The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

  “Okay,” I said in a sort of squeak. We both stopped talking.

  But that didn’t mean I’d forgotten my weird theory. The problem was that I didn’t have Vida as a sounding board. When I arrived at work, Amanda informed me she’d called to ask for a personal day off.

  “A family matter,” Amanda said, rolling her eyes. “Do you suppose Holly has shown up to collect her kid?”

  I leaned on the counter. “That’s my guess.” I shook my head in dismay. “It’s deadline day. I don’t know if Vida’s finished all of her page or started ‘Scene Around Town’ for the gossip tidbits. I should call a staff meeting. In fact, I’ll do it as soon as … who has the bakery run?”

  “Mitch,” Amanda replied.

  “Tell Kip.” I glanced in the newsroom and saw Leo sitting down at his desk. “As soon as Mitch gets here, we’ll start. You too, Amanda. Okay?”

  I greeted my ad manager before going through the items Vida had on her desk. “This,” I declared, “has never happened before. Vida’s taken time off, but she’s never left us hanging.”

  “At least I can smoke in peace,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

  “So can I.” I reached out to Leo. “Give me one of those things.”

  Leo complied. “Dodge is a bad influence on you.”

  “Would you believe neither of us smoked for several years?”

  “I never tried quitting. My major achievement was cutting back on the booze. Liza thinks you’re a saint to see me through that sad chapter.”

  “Gee, that’s good of her. I mean it. Milo’s ex thinks I’m a she-wolf.”

  “You’re more of a fox,” Leo said as Mitch came through the door, followed by Amanda and Kip. “Looks like the meeting’s about to start.”

  “Not until we fuel ourselves,” I said, going over to help Mitch lay out the Upper Crust pastries. I grabbed the first sugar doughnut out of my reporter’s hand.

  “No Vida?” he asked, glancing at her empty chair.

  “Personal day off,” I said, pouring out my coffee. “That’s all we know.” I sat down at the missing person’s desk and kept quiet until my staff had gotten their own goodies and filled their coffee mugs.

  “I found two of Vida’s ‘Scene’ items,” I said when everyone was seated. “Mimi Barton carrying forsythia into St. Mildred’s rectory and Harvey Adcock washing his hardware display windows, egging vandalism courtesy of teenagers, as noted in last week’s police log. Who’s got something?”

  “Who’s Mimi Barton?” Mitch asked.

  “Father Kelly’s secretary,” I said, recalling that she was also Kay Burns’s sister. I’d forgotten the family connection. “Come on, guys, think.”

  Kip winced. “Chili took our dog to the vet Friday. Dr. Medved said the Dithers sisters put down one of their horses. Is that too grim?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s a wonder they didn’t send us an obit. I’ll hear all about it at the next bridge club meeting.”

  Leo grimaced. “Can we stand an Ed Bronsky sighting? I saw him driving Cal Vickers’s pickup full of villa items from RestHaven Saturday.”

  “Let’s not,” I said. “Got anything else?”

  Leo grimaced. “How about giving that out-of-town guy a boost for taking out the ad about buying sports memorabilia? I had to bury the ad a bit because of all the RestHaven-related stuff.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, making a note. “Mitch, you got anything from the open house?”

  “The kids in that garden photo? Just after I took it, they went wading in the fish pond. Sorry—I don’t know their names.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, making another note. “Probably just as well not to ID them. Their parents might get upset.”

  Amanda raised her hand. “I hate to tell on Walt, but he tripped over a hose at the hatchery Friday and almost fell in one of the ponds.”

  I considered the item. “Two pond incidents? Why not?”

  “Thanks,” Amanda said, smiling. “Walt has a sense of humor.”

  “What about you, boss lady?” Leo asked with a playful grin.

  “I’ll think of something. When I do, that’s all we need. Amanda, could you go through Vida’s in-box and mail to make sure we aren’t missing any late-breaking news? I’m thinking engagements. It’s only been a week since Valentine’s Day.”

  “Sure,” Amanda said, apparently glad to vary her daily routine.

