The Alpine Recluse

by Mary Daheim

Vida appeared in the doorway, looking disgusted. “Doc wants to see you, Cookie. Shall I bring him in here or would you rather go out into the living room?”

  “I don’t care,” Cookie said listlessly, but she rose from the chair.

  Vida remained by the door. “Feckless,” she said. “Tiffany is lazy, self-centered, and utterly worthless. Doc can’t talk any sense into her. I’m leaving.”

  “You’ve done your duty,” I said. “Maybe I should leave, too. I’ve got some things I want to tell you.”

  “Oh?” Vida looked intrigued. “Let me get my hat. I intend to go see Delia Rafferty. This is Sunday, my day to do good works. Doc says Delia’s none the worse for her little adventure, but I still feel obligated to call on her. Do you want to come with me?”

  “No, thanks. I need to rest my beat-up body.” Another trip to the nursing home was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Tiffany was still on the sofa, once again reading her magazine. Cookie was sitting in a side chair, while Doc asked her some questions. He smiled and nodded at me.

  “Busy day,” I remarked as I passed him.

  “Very.” Doc stopped smiling.

  Vida picked up her hat from a side table. I’d never seen this particular model before, but guessed that it was one she reserved for going to church. It was definitely a spring or summer hat, a net confection with a nest on the crown and a trio of baby birds poking their heads out of small blue eggs. I assumed that Vida had bought it on an Easter whim.

  I said goodbye to everybody in general, but Vida wordlessly tromped out of the living room and down the short flight of stairs to the front door.

  “Did Cookie even taste that tea I made for her?” she demanded when we got outside. “Don’t tell me. Honestly, those Eriks women have no spunk!”

  “Tiffany has her own brand of spunk,” I noted. “She takes very good care of Tiffany.”

  “Not so,” Vida huffed. “If she did, she wouldn’t be lying around like a heroine in some tragic Italian opera. Exercise. Work. Wholesome food. Mental stimulation. That’s what she needs, for herself and for the poor baby. Well?”

  Vida had stopped by her Buick, which was parked in front of my Honda.

  “You want to talk here?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course not. Shall we go to my house? It’s only a block from the nursing home. I could use a cup of tea myself.”

  “Hot tea?”

  “Yes.” Vida nodded. The baby birds bounced. “Hot beverages are actually supposed to be good for you in this weather.”

  We both drove to Vida’s, where she made tea and offered soothing noises to her canary, Cupcake. She insisted that even he hated the heat.

  For the next twenty minutes, I updated Vida about everything I knew, including the encounter with Craig Laurentis.

  “Fascinating,” she declared. “That’s very clever of you, Emma, to figure out that Old Nick is this painter person. I should have thought of that myself, especially when some of the search party members found brushes and other indications of an artist. Really, I feel quite dense.”

  “You shouldn’t,” I said. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me if I hadn’t seen one of his pictures at Donna’s gallery and fallen in love with it.”

  “Do you think he’s crazy?” she asked, putting more sugar into her English bone china teacup.

  “I doubt it,” I replied. “Eccentric maybe. He was very helpful.”

  “You should go home and rest.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s after three. I must head for the nursing home. I’d like to be back here around four. Buck and I are driving down to Sultan for dinner. He likes to eat early, you know.”

  I was aware that Buck Bardeen preferred to keep to a strict schedule, no doubt a habit from his career in the military. I took a final sip of tea and stood up. I was getting stiffer by the minute.

  “You really should have let Doc Dewey take a look at you,” Vida said with a frown.

  “Doc’s busy enough,” I replied. “It’s all superficial. I can take care of my wounds when I get home. I don’t plan on doing anything for the rest of the day except lie on the sofa and read or watch TV.”

  “Yes.” Vida made a face. “But don’t stay there forever like Tiffany.”

  “No. I—” Something popped into my head. “Cookie’s lying. Or else Wayne is.”

  “What?” Vida wore her most owlish expression.

  “Cookie told me that Wayne was home all of Monday night,” I replied.

  “Yes, yes, his alibi,” Vida broke in. “Weak, of course. Spouses tend to do that sort of thing for each other.”

