The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

We rang off on that conciliatory note. I wanted to throttle Spence and Kay Burns. This wasn’t just a leak, but a major insult. I closed my door and dialed my rival’s number to give him hell. When he answered, the first words out of my mouth were a threat. “I’m ordering Vida to cancel her show tonight,” I said. “You and Ms. Burns have gone too damned far. It’s one thing to get beat on some pissant information out of RestHaven, but this nut case breakout is big news involving the whole damned county. If Vida doesn’t agree with me, I’ll can her ass.”

  “God, Emma, are you crazy? It’s not my fault you weren’t notified.”

  “Then whose freaking fault was it?” I demanded.

  Spence didn’t answer right away. “The RestHaven people panicked. This guy’s paranoid, and having this happen so soon after the grand opening is terrible P.R. If he does something reprehensible, they’re liable and their reputation is trashed before the first month of operation is over. Cut them some slack.”

  “No. Reacting with panic doesn’t befit pros who deal with the mentally ill. I’ll inform Vida while you fill your empty airtime. I just talked to Jennifer Hood. Now you can tell her the interview’s off.”

  “Wait, you mean you already told her she wasn’t going to be on—”

  I banged down the phone. Spence could deal with Jennifer. I stormed out of my office—and stopped. The newsroom was empty. Vida’s coat wasn’t there, either. I asked Amanda where Vida had gone.

  “She’s taking pictures of a triple birthday party at the retirement home,” Amanda said. “She also mentioned seeing Mrs. Parker. Maybe there’s news about Tiffany.”

  “Let’s hope it’s good news,” I said as the phone rang. I started for my office, but Amanda called out that Rosemary was on line one.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said after hurrying to take the call at my desk, “you’re being menaced by the RestHaven loony.”

  Rosemary laughed. “Nothing so exciting, though I might not mind. I haven’t been on a date in six months. This town’s short of eligible men.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  “You got yours,” Rosemary said. “Maybe that’s my problem—I’ve overlooked someone who’s right in front of me. I tried to get Vida earlier, but she was on the phone and now she’s out. Holly Gross came to see me after lunch. She’s leaving town.”

  “How come?”

  “Let’s face it, she’s sort of ADD. Her other two kids are still in Sultan and the foster parents were getting impatient for her to collect them. Holly’s headed for Centralia, but she’s not giving up—Esther Brant won’t let her—so I suppose a legal hassle will follow. I called Amy Hibbert first, but she’s not home. Where’s Roger, by the way?”

  I told her about his Bellingham visit. Rosemary speculated as I did, that Diddy or Dippy—or maybe the poor tyke was using an alias by now—was probably stashed with Roger’s aunt and uncle.

  “Can you tell Vida?” Rosemary asked. “Impress upon her that Roger has to prove paternity or they’ll never see Dippy again.”

  “I will. Oh—you’re on Vida’s evil list with Milo and Proxmire.”

  “Holy Mother,” Rosemary said softly. “Why can’t Vida admit … forget it. I don’t mind, but she’s basically so sensible. I’d hoped she’d put her rose-colored glasses in the back of the drawer.”

  “It’s her blind spot,” I said. “Say, is Proxmire a J.P.?”

  “I’m sure she is,” Rosemary said. “I can check. Why do you … are you going to make it legal before you get the annulment?”

  “We might,” I hedged. “It’s probably the thing to do. We wouldn’t want to set a bad example for the younger set. Like Roger.”

  “Right,” Rosemary said dryly. “I’ll double-check on the judge.”

  I thanked her and rang off just as Mitch appeared in the doorway. “No autopsy report yet, and Dr. Reed isn’t seeing anybody. In fact, neither are Woo and Farrell. They’ve gone to ground.”

  “It figures,” I said, and recounted my exchange with Fleetwood.

  Mitch looked surprised. “You really won’t let Vida do her show?”

  “That’s right. Spence should’ve given us a heads-up, and Kay Burns has to learn she can’t play favorites.”

  My reporter frowned. “It wasn’t Kay. She called in sick today.”

  I was flummoxed. “Do you know who it was?”

  “No. Woo, maybe. He might not know the protocol.”

  “Damn. Spence still should have told us.”

  Mitch grimaced. “Do you really want Vida to have another snit?”

  I began to weaken. “I’ll think on it. Did the sheriff’s office have anything new about the escapee?”