  “Dismissed,” I said. “And thanks. This feels so weird without Vida. I’ll peruse her advice column letters.”

  I found the copy she’d turned in. There were three letters, always anonymous per Vida’s instructions, even though she usually knew the writer’s identity. Two were about St. Valentine’s Day disappointments. The third was from an irate First Hill resident whose neighbors owned a dog that barked all day. Vida had given sensible advice to all of them. I wished she could write to herself and ask for help.

  A few minutes later, Amanda brought me two unopened letters she’d found in Vida’s in-box. Both were postmarked from last Thursday, indicating that Vida had already been too distracted by the possible loss of Diddy to open all of her mail. The first was from a teenager whose mother criticized her wardrobe as “too revealing.” The girl tried to explain that she wore the same kind of clothes her friends did and that they weren’t hassled by their parents. Vida could answer that in short order. The second letter, signed “Disturbed Wife,” concerned her mate’s reading of “provocative” men’s magazines, which made her feel “inadequate.” “I am a willing partner, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my husband to even more depraved and stimulating reading material. I am not fat, being five foot three and weighing a hundred and eighteen pounds.” It might be true, but Vida could also handle that one with dispatch. Unfortunately, neither letter would make it into this week’s edition.

  The teen’s clothing problem inspired a “Scene” item. I typed up the sightings of Professor Bo Vardi and Dr. Iain Farrell making purchases at Warren Wells’s store. I sensed Farrell wouldn’t like the mention, but he had to get used to small-town ways. If he complained, I’d tell him it fit in with the RestHaven edition.

  Finally I turned to my editorial. Deciding that it was ready to go public, I zapped it to Kip just as Mitch poked his head in.

  “Nothing new on Eriks,” he said. “I asked Jack Mullins for a quote from Dodge, but he was on the phone. Should I wait for him to call me?”

  “Wait,” I said. “If the sheriff doesn’t call you, call him. Don’t let him off the hook.” I made a face as I had a sudden thought. “Mrs. Eriks wants to have the service tomorrow. I’ll ask Al Driggers at the funeral home if it’s set. I just realized I don’t have an obit from Vida on Eriks. Damn. I’ll see if I can get some information from Al. If so, could you write it up?”

  “Sure. I gather he didn’t lead a hugely eventful life?”

  “Not that I know of. The only unusual thing is how he died.”

  “That’s the real story,” Mitch remarked before heading to his desk.

  Al’s wife, Janet, answered the phone. “Yes, I’m doing the dead thing today,” she said in her husky voice. “Burying people is better business this time of year than sending them off on vacation at Sky Travel. How’s cohabitation with the sheriff going? You sure you’re not bored and would like Al and me to join you for a foursome?”

  I was used to Janet’s bawdy tongue. “We’re planning our addition.”

  “Dodge knocked you up? I thought you were past that!”

  “I am,” I said wearily. “I’m talking about my house. Hey, I’m up against deadline. Has the date been set for Wayne Eriks’s funeral?”

  “No funeral,” Janet replied, sounding unnaturally glum. “Private graveside service Thursday. Talk about cheap!”

  “Cookie told me, but I thought maybe Al could twist her arm.”

  “Cookie!” Janet cried in disgust. “When did that meek little twit get a spine? Think she’s got a guy on the side?”

  “Which side? Get real. Did
Cookie provide obit information?”

  “He was born, he lived, and he died. Oh, he screwed. Tiff and poor Ringo. Good-looking until he smacked into some boulders. Closed casket.”

  “That’s it? I mean about Wayne?”

  “He’s being cremated. In his case, we call it refried.”

  “Stop, please. You’re—”

  “Killing me?” Janet said. “Sorry about that, but we could use the money. Wait—don’t die. You’ve got a lot to screw for—I mean live for.”

  “Good-bye, Janet.” I went to the newsroom and asked Mitch to call Cookie about Wayne’s obit. My phone rang as I got back to my desk.

  “Hold the Eriks announcement,” Janet said. “Dodge just called. He’s not releasing the body.”

