Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481)

by Daheim, Mary

  My reporter didn’t get back until going on two. “Dodge took a late lunch,” he told me, putting a foot on one of my visitor chairs. “I didn’t want to bother him at the Burger Barn.”

  I didn’t comment. Instead, I asked what he’d learned about the murdered man.

  “Glenn McElroy, forty-nine, from Puyallup.” Mitch paused. “Did I say the town’s name right?”

  “Close enough,” I replied.

  “Some of the local place-names are tongue twisters. Anyway, he was shot through the head and neck at fairly close range. McElroy was found by his car just off Highway 2 in Grotto. A local resident called it in. Guy wouldn’t give his name. It sounds as if he was pretty badly shaken. Body to SnoCo for a full autopsy, but Dr. Sung did a prelim, so that much is official. I suspect the final results won’t get back to Dodge until the end of the week, especially after a holiday.”

  “Right. Has next of kin been notified?”

  “Fong was working on that,” Mitch said. “Apparently the vic was some kind of civil servant.”

  I told Mitch to write up what he knew, subject to change by press time. He grinned at me. “With stories like this, you’re close to the source during the off-hours.”

  I gave him a dark look. “Guess again. That’s when the sheriff takes the phone out to the garage and shuts the door.”

  I couldn’t tell my reporter that I intended to take the backdoor approach on McElroy. Obviously, Milo was opting for discretion until he touched based with the Feds. I’d give the sheriff another half-hour before I dropped in on him.

  A few minutes later, Leo stopped in to see me. “Blackwell pulled his standing ad. What’s up with that?”

  I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised—but I was. “Does he want a refund for the month of July?”

  “You bet.” Leo rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “I told him it was a bad idea to cancel the ad. It could start a rumor that he was closing the mill and his logging operations. He told me what I could do with my advice. But the ads will run. Jack signed off on them. Does this have something to do with his feud with Dodge?”

  “I doubt it,” I replied. “He got pissed off with me over Fuzzy’s government reorganization plan and today he got into some kind of dustup at RestHaven. Don’t ask. I’m still waiting for clarification from Dodge.”

  “Does hot weather really make everybody nuts around here?” My ad manager didn’t wait for an answer. “At least the Duchess is acting more like herself. What happened?”

  “She got religion,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it later. She could be back any minute from wherever she went.”

  Vida, in fact, came through the door almost as soon as Leo went to his desk. To my dismay, she was holding Dippy by the hand and heading my way. “Amy is so exhausted from her distress over my so-called disappearance that I insisted on taking Dippy off her hands. Ted had to take the morning off to care for him while Amy was in the hospital. Such a tempest in a teapot! Is Ed’s old clip-art file still around? I thought Dippy might like some of the pictures.”

  “Ask Leo,” I advised as Dippy eyed me with suspicion. “Mitch could use your help with the Doukas family tree. I don’t recall anything about Eeeny’s dad finding gold.”

  “Gold?” Dippy echoed, gazing up at Vida with his curious gray eyes. “You have gold teeth, Grams.”

  “They’re crowns, dearest,” Vida informed him, beaming. “Dr. Starr put them in for me. Some day you’ll visit him. He’s a very kind dentist.”

  Dippy bared his own teeth. I was afraid he might try to bite me. “I’m off to…Parker’s Pharmacy,” I announced. “I need shampoo.” I thought it best not to let Mitch know I was going to see the sheriff, since he might consider it a breach of his turf. “Your hair looks funny,” Dippy said as I sidled past him. “That’s why I need shampoo,” I informed him with a half-baked smile. Maybe he’d suggest I needed toothpaste, too.

  Stepping outside, it felt like mid-eighties. If Harvey Adcock hadn’t gotten more fans, maybe Parker’s had some. I really could use more shampoo, too. My husband seemed to wash his hair every time he showered. At least he still had his hair. I supposed I should be grateful for that.

  Tara Wesley, who owned the pharmacy along with her husband, Garth, greeted me as I came in the door. “Your namesake was in here with Amanda about half an hour ago.”

  “Have they run out of diapers already?” I asked.