  “They’re looking for him. So are the park rangers and the state patrol. No reports of stolen vehicles, so he’s either on foot or hitchhiking.”

  “He might’ve hopped a freight. Put an update online. It’ll reassure people that something’s being done. Is there a photo or a sketch?”

  “Fong said there’s no photo and they don’t want a sketch. More patient privacy. That’s wrong in this situation.”

  I agreed. Vida arrived half an hour later but immediately began returning calls that had piled up in her absence. She came into my office around three and declared that she was wild. “Jennifer Hood cancelled. Doesn’t that beat all? I didn’t intend to ask about the runaway lunatic, but to focus on her move here. She still refused, saying that Dr. Woo felt it was in poor taste, given the situation. Now what does the situation have to do with making a new life in Alpine?”

  I relented about Vida staying off the air. “What will you do now?”

  “It’s short notice,” she said, plucking at her yellow blouse’s pussycat bow. “I’ll find someone.” She started to walk away, but paused. “What about Edna Mae Dalrymple? She was very nervous last year when I interviewed her and made a jumble of things, but literacy is in crisis.”

  “Give her a call. I just talked to her recently about my censorship editorial regarding Tom Sawyer. You could tie that in, too.”

  “Indeed. I’ll ring her at once.”

  Mitch reappeared with his notebook in hand. “I had Kip post the sheriff’s update about the escapee search, but something’s odd.”

  “Besides the escapee?” I asked.

  Mitch shook his head. “Fong was the only deputy there. He said they were on full alert—Jamison, Mullins, Heppner, Blatt. Dodge, too. He took his daughter with him. No Gould. I thought he was back to work.”

  “Dwight was there earlier,” I said. “He was on a call.”

  Mitch shrugged. “Maybe he’s still on it.”

  I didn’t want to pass along Kay’s alleged concern about her ex. “Dwight’s probably on highway duty.”

  Ten minutes later Tanya showed up. “Hi, Emma,” she said, still wearing her waif-like air. “Dad thought you might need some help.”

  “Can’t he use you at his office?” I blurted out. “I mean, he must be short-handed with just Lori and Dustin there.”

  She slumped into a chair. “Sam Heppner made some crack about me tagging along on the search. Dad didn’t hear it, but it upset me. I’d just as soon not go back there right now.”

  “Sam’s a jerk,” I said. “I’ve got a project for both of us. Let’s get some old copies of the Advocate. We’re on a mission dating back to the era of your father’s predecessor. Did you know Eeeny Moroni?”

  Tanya followed me to the newsroom. “Sort of. Wasn’t he a crook?”

  “He turned out to be later.” I pulled four bound volumes from the mid-1950s and gave half of them to Tanya. I cleared my desk enough to give Tanya some space and explained the seamy background Clarence Munn had related to Vida. “We only need to look at the front page and the editorials. Just be thankful the Advocate’s always been a weekly.”

  “Dad never mentioned hookers or other vice around here,” Tanya said, beginning to flip through the 1958 editions.

  “He hasn’t told me, either. But remember, he was a little kid
during Moroni’s early years as sheriff.”

  Tanya smiled slightly. “It’s hard to think of Dad as a little kid.”

  I laughed. “It is for me, too.”

  We worked in silence for the next ten minutes. Finally I found something in a September 1960 issue. “Here’s an article about the county auditor being investigated for embezzlement. Hector Thoreson allegedly stole twenty grand from SkyCo’s road fund. There must be a follow-up.” The first Advocate in October had a big headline: “Auditor Indicted on Graft Charges.” I read the story aloud. Thoreson not only had used county money for gambling, but had taken payoffs from Rupert Grimsby, Tyee Café owner. Rupe, as he was known, had action beyond the kitchen—a high-stakes poker room and illegal betting. The café had been located on the site now occupied by Francine’s Fine Apparel.

  “Interesting timing,” I murmured. “The story broke just before the 1960 presidential election.” I scanned the rest of the page below the fold. Sure enough, a young and almost unrecognizable Eeeny Moroni was glad-handing Kiwanis members at a breakfast meeting.

  “My, my,” Vida said, coming up behind Tanya and giving her a start, “look who’s here! How nice.” She patted the young woman’s shoulder and sat down beside her. “You’re doing research. Oh!” she gasped, pointing to the two-column photo of the late sheriff, “there’s that idiot in his first election after being appointed to replace Seth Meyers. We thought Eeeny was an improvement! Seth shot himself, you know.”

