by Mary Daheim
“Did you know about this?” The sheriff was yelling in my ear.
I grimaced. “Of course not. And please don’t shout.”
“Goddamn it,” Milo went on, still bellowing, “she’s making me look like a moron! She’s putting a bunch of dumb kids at risk! There’ll be lawsuits all over the county! What got into her anyway?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I responded. “Please stop yelling. I’m as flabbergasted as you are.” Although, I realized, I should have known. Vida had certainly behaved suspiciously when Wayne Eriks had come to the office.
“They’ll never find him,” Milo declared, lowering his voice but still fuming. “I’m going to the park tomorrow and tell them to disband. I ought to arrest Vida for interfering with the law.”
“You wouldn’t arrest her.”
“I’d sure as hell like to.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for sending them all home. That is,” I added, “if anybody shows up. Vida didn’t offer a reward.”
“Oh, they’ll show up.” Milo’s tone was bitter. “At least enough of them to cause trouble. If they go off-trail into the woods, they’ll either get shot by some jerk running a meth lab or they’ll start a forest fire or they’ll get lost and then we’ll have to search for them. I’m going to nip this thing in the bud. In fact, I’m going to drive over to Vida’s house right now and tell her to have Fleetwood broadcast a retraction. I hold him responsible, too.”
The sheriff banged down the phone.
I wondered if I should go to Vida’s, too. Maybe I could ease the conflict between them, which I knew could grow into a conflagration as dangerous as any forest fire.
I needed a few minutes to think. Vida might not go straight home. It was likely that she’d given Roger a ride and would have to drop him off at his parents’ home in The Pines. She might stay for a while, visiting with Amy and Ted, as well as finalizing her plans with Roger.
Still debating with myself, I turned on my laptop and checked for e-mail messages. Happily, there was one from Adam. We e-mailed each other several times a week because the phone connection between Alpine and St. Mary’s Igloo was so poor. My son’s phone line was on a radio delay, and there were always long pauses between our exchanges. The halting conversations drove both of us nuts.
“Mom,” he began, “got your package with the Starbucks coffee and the thermal socks. Thanks. Can you send more socks? I already gave mine to a couple of parishioners who need them more than I do, or will when fall arrives.”
But the rest of Adam’s message wasn’t what I’d expected. I read it three times. Adam continued:
“This may sound weird, and I feel kind of strange telling you about this, but a few months ago I started getting e-mail from Toni Andreas. I guess she got my address from you.”
I recalled Toni asking for Adam’s address in the early spring. I’d been waiting for Milo at the sheriff’s office after work. We’d gotten to talking about Adam’s Alaskan assignment, and I’d mentioned that loneliness was one of his biggest problems. Toni apparently remembered their brief dating period with some fondness. She’d asked if it would be okay to e-mail him sometime. I’d told her that was a nice idea, then forgot the incident until now.
“Toni wrote that she was seeing a married man,” Adam went on. “She’s not Catholic, but she asked for my advice. Face it, I haven’t done much marriage counseling, so I advised her to break it off. I didn’t go into any religious or moral issues, but said that people were bound to get hurt, including her. She wrote back saying this guy was really unhappy in his marriage and planned to leave, but that his wife was pregnant and he’d have to wait until the baby was born. Then I wrote and told her that was all the more reason to stop seeing him. Furthermore, it sounded like the first in a long line of excuses while stringing her along. The last time I heard from her was about three weeks ago when she said he wasn’t going to wait until the baby came, but planned on seeing a lawyer to start divorce proceedings. Meanwhile, she and the guy were going on a trip together. I answered saying she should put the trip off until she had proof that he really was going through with the divorce. I didn’t hear back, so I figured I’d pissed her off. Then this afternoon I checked out the Advocate online and read about what happened to Tim Rafferty. Scott’s story mentioned that Tim had only been married a few months and that Tiffany was expecting a baby. I couldn’t help but wonder if Tim might be the guy Toni was seeing. Let me know. I’m worried about her. Love and prayers, Adam.”