  “But she went on to say that they hadn’t been out in the evening for several days,” I explained. “Yet Wayne claimed to have gone up to check that power pole or whatever it was Sunday night when he—allegedly—spotted Old Nick by the football field.”

  “Ah!” Vida looked as if she’d discovered the secret of the universe. “Most intriguing. Cookie may have forgotten he’d gone out Sunday—or else he didn’t and she’s lying her head off. Surely Milo can get her to break down. Cookie’s not a strong person.”

  “She doesn’t seem to be,” I said in a thoughtful voice.

  Vida cocked her head at me. “Are you suggesting that Cookie may be the one who went to Tim and Tiffany’s?”

  I sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. Wayne’s the one with the burns. Maybe,” I said slowly, “we don’t know exactly who’s strong and who’s weak.”

  “Yes,” Vida agreed. “That’s a fair question, isn’t it?”

  THE AIR WAS very still and very muggy, with gathering clouds over Mount Baldy. We seemed to be in for a thunder-and-lightning storm. That was bad news. While it might signal a break in the weather, lightning could start forest fires anywhere in the Cascades.

  I opened both the front and back doors, but latched the screens. The windows were already open. After taking care of my skinned knees and putting on fresh bandages, I changed into an old cotton shift. Propped up on the sofa, I wrote a quick e-mail to Adam, telling him that in case he hadn’t already heard, Toni was on her way to Fairbanks Monday. Fortunately for him, the city was a long, long way from St. Mary’s Igloo.

  As soon as I shut down the laptop, my eyes shut down, too. The events of the past week, as well as the weather, had sapped my energy. I fell asleep, the second time in the last few days that I’d taken a nap. That was a record. I don’t think I’d taken two naps in two years until this August. Maybe I was simply getting older.

  It was the clap of thunder that woke me up. I was disoriented at first, thinking it must be morning. It was quite dark, which further confused me because my watch said it was five minutes to seven. Dawn or dusk, the sky should be light at that time of day during summer.

  Sliding off the sofa, I walked—stiffly—to the open front door. No rain fell, but twin jagged bolts of lightning flashed vertically across the sky. It was still Sunday. The storm had begun.

  Despite the muggy atmosphere, I was starving. I went into the kitchen and turned on the light. Occasionally I tease Milo about subsisting on TV dinners, but in fact, I always kept two or three in the freezer. As I put a turkey entrée into the microwave, the phone rang.

  It was Vida. “I just got back from Sultan,” she announced. “A good thing, too. The storm hit just as we drove past Skykomish. I had to get Cupcake covered early in this dark weather. How are you feeling?”

  I told her I’d slept for almost three hours, but I’d survive.

  “Of course you will,” she asserted. “You’re not a nincompoop like some of the women around here. By the way, that pathetic Delia took my hat—again.”

  “You mean the one with the bird’s nest?”

  “Of course. It was a great favorite of mine. I bought it years ago on sale in Seattle. I almost didn’t give it to her, but she’s so pitiful that I felt I had to. Maybe I can get Margaret Peterson or Beth to return it to me. I don’t care about the other one, but this was a one-of-a-kind model, sixty percent off.”


  I didn’t doubt that the hat was unique. “Delia must have liked the birds,” I said.

  “She adored them,” Vida replied wryly. “Unfortunately. Next time I visit, perhaps I’ll take her a stuffed animal. I certainly won’t wear a hat.”

  “Excuse me, Vida,” I said, “but my microwave timer just went off.”

  “That’s fine. I’m going to observe the storm. Summer lightning is very spectacular, if dangerous.”

  I devoured my prepared dinner in front of the TV, watching Sunday night baseball. The thunder and lightning continued, sometimes sounding very close, occasionally in the distance. The lights and the TV flickered a few times. Periodically, I limped to the front window to watch the show. The storm was all over the sky, probably stretching the length of the central Cascades.

  The game ended, but I stayed tuned for ESPN’s Baseball Tonight. The sportscasters were doing a National League roundup when I heard sirens. I turned the volume down and tried to judge where the sound was coming from. Not in my direction, I decided. Perhaps whichever emergency vehicles were involved had headed for Highway 2.