  “No, but she had to buy formula,” Tara replied. “Trying to nurse didn’t work for her.”

  “I flunked that, too,” I said. “Now I need fans. From giving birth to post-menopause. You got any?”

  “Menopause? Been there and done that.” Tara laughed. “We’ve only got a couple of smaller fans left. Will they help?”

  “Having you come to the office and blow on me would help,” I told her. “Yes. And let me browse. I didn’t make a list.”

  Tara nodded toward the next aisle and lowered her voice. “Dixie Ridley just told me they had a window peeper this morning. Rip chased him away, but he tripped over the hose and sprained his ankle.”

  “Did they report it to the sheriff?”

  Tara shook her head. “Rip was too embarrassed. Being a macho football coach, he didn’t want to admit he fell flat on his face. But they got a fairly good look at the guy. He’s not a kid, according to Dixie.”

  “They should notify Milo,” I said. “The descriptions he’s received are vague.”

  Tara shrugged. “Tell your husband you heard it through the grapevine. Uh-oh. Here comes Ed Bronsky to pick up his prescriptions. I’m off to the pharmacy. Grab those fans on aisle two before somebody else does.”

  I briefly mused on what meds Ed was taking. I couldn’t think of anything that would cure him of self-absorption. Apparently, he hadn’t seen me, which was good. With any luck, I could stay hidden in the Housewares aisle. Ed wouldn’t dream of buying an item that smacked of chores.

  Ten minutes later as I exited Parker’s, I almost literally ran into Dennis Kelly. Not having lingered after Sunday Mass, I asked him about his trip. It had been enjoyable, he informed me, even if some of his relatives were politically unenlightened.

  “How,” he remarked, “can my brother Pat—who was so outspoken on civil rights when it came to racial matters—not understand equality when it comes to gays? I finally told him I thought one of the Apostles was gay. He wanted to know which one, and when I wouldn’t answer, he decided it had to be Judas.” My pastor shook his head.

  I laughed. “Say—I heard somebody broke into the church, but nothing was taken. Is that accurate?”

  Den shook his head. “It was the rectory, but Mimi Barton was so upset that she told the sheriff’s office it was the church. She’s an efficient secretary, but…emotional.” He smiled wryly. “The only sign of anyone getting inside was that some of the books in my study seemed to be out of order. Maybe whoever broke in thought we were the library.”

  “It might’ve been Crazy Eights Neffel,” I suggested. “He may’ve decided to stop driving Edna Mae crazy. His current fetish could be books.”

  We parted on that whimsical note. It was after two-thirty by the time I reached the sheriff’s office. All appeared to be calm, with Dustin talking on the phone and Lori at her computer. She smiled at me wanly and asked if I’d be at her grandmother’s funeral.

  “I’ll have to see what’s going on with the newspaper,” I hedged. “It’s a short workweek. I’m sure Vida will be there, though.”

  Lori looked peeved. “Mrs. Runkel was very late to Grandpa’s funeral. We were all surprised. She’s usually so punctual.”

  I assumed Lori had forgotten that Milo and I were escaping death just before Alf Cobb’s services began. Doc Dewey had been called away from the Baptist Church to tend to me, and Vida had come with him. “We were in crisis mode that day,” I said. “Is your boss busy?”

  She sighed. “He always is. But go ahead. He probably won’t mind if it’s you. A man was shot, you know.”
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  “Yes, that’s why I’m here. Mitch is involved in another story,” I added, lest Lori think I was co-opting my reporter’s assignment.

  The sheriff looked up from some of the paperwork he despised. “Why are you loaded down?” he asked, noting my heavy shopping bags. “You look like the village peddler.”

  “Better than the village idiot,” I muttered, slumping into a chair. “I’ve been buying household supplies. Mitch’s information on McElroy is vague. When can we elaborate?”

  “When I get it all sorted out with the frigging Feds in Seattle,” Milo replied. “They’re sending somebody up here.” He checked his watch. “Whoever it is should’ve arrived by now. He probably got stuck on the Evergreen Point Bridge. And no, you can’t be here to meet him.”

  “Did I ask?”

  “You were thinking about it.”