  “What?” I practically shrieked. “Are you serious?”

  “When was I ever not?” Janet asked in mock indignation. “Don’t you two ever stop doing it long enough to actually talk?”

  “He’d better talk now,” I said grimly. “Did he give you a reason?”

  “No. Someday you’re going to talk about what it’s like in the sack with that guy. I have to wonder how he—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped. “I have to call Milo. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You call that work with Dodge? If I were you—”

  I hung up and dialed the sheriff. Lori said her boss was on the phone. I realized Mitch should stay with the Eriks story. But he, too, was on the phone. It sounded as if he was talking to Cookie. Amanda brought my mail and Vida’s. I was getting more coffee when Mitch hung up.

  “The widow does natter,” he said, looking a little dazed. “We don’t run baby pictures of the deceased, do we?”

  “Only if it’s for Ed Bronsky. It’d be the only way we’d get one of him weighing under a hundred—” I stopped as Milo entered the newsroom.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes, but you should really talk to—”

  “Stop.” He paused to pour coffee and grab a maple bar before stalking into my office. I shrugged at Mitch and followed the sheriff.

  Milo sat down. “Close the door.”

  I obeyed and took my place behind the desk. “What’s wrong?”

  “No wonder we couldn’t figure out how Eriks was electrocuted. He wasn’t. What do you make of that, my little smart-assed newspaper sleuth?”

  TEN

  “I’VE NO IDEA,” I SAID, STUPEFIED BY THE SHERIFF’S BOMBSHELL.

  “You mean … what do you mean?”

  Milo finished chewing a chunk of maple bar. “I admit I was stumped about how it could happen. So was the M.E., Colin Knapp. I had the body shipped back to the hospital morgue, but I literally couldn’t let it go. You may not believe this, but I paid attention to what you said last night. The stiff’s already headed to Everett for a second opinion. Knapp’s good, but he’s fairly new, at least to doing autopsies in a county as big as SnoCo. This time he’ll bring in the veterans, like Neal Doak.”

  I was confused. “You don’t mean he could’ve died of natural causes and …” I shook my head. “I don’t get it.”

  The sheriff grimaced. “Maybe he was run through after he was dead. We still don’t know why he died. This time we’d better find out.”

  I shivered. “That’s creepy.”

  “You bet.” Milo paused to finish the maple bar. “Keep this to yourself. That’s why I bypassed Mitch. Your star reporter can think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel or some damned thing.”

  “He doesn’t even know we’re a couple.”

  Milo glanced over his shoulder. “The door’s closed. Want to open it so he can figure it out?”

  I giggled. “No. We’re working, remember?”

  “Right.” The sheriff unfolded himself from the chair. “Got to go. How come you look so cute? The last I saw of you, you were staggering around the kitchen trying to find the coffeemaker and cussing a lot.”

  “It was morning. Go away, Sheriff.”

  He picked up the mug and opened the door. “Where’s Vida?”

  “She took the day off. Personal reasons.”

  “Christ,” Milo said under his breath. “See you around, Emma.”

  Watching him amble out through the newsroom with a curt nod for Mitch, I couldn’t resist smiling. But my reporter blotted out that brief bright spot when he came into my office two minutes later, demanding to know if I was usurping his story. “Hey,” he said, leaning on my desk, “I thought I was handling news from the sheriff. If you want to take over, tell me. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

  “I don’t like being bullied,” I shot back. “Vida’s diva act is bad enough. The Eriks story is still yours. There are other issues involving the sheriff’s department. If you read my editorial, you’ll find out.”

  Mitch slumped into a visitor’s chair. “Sorry,” he said wearily. “I’m not functioning at full speed mentally. It’s bad enough having a son in prison, but it’s worse with my wife clear across the country.”

  “It must be hell,” I said with genuine sympathy. “Anything new?”