  “I didn’t,” I admitted. “I never heard of him.”

  “Really, Emma, you should’ve done more history homework.”

  Tanya appeared to be trying not to smile.

  “When I went to work in Portland,” I said, “I never researched the Oregon Territory’s history. Knowing about Lewis and Clark was enough.”

  “That’s different,” Vida declared. “The Oregon Territory was so big. Why, it included what would become Alpine.”

  Amanda was heading our way. “Mrs. Runkel,” she said, “Spencer Fleetwood’s been trying to reach you. I was in the restroom when you arrived.”

  “Oh, yes,” Vida said. “He called on my cell, but I didn’t want to interrupt my visit with Dot Parker.” She turned away, but I stopped her.

  “Wait,” I practically shouted. “Let me talk to him first.”

  Vida peered at me. “Why? The call’s for me.”

  “Please,” I said. “Then I’ll have Amanda transfer him.”

  “Bother,” Vida muttered, but trudged off to her desk.

  “I changed my mind,” I said, after Amanda put Spence on my line. “I was wrong, okay? But I’m still mad.”

  “I thought you might, so I haven’t notified her sponsors. I expected she might put up a fight.”

  “She doesn’t know about my threat. Can you keep your mellifluous mouth shut for once?”

  “For the sake of media peace, I’ll try,” Spence conceded. “You are often a very difficult woman. It’s a wonder Dodge hasn’t strangled you. If nothing else, he’s indulgent.”

  “He’s not unethical—like you,” I said, and rang off.

  Tanya was looking bemused. “I had no idea about how a newspaper operates. Is this typical?”

  “Yes. No. It depends.” I ran my fingers through my unruly hair, which should have been cut back in January. “Let’s see if there’s anything else in this bunch of issues. Then we’ll move into the rest of the sixties.”

  The only other item of interest was Marius’s editorial applauding Moroni’s rout of his opponent, a long-gone Gustavson whose first name I didn’t recognize. Back in the newsroom Vida was explaining to Spence that Edna Mae couldn’t sub because she’d come down with the flu, but Effie Trews, the high school librarian, would take her place. That was fitting, given that Effie was retiring at the end of the school year.

  By the time Tanya and I got to 1963 without finding any vice-related stories, it was after four. She was looking bored, a feeling I shared. “Let’s quit,” I said. “These headlines are blurring.”

  “I’ll go to Dad’s office,” she said. “You must have work to do.”

  “We’re on hold with the RestHaven breakout and the Eriks autopsy. I’m not inspired to start my next editorial.” I saw Mitch coming toward us. “Maybe we’ve got some news. I’ll introduce my reporter.”

  “I met him this morning,” Tanya said. “Hi, Mitch.”

  “Hi. Are you here to replace me?” His expression was wry.

  “No,” she replied. “But it’s kind of interesting.”

  “It can be,” Mitch allowed. He looked at me. “Here’s the autopsy report. It’s a shocker. You better see it before I put a summary online.”

  I almost blew it by saying I already knew the final result, but I caught myself in time. “Wow. Make a copy for me, please?”

  “Sure.” The grimace stayed in place. “They can’t find Gould.”

  Tanya and I both looked startled. “What do you mean, they can’t find him?” I asked.

  Mitch held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “He never came back from Second Hill. They can’t reach him. No sign of his cruiser, either. Now the searchers are looking for him, too, but Dodge …” He paused to glance at Tanya as if in apology. “Dodge is keeping a lid on this one for now, but Fong told me it was okay to tell you. Maybe the RestHaven escapee got to him. That’d be a hell of a thing, wouldn’t it?”

  All I could do was nod in agreement. And wonder if Alpine was in the grip of a psychotic plague.

  SIXTEEN

  TANYA SPOKE FIRST. “SOMETHING’S HAPPENED TO DAD’S DEPUTY?”

  Mitch grimaced. “I don’t know, but Gould’s reliable. Journalists think the worst because it makes bigger headlines.” He shrugged.

  I was about to suggest that maybe Dwight had caught the rampant flu bug, but it wouldn’t explain what had happened to his cruiser.

  Tanya stood up. “Is Dad back at his office?” she asked Mitch.

  “I didn’t see him,” Mitch said. “I talked to Fong.”