EIGHT
ADAM’S E-MAIL UPSET me. His guess about Toni Andreas seeing Tim Rafferty rang true. It would explain Toni’s distress. It also might explain why she’d cancelled her vacation plans.
But what did it mean? As I put my glass of Pepsi in the fridge and gathered up my handbag, I reflected on Tiffany’s reaction when I’d called on her. She’d shown no overwhelming grief for her husband—only concern for herself and the child she carried. Was this because she was shallow? Or because she was so absorbed in the creation of a new life? Those had been my thoughts at the time. Now I wondered if her sense of loss was dulled by Tim’s infidelity and her realization that the marriage was in trouble.
As I drove the four blocks to Vida’s house on Tyee Street, the temperature felt like it had dropped several degrees in the last hour. I didn’t even have to turn on the Honda’s air conditioner. When I turned off of Fifth Street before it dead-ended at the middle school, I saw Milo’s Grand Cherokee up ahead, parked next to the curb like a big red warning light.
“Where the hell is she?” he demanded, getting out of his vehicle as he saw me pull up on the other side of the driveway.
“Probably at the Hibberts’,” I replied, joining him on the sidewalk. “Stop looking at me as if I’m to blame for all this.”
Milo, who was dressed in his civvies, scowled. “I don’t. But I sure as hell am mad at Vida.”
“I’m dismayed, too,” I said. “But while we’re waiting, let’s talk about Toni Andreas.”
“We already did,” Milo said impatiently. “Why are you so damned curious?”
I hesitated. In confiding in me, Adam had—however well intentioned—betrayed a private matter between himself and Toni. It wasn’t as if she’d gone to confession; she’d only asked his advice. But I was still reluctant to say more. And I certainly wasn’t going to mention my son’s name. Maybe I should shut up and speak directly to Toni.
“Never mind,” I said, both relieved and anxious as I saw Vida’s Buick approaching. “Here comes your favorite rabble-rouser.”
Ignoring our presence, Vida drove all the way into her detached garage toward the back of the house. Ordinarily, I would’ve expected her to stop as soon as she turned into the driveway and immediately ask what the sheriff and I were doing on her premises. But I figured that she was surprised to see us, had an inkling of why we were there, and needed time to marshal her defense.
There was, however, no vacillation in her purposeful manner as she came in our direction. “Well now,” she said, sounding somewhat brittle, “what’s this all about?”
Vida was tall, standing over six feet if you counted the crown of her straw hat, but Milo had almost six inches on her. He loomed—or so it seemed to me.
“I’m stopping this harebrained idea of yours right now,” the sheriff declared. “If anybody shows up at Old Mill Park tomorrow, I’ll be there to hustle their butts right out into Park Street.”
Vida didn’t flinch. “Really now. For what reason?” Her voice was calm.
Milo swung an arm in an impatient gesture. “Because it’s damned dangerous. You can’t take the law into your own hands. You know that.”
“Do mind your language, Milo,” Vida cautioned. “You’re talking nonsense. This is strictly volunteer, no one under eighteen will be allowed to take part, and it’s no different than when Boy Scouts or some other youth group is asked to help with a search party. It’s done all the time in cities. King County has had a volunteer search-and-rescue group for al
most fifty years, and some of them are as young as fourteen. As you know perfectly well, I might add.”
“It’s not the same,” Milo asserted. “Those volunteers have to go through rigorous training. Besides, you didn’t consult me. This hermit guy could be dangerous. And then there’s the weather. It’s bad enough we’ve got campers and hikers and all these other bozos running around the woods making the fire hazard even worse, but a bunch of irresponsible kids is . . . well, it’s just too damned risky.”
“Language, language,” Vida murmured. “I really think you should thank me. And Roger, of course.”
Milo started to say something—no doubt about Roger—but puffed out his cheeks and stopped. I wondered if he was going to explode.
The sheriff exhaled. “What if these kids find Old Nick? How will they apprehend him? Will they be armed?”
“Are you referring to firearms?” Vida asked, indignant.
“Any kind of weapon,” Milo responded. “Will they?”