  But the sirens stopped after about three minutes. Whatever was happening had occurred in town. Then I heard more sirens. Again, they quit after a very short time. I considered turning on KSKY, but decided I couldn’t stand being scooped twice in one day by Spencer Fleetwood and his breaking news. For all I knew, there might have been a false alarm or a minor medical crisis. I’d had enough drama for what should have been a quiet Sunday.

  I turned my attention back to ESPN. They cut to a commercial just as the phone rang again. I hit the mute button and picked up the receiver.

  “Emma!” Vida shrieked. “Have you heard? The nursing home’s on fire!”

  TWENTY

  “I’LL BE RIGHT there,” I said, not waiting for details. “I’ll call Scott first.”

  Scott was at home with Tamara. He, too, had heard the sirens. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Two big fires in one week! Man, that’s a record.”

  Certainly it wasn’t one anybody would want to break. As I hurried out to the car, I thought about all those crippled and confused residents in the nursing facility. Maybe the retirement section itself would be spared. Maybe, I prayed, the fire hadn’t spread far.

  I could see smoke but no flames as I drove down Sixth Street. I could also see several emergency vehicles with their flashing lights. As I stopped near the corner of Sixth and Cascade, a jagged bolt of lightning struck so close by that it lit up the scene as if it were midday. Onlookers had gathered, but were being urged to move on by Sam Heppner and Dwight Gould.

  As soon as I got out of the Honda, I started to cough. The same smells, the same heat, the same eye-burning sensations assailed me as I’d endured Monday night. I felt as if I must be having a nightmare. Surely lightning couldn’t strike twice. Or, I asked myself, reining in my fantasies, was it really lightning that had started this fire? It was possible. The thunder that followed the last bolt had come quickly and loudly, making me grit my teeth.

  Putting a tissue over my mouth and nose, I tried to focus on what I was seeing. That wasn’t easy. But another flash of lightning allowed me to see what was happening. The church, which stood between the infirmary-hospice and the retirement home, appeared untouched. So did the retirement home itself. The smoke was pouring out of the newer building to the east. That was where the hoses were spraying big plumes of water. It was also where the pitiful cries of the elderly and infirm were coming from. I could see patients being evacuated on gurneys, in wheelchairs, and in rescuers’ arms. Another ambulance was coming down Cascade, perhaps from the nearby ranger station at Skykomish. I suspected that more would come from other parts of the county. Alpine’s city budget could afford only one.

  I couldn’t spot my reporter, but if Scott had arrived, he was probably closer to the fire’s source. Finally, I caught Sam Heppner’s eye.

  “Move back, Emma,” he ordered. “Everybody’s got to keep away. We need space to get these people out of here.”

  “Sam,” I begged, “please tell me what happened. I have to know.”

  Sam was wielding his baton at a couple of teenagers. They backed off. The deputy scowled at me, but spoke rapidly. “Fire started in a wastebasket. No known fatalities yet, but that could change with these old, sick folks. Some of them’ll be taken to Sultan or Monroe. We don’t have room for all of them here. Now step back.”

  I obeyed. And bumped into Vida.

  “Too dreadful,” she declared, speaking loudly over the sirens and shielding her eyes from the blinking emergency lights. “But so lucky the fire started in the new section. It appears that it’s much easier to contain because of the improved construction and safety methods. The damage is mostly from smoke, but many of the patients have lung problems.” Sadly, she shook her head.

  “A wastebasket?” I remarked, trying not to cough. “Was someone smoking?”

  “I don’t know.” Vida grimaced. “Really, it’s impossible to learn very much. I can’t imagine, though, that smoking would be allowed in the infirmary. Several residents are on oxygen.”

  “Someone on the staff might have sneaked a cigarette,” I speculated as the parade of stricken old folks continued. The deputies were growing hostile as relatives and friends of the victims arrived, demanding to know what had happened to their loved ones. People were sobbing; a woman’s hysterical shrieks rose above the din; two small children clung to their father, asking “Where’s our nana?” over and over.