  “I talked to Miriam last night. Brenda was asleep. It was after ten in Pittsburgh. She won’t leave the condo. I guess the only thing I can do is bring her back here and send her to RestHaven. But I can’t do that until our daughter can fly out here with her. Or I go get her. I don’t know if they’ll take Brenda or what it’ll cost. I should ask Farrell.”

  “Do you think that once she’s here in Alpine Brenda would be able to stay at home?”

  Mitch looked bleak. “Maybe. Miriam’s working, of course, but she has an elderly neighbor keeping tabs on Brenda during the day.”

  “You might be able to make the same kind of arrangement here,” I said. “There are quite a few widows and other women who would be willing to do that, if only to relieve boredom or loneliness.” Cookie Eriks came to mind, but I’d hold that thought for now.

  Mitch smiled wanly and stood up. “Thanks, Emma. You’re a good person. By the way, when I checked the log earlier, I gathered that one of the deputies had been suspended. Do we run that kind of thing?”

  “No. That’s an internal matter. It’d be a bad idea to broadcast that the sheriff was short-handed. It might give would-be crooks ideas.”

  “In Detroit, they had plenty of their own. Do you know who it is?”

  “Dodge didn’t mention it to me this morning,” I hedged.

  “I just wondered. He strikes me as a hard guy to work for. He’s pretty damned prickly and he’s got a temper.”

  “He wasn’t always like that,” I said candidly. “He was more laid-back and quiet. He was always stubborn, though.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. You’ve known him longer than I have. I didn’t like his attitude when Troy escaped from Monroe. He seemed insensitive to our request to keep our son here at the hospital when he got pneumonia instead of shipping him back to prison.”

  “That wasn’t his decision,” I said. “He had to defer to the state.”

  Mitch looked incredulous. “Cops bend rules. They did it all the time in Detroit.”

  My face tightened. “This isn’t Detroit. It’s Alpine. And Dodge goes by the book. He always has.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Okay, you have a point. But I don’t like his book much. How long has he been sheriff?”

  “Twenty years? It used to be an elected position.”

  “Maybe we should do that again. Why was the process changed?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Several counties appoint their sheriffs. I wrote editorials about it. Campaigning for a law enforcement official is a waste of time—and money. It interferes with the sheriff’s duties. Police chiefs don’t run for office. I don’t think judges should be elected, either.”

  “Well …” Mitch ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “Maybe it’s time to investigate Dodge’s operation. How long has it been since anyone looked into how things work on his watch? Twenty years is a long time for a guy to run his
own show without some serious scrutiny.”

  I was just a breath or two away from telling Mitch to stick it. But I held back. “Until something comes along that raises our hackles, let’s not ask for trouble. I understand your feelings about how your son was dealt with. But it would never have happened if Troy hadn’t escaped from prison twice and then caught pneumonia. He wouldn’t have been behind bars if he hadn’t been dealing drugs.”

  “That’s a low blow,” Mitch said softly, but with fervor. “I’d better go back to work.”

  He strode off to his desk. I held my head, thinking that the last thing Milo or I needed was a reporter on a vendetta. Reminding myself that I had a paper to put out, I too went back to work.

  It was almost noon when Ross Blatt of Alpine Service & Repair came to see me. He was looking for his aunt Vida.

  “If,” he said after I informed him she’d taken the day off, “she’s not here, where is she? I was supposed to check her furnace. I planned to do it last week, but I got the flu. She told me she’d leave the key under the mat, but it isn’t there and her car’s gone. Was she going out of town?”

  “Not that I know of,” I replied. “Did you call her?”

  Ross settled his stocky body into a chair. “I tried her home and her cell phone. She didn’t answer. That’s why I figured she’d be here.”

  “Did you call your cousin Amy?”

  “She didn’t answer, either.” His bushy graying eyebrows almost met in a frown. “Maybe they went somewhere together.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Have you talked to Buck Bardeen?”

  The query seemed to catch Ross by surprise. “No. That might be worth a try.” He grinned. “Somehow I can never quite take in that Aunt Vida has a boyfriend. I’ve met him a few times, but I always think of her as … sort of old-fashioned. I mean …” His broad face reddened slightly.