“They don’t anticipate violence,” Vida said staunchly.
The sheriff realized that in a war of words with Vida, he was bound to get shortchanged. “You know the law,” he said. “Nobody under twenty-one can carry anything but a shoulder weapon, like a hunting rifle. And if they do carry, they have to have a permit.”
“Yes, yes,” Vida said testily. “I’m aware of the rules. Are you finished?”
Milo gazed up at the cloudless sky, perhaps envisioning hordes of stampeding youth rampaging through the woods with lighted torches and AK-47s. I looked back at the sheriff, who was obviously still aggravated.
“I won’t have it, Vida,” he finally said under his breath.
“You can’t not have it,” she asserted. “If you try to stop us, you will violate our constitutional right of assembly. Please don’t interfere and make a spectacle of yourself.”
Milo looked stumped. I felt sorry for him. I also felt helpless and wondered why I’d come.
Vida apparently wondered, too. For the first time, she looked directly at me. “What do you think, Emma?” she asked pointedly.
“I think,” I said slowly, “it’s not a good idea. Did you clear it with Spence?”
Vida lifted her chin. “Spencer Fleetwood does not censor my program.”
“I’m concerned about liability,” I said.
Vida glared at me. “Since when have you been concerned about Spencer Fleetwood?”
“I didn’t mean that exactly,” I replied, feeling awkward. What I’d implied, of course, was that if Vida had come to me with such a proposal, I would never have given her permission to run it in the Advocate. “I merely wondered,” I clarified, “if KSKY was helping sponsor the search.”
Vida shot me her most disdainful expression. “This civic undertaking has no sponsor other than Roger—and me, as his grandmother and staunch supporter.”
I didn’t believe for a second that Roger had come up with the idea. Roger didn’t have ideas. Or if he did, he’d suggest that one of the volunteers dress up in a bear suit or upon apprehending Old Nick, his captors should give him a wedgie.
I glanced at Milo. He looked grim, perhaps contemplating defeat. I thought Vida had the law on her side, though I didn’t approve of her plan. Still, it would hardly be the first time that individuals had gone off searching for a lost loved one in the woods. Many family members or friends had struck out on their own when they felt that official search-and-rescue parties couldn’t or wouldn’t do enough.
“You’ve been warned,” Milo said sternly. “If anything happens to these kids, SkyCo isn’t responsible. And Fleetwood can put that on his damned radio station.” The sheriff turned on his heel and loped off to his Grand Cherokee.
“My, my,” Vida murmured, watching Milo slam the door after getting behind the wheel, “he’s certainly being a pill about this.” She looked back at me. “As are you.”
“I’m sorry, Vida,” I said. “I think you’re putting these young people at risk, Roger included.”
For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw an uncertain expression cross her face. But her words were resolute. “Nonsense. They’ll have to keep in parties of three. That’s in case there is some sort of accident. One can go for help while the other stays with the injured party. They all have those cell phones these days. Granted, there are areas around here where the phones aren’t usable, but they’re still a safeguard. We’re sure to get some former Boy Scouts who know how to follow a trail, even one that’s obscure. And these youngsters have been raised in the forest. They understand the dangers.”
She almost had me convinced. But that didn’t matter. Vida was unstoppable. “Good luck,” I said in a voice that was almost sincere. “Will you be taking pictures or shall I send Scott?”
Vida straightened the yellow streamers on her hat. “Well—I can do it. I can write the story, too. I’m basically an onlooker. This is all Roger’s doing. He’s very keen on finding Old Nick.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I tried to smile. “Then you’ll be in the office tomorrow until the . . .” I almost said “shindig.” “. . . until the event starts at ten?”
“Of course.” Vida now looked smug.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” With a little wave, I walked back to the Honda.
“DEAR ADAM,” I typed on my laptop after I got home, “I’ll get more socks on my lunch hour tomorrow at Alpine Ski. In fact, I’ll get a bunch of them in different sizes so that you can hand them out to anyone who needs them. What about gloves? You didn’t mention them.”