  “Stop reading my mind. Sometimes you’re wrong.”

  “Not often. You want to eat out tonight? Somebody said it could hit ninety. We could drive down to the Cascadia for a change of pace.”

  I considered the suggestion. “You sure you want to drive there and back after a busy day?”

  Milo shrugged. “I can avoid the locals bugging me with a bunch of dumb questions about McElroy.”

  “You’re avoiding my questions, Sheriff.”

  “So I am. Why don’t you leave that stuff with me? I’ll put it in the Yukon. Your little arms might fall off if you have to carry it to your office.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me,” I asserted. “I have news for you.”

  “About how much you spent at Parker’s? Skip—”

  “About the Ridleys. The lurker showed up at their place and they got a good look at him. If you want a description, call Rip. He doesn’t want to admit he fell down trying to catch the guy.”

  Milo chuckled. “Sounds like Coach Two-and-Ten. I’ll call him. I like giving Rip a hard time. Maybe I’ll buy him a beer after work. That’s it?”

  “Yes. Did you ask Donna to leave a message for Craig?”

  My husband grimaced. “Damn. I forgot. Good-bye, Little Emma.”

  “Stop calling me ‘little’!” I yelled. But I left. At least I’d gotten rid of the blasted shopping bags.

  —

  I’d forgotten to ask Milo if Dr. Reed and Kay Burns had given their statements about the set-to at RestHaven. I told Mitch to follow up on that part of the story. Meanwhile, I decided to write two brief editorials instead of a longer one. The first would be Fuzzy putting his plan before the electorate and the other on violence, both abroad and on the home front. Naturally, I was opposed. I wondered if I came out with a pro-violence stance, more people might actually read my editorials. Probably not.

  Vida and Dippy weren’t around when I returned. Alison told me they’d gone to the retirement home so she could catch up on news from the weekend. I shuddered at the havoc Dippy might create. Many of the residents, of course, were from the Greatest Generation. They’d need all of their Depression-era and World War II skills to survive the little terror.

  I called Milo at four-thirty. Kay Burns was stopping by his office when she got off work at five. Rosalie was still recovering from being hit by Farrell. She’d release her statement after conferring with Dr. Woo and Kay in the morning. I couldn’t use one statement without the other. Their versions could be very different. Mitch agreed, and he had to write the story. We were stuck with the bare facts in the current edition.

  When I started out of the office, Vida informed me that she—and Dippy—were staying late to get her copy in before deadline. “By the way,” she said, oblivious to her great-grandson, who was up on the table by the unplugged coffee urn, “Mitch and Leo were both gone over the weekend so I’m short on ‘Scene’ items. Do give me something for my column.”

  As usual, I initially drew a blank. “Oh—Rosemary Bourgette and her new boyfriend, Des Ellerbee, chasing small children at the picnic.”

  “Rosemary has a new beau?” Vida wrinkled her nose. “How could I not know that?”

  “Well, I guess it happened while you were being…cross,” I said. “You can read about him in the feature I did for this week.”

  “I certainly will,” Vida murmured. “More, please.”

  “Sultan teens in town—”

  She cut me off. “I already have that. I was at the Burger Barn, as you may recall.”

  “Okay. Darla Puckett released from the hospital after a brief stay?”

  “Marje gave me that item for my ‘Ailing Alpiners’ report. Do try for one more.”

  As much as I hated to mention it, I told her about Ed trying to sell his Casa de Bronska souvenirs at the picnic. With a resigned expression, Vida decided to use it. “Really,” she said, “I should never leave town. That is, I’m glad I did just this once, but still…it’s amazing how people don’t notice what goes on around them.”

  Edging toward the door, I glanced at Dippy, who was trying to dismantle the coffee urn. “You might want to make sure your great-grandson doesn’t electrocute himself. I think Alison has already prepared the coffee for tomorrow. Have a good weekend.”

  I kept going. It had to be ninety degrees. The car felt like a sauna. I turned on the AC. To heck with gas mileage. I wanted comfort, at least for the brief drive to our too-warm house.