  “Maybe I should go down there,” she said, looking at me. “Do you think I’d cause more harm than good?”

  “No,” I said, “but can you wait? I’ll walk partway with you. I want to stop by Parker’s Pharmacy, but I have to go over the autopsy report.”

  “Sure. I’ll put these old issues back and talk to Mrs. Runkel.”

  I thanked her and began scanning the report while Mitch stood by. “It’s a poisoning first for me,” I said. “Condense it and put it online.”

  My reporter went off while I grabbed my purse and jacket. When I got to Vida’s desk, Tanya was being subjected to an account of Roger’s renewed interest in higher education. I interrupted before my House & Home editor could start in on a fantasy about her grandson sitting around a campfire singing “The Whiffenpoof Song” while sipping hot cocoa.

  “Speaking of Roger,” I said to Vida in my most chipper voice, “Holly Gross has left town. If you want details, call Rosemary Bourgette.” Ignoring her aghast expression, I beckoned to Tanya to follow me out of the newsroom. I could hear Vida’s squawks all the way out the door.

  “What was that about?” Tanya inquired.

  I asked if her father had told her about Roger’s unfortunate saga. He had, but only the original version dating back to the trailer park incident. “Have him fill you in,” I said as we crossed Fourth and passed the hobby and toy shop. “Now I have to buy toothpaste and shampoo.” I didn’t add that except for his shaving gear, the sheriff hadn’t brought his own toiletries and I was running low on supplies.

  Waving Tanya off, I almost collided with the pharmacy’s original owner, Durwood Parker. At least he was walking and not driving a car.

  “Emma dear!” he exclaimed, his round pink face showing genuine pleasure. “I haven’t seen you in some time. Congratulations on your engagement to Sheriff Dodge.” He paused, tugging his kidskin gloves and grappling with the shopping bag that had been jostled in our near collision. “You two make a fine-lookin
g couple. I don’t suppose you might sweet-talk him into letting me have my driver’s license back, would you?”

  I feigned regret. “Probably not. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. You are, after all, an institution around here.”

  Durwood grimaced. “Sometimes I’ve felt that Milo thought I should be in an institution. But even when he had to arrest me, he was always kind about it. Speaking of institutions, I understand there’s a madman on the loose. I hope he doesn’t harm himself or anyone else. In fact, I’d better head home. I don’t like leaving Dot alone with … without me.” He gestured at a bicycle secured to a small rack by the hobby shop. “That’s what I’m driving these days. Take care, Emma.”

  I thought it best not to wait to see if Milo was right about Durwood not riding a bike any better than he drove a car. But I did wonder why he’d stumbled over his words about Dot. I was even more curious why he had Pampers in his shopping bag. I’d noticed they were a toddler size.

  Going into the pharmacy, I was disappointed to see that neither of the current owners, Garth or Tara Wesley, was on the premises. I’d intended to ask them about Durwood’s purchase. I didn’t know the young man who was behind the counter. He looked like a college student. I got what I needed and left, but noticed Milo’s Yukon now in its usual spot. I decided to pay the sheriff an official visit.

  Dustin, Lori, Tanya, and Beth Rafferty, the 911 operator and Tim’s sister, stood at attention as Milo held court. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if somebody stabbed Blackwell,” he bellowed, ignoring my arrival. “The priority is Gould. The nut job is secondary. You all got that?”

  They nodded, including Tanya. Beth was holding her earpiece in place. Maybe she was afraid Milo’s voice had shaken it loose. Lori seemed dazed, and even Dustin wasn’t quite his usual stolid self. The sheriff wheeled around and headed for his office.

  “Hi,” I said to nobody in particular. “I guess I won’t bother your boss right now. Dare I ask what happened to Blackwell?”

  Dustin rallied first. “It’s weird. You know about Patti Marsh’s accident, right?” He saw me nod. “She didn’t have to stay in the hospital, so she went home. Last night Blackwell came to see her. He was sick, so Patti thought he had the flu and told him she’d take care of him. By this afternoon he was delirious, so she called Doc Dewey and said that if she could manage it, she’d put him in her car to bring him to the clinic. Doc told her he’d have an ambulance sent, but no siren, because it might scare people who thought it had to do with the RestHaven escapee. They got to the hospital an hour ago and it turned out Jack had been stabbed. The wound festered because he hadn’t had it treated. Strange, huh?”