I paused. Was there anything else my son needed for himself or his little band of Alaskan natives? He didn’t like to ask, especially for personal items. I remembered when he was in college—various colleges before he finally got his degree. He’d request—even demand—anything, including purchases I couldn’t possibly afford and he didn’t really need. Almost ten years later, he was incredibly selfless. He had learned the lesson of distinguishing between wants and needs. I’d prayed for him to be able to do that since he was a teenager.
I moved on to his question about Toni Andreas. “I don’t know if Toni was seeing Tim. According to my sources—and you know your journalist mother can never reveal them, but it wasn’t Vida in case you’re guessing—Toni was dating somebody she wouldn’t name. She’s been very upset since Tim died, and had a meltdown at the sheriff’s office today.” I went on to explain my role in her flight from behind the desk and to relate what little she’d told me.
“So I don’t know what to make of it,” I continued. “Please let me know if she contacts you further. I’m worried about her, not to mention that I’m up to my ears in trying to figure out who killed Tim and set the house on fire. Everybody seems to think it was a hermit who has recently been sighted in town and has been hanging out at that vacant old dump next to the cul-de-sac. You may remember the place; it’s always been rundown.”
I wrote briefly about Vida’s call to arms—or legs, at least—adding the part about her confrontation with Milo.
“So it’s one thrill after another here in Alpine,” I concluded. “By the way, you never told me if you’d learned to use a harpoon yet.”
I kept the laptop on for a few minutes. St. Mary’s Igloo was two hours behind our Pacific time zone. It was only six-thirty there, and Adam might be home in his tiny cinder-block house.
But there was no immediate response from him, only a couple of e-mail ads from JCPenney and Eddie Bauer. Just before nine, I shut off the laptop.
Sitting on the sofa, staring into space, I wondered about Old Nick. If Vida didn’t know anything about him other than that he’d been a recluse for thirty years, nobody else would know, either. Some of the hermits were merely dropouts from society who couldn’t cope with the civilized world. Some were crazy, some were running from the law, and occasionally there was someone who simply wanted to see if it was possible to live off the land. I couldn’t help but speculate about which category Old Nick fell into. Indeed, he must have left b
ehind someone who would have wanted to know what happened to him. But that somebody—a mother, father, brother, sister, wife, lover—might be dead.
After half an hour, I gave up thinking about Old Nick and turned my mind to Tim and Tiffany Eriks.
I couldn’t find any answers there, either.
LEO WAS ALREADY in the office when I arrived a couple of minutes before eight on Thursday morning. He was waiting for the coffeemaker, mug in one hand, unlighted cigarette in the other. Ginny was out front, Kip was out back, and neither Vida nor Scott had come in yet.
“Roger plays John Wayne in The Searchers,” Leo said with a wry expression. “I can’t wait for the sequel, Lost in Space.”
“You heard the program,” I remarked.
Leo nodded as the coffeemaker’s red light went on. “Of course. It’s required listening for everybody in Alpine, right? I also heard the retraction.”
I stared at Leo. “What retraction?”
“From Spence. I stayed tuned to make sure they didn’t run that window fan ad for Harvey’s Hardware. Along about nine o’clock, Fleetwood himself came on the air and said something to the effect that KSKY was not responsible for the content of individual programs such as Vida’s Cupboard. But he wished the search party luck.”
“Hedging his bets,” I murmured.
Leo poured coffee into his mug. “Spence also announced that the Skykomish County sheriff’s office didn’t endorse Roger’s idea, either, and had issued a warning to not take part due to extreme dry weather conditions.”
“Oh, my.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Vida will be—as she’d put it—wild.”
“She’s late,” Leo remarked, glancing at his watch. “It’s four minutes after eight. Has she got the bakery run for the day?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s Scott’s turn.”
“Hmm.” It wasn’t like Vida to be tardy. She always arrived precisely at 8:00 A.M. unless she had an early morning assignment. “I suspect she’s organizing the rally. I wonder if I shouldn’t drop by instead of letting Scott cover the whole affair.” I poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’d better check my calendar.”