  Assuming we’d eat out, I opened all the windows and doors before heading outside. When Milo hadn’t shown up by five-thirty, I decided to make myself a drink. When he hadn’t arrived by six-fifty, I began to worry. But five minutes later when I went indoors to check in with Kip, I saw the Yukon pull into the driveway.

  “What happened?” I asked as my husband loped inside.

  “No big news for you,” Milo replied, bestowing a quick kiss on me. “Rip figures they’ll have a five-hundred season. He’s dreaming.”

  “You’ve been out guzzling beer!” I yipped.

  My husband looked puzzled. “I told you I was going to do that.”

  I made a face. “I thought you were kidding.” I put my arms around him. “I sound like a…wife.”

  “Occupational hazard,” he said, hugging me. “Try paying attention when I tell you something, okay?”

  I looked up at him. “Did the Fed from Seattle show up?”

  Milo frowned and let go of me. “No. His car broke down by Woodinville. He had to get towed and by then it was too late with all the damned traffic. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Do you think he’d let Mitch…never mind,” I mumbled. The Fed wouldn’t cooperate with a small-town weekly. Milo had already gone off to change. I soothed myself by looking at Sky Autumn. It never failed to lighten my mood. It also gave me an idea.

  I was still in the living room when my husband came out from the hall. “We should’ve run a picture of that painting in the paper. Where is it? It’s not too late.”

  “It’s at headquarters.” Milo looked pained. “You don’t really want me to go get it, do you?”

  “I’ll go in to get it,” I said. “Then we can drop it off for Kip before we go to dinner. Someone may recognize it.”

  “Nobody recognized the stiff.”

  “But you’ve probably ID’d him anyway. I can have Kip put the painting next to the story about the body. Or maybe inside…the front page is full…we could pull—”

  “Damn! Quit dithering. Let’s just do it before I decide the Cascadia’s a bad idea.”

  “Fine. I’m ready. Let’s go.” I stomped off to the garage. I was inside the Yukon when I realized Milo hadn’t followed me. I leaned over and honked the horn. A full minute passed before he came out of the house.

  “What’s with you?” he bellowed. “You didn’t bother to close the doors. Have you got something going on with the lurker?”

  I held my head. “No. I’m sorry. This weather makes me crazy.”

  “You can’t change the weather.” Angrily, he turned the ignition key and backed out at warp speed. We pulled up at headquarters in less than two minutes. I think I held m
y breath for almost half the time. “Go get the frigging painting. Tell Mullins I okayed it.”

  Jack looked amused when I entered. “Has the big bad boss sent you to tell me I’m fired? Whoa—you look fit to spit.”

  “I’m hot,” I declared, trying to collect my wits.

  “The boss obviously thinks so.” Jack sobered. “How can I help?”

  “I have his approval to remove the picture found at the dump site,” I said, regaining my aplomb. “Do you know where it’s stashed?”

  “It’s gone,” Jack replied.

  “Gone?” I goggled at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Kay Burns came in awhile ago to give her statement about the brawl at RestHaven,” Jack replied. “Lori couldn’t figure out if the picture was actual evidence, so she’d left it on the counter. Kay claimed it belonged to her. I thought she was full of it, so I asked her what the other side of the frame looked like. She had to think about it, but when she finally said it didn’t have wires, but a brass hanger, I decided it must be hers.” He shrugged. “Does Dodge want it back?”

  “No.” I frowned. “If he does, he can talk to Kay.”

  I wanted to talk to her, too. But I wasn’t sure how to approach Kay. The questions I had for her were the type that might make her slug me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Well?” Milo said when I got back in the Yukon. “Did Mullins pull one of his dumb stunts and refuse to hand over the painting? Do I have to go in and kick his ass?”

  I explained about Kay taking it. “She could describe the back of the frame.”

  “Shit. Now I’ll have to talk to her.” He pulled away from the curb. “We’re skipping the Cascadia. After we eat, I’m calling on Ms. Burns.”

  I opened my mouth to ask if I could go with him, but thought better of it. To my surprise, my husband told me I could come along.

  “You and Donna think it’s a Laurentis. Kay probably figures I don’t know squat about art. She’s right. You can even ask some questions. Does that cheer you up, my ornery little twerp?”