with the backslapping.

  “A fine article it was, sugar. But,” he went on, “one thing that rankled was our homicide rate. Now, I know some of the people who met their Maker before their time weren’t residents of this fine town or county. That brings up how we count heads. We’ve got just under four thousand folks within what we unofficially call the city limits and almost as many in the county. You know Alpine has never been incorporated.” He paused, apparently waiting for me to say something.