  Milo stood on the edge of the street with a bullhorn. “Don’t come any closer,” he commanded in a calm but authoritative voice. “You’ll only interfere with the situation. Step away. Now.”

  Most of the crowd obeyed, but several remained, besieging Milo and anybody else they could collar for information.

  I wanted to ask him if Vida and I could do anything to help, but he was completely surrounded by concerned friends and relations. Instead, I put the question to Vida.

  “I already asked,” she said, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes with less than her usual vigor. “The Lutherans rallied immediately. So many of them live near the church. They seem well organized, and I must admit, they’re generally very strong, sturdy people.”

  Vida’s assessment would have amused me if the circumstances weren’t so dire. Two ambulances were pulling away; two more were arriving, along with a pair of EMT vehicles. The smoke was beginning to dissipate. Maybe the worst of it was over. I could see Pastor Nielsen conferring with Milo. I also noticed Scott further down the block, taking photographs.

  “I brought a camera,” Vida said. “I took a few pictures but stopped when I saw Scott. He’s really very good when it comes to photography.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, though Vida could take adequate pictures, which was more than I could manage.

  I felt an urgent hand on my arm. “Emma!” Beth Rafferty cried. “Have you seen Mom? Has she been evacuated? Is she okay?”

  I turned to look at Beth, whose face was pale and haggard. “I don’t think they’re moving people out of the older wing,” I replied. “She must be fine.”

  “No!” Beth exclaimed, frantically yanking at her hair as if she wanted to pull it out by the roots. “Mom was in the infirmary!” For the first time, Beth noticed Vida. “Do you know anything?”

  Vida looked pained. “I visited her shortly after you left this afternoon. She was still in the infirmary then. I understood she’d be kept there overnight.”

  I felt stupid. Somehow, I’d assumed that Delia was back in the retirement home’s assisted-living wing. My brain seemed to be clouded by sleep and smoke.

  “It’s impossible to identify the patients who’ve been removed,” I said, feeling completely inadequate. Even as I spoke, I saw that the only people now coming out of the infirmary annex were walking under their own power. Firefighters, staffers, and volunteers, I guessed. The evacuation must be finished.

  Vida was tapping her chin, always a sign th
at she was contemplating action. The anxious relatives and friends were gathered around Elvis Sung, who, along with the beleaguered Doc Dewey, was evaluating the stricken victims who hadn’t yet been put into the ambulances or medic vans.

  “Dr. Sung seems to be giving out information,” Vida said. “Come, Beth, let’s speak with him. I don’t believe anyone will try to stop you at this point.”

  Naturally, I trailed along. Dr. Sung was on the sidewalk where only a thin pall of smoke remained hanging in the air. Behind him, Doc Dewey worked with the medics. Milo and Pastor Nielsen were speaking with two of the firefighters and a couple of people who appeared to be staff members. After thoroughly spraying the church as a precautionary measure, the fire hoses dwindled to a trickle.

  Quickly, I counted how many patients—and possibly employees—were still waiting to be treated. Four in wheelchairs, two on gurneys, one on a walker, and three wrapped in blankets. One of the medics was putting an oxygen mask over the face of a gurney patient.

  Beth and Vida were edging up to Dr. Sung. I moved closer to the person on the gurney.

  “Beth!” I shouted. “Here! It’s your mother!”

  “Oh!” Beth ran toward me as lightning struck and thunder rolled. “Where?”

  I pointed to the gurney. Even in the darkness I was certain that the patient was Delia Rafferty.

  She was wearing Vida’s bird’s nest hat.

  ALMOST AN HOUR passed before I could talk to Milo. We ended up in Vida’s living room. Since she lived only a block away, it was the most convenient place to gather. The sheriff, however, rejected Vida’s offer of tea, and looked as if he’d prefer a stiff drink.

  “The wastebasket was the source,” Milo confirmed, stretching out his long legs on an ottoman. He looked tired and disheveled. “The wastebasket was in a linen closet. Nobody was seen going in there, but someone noticed smoke coming out from under the door. When they opened the door, the rush of fresh air really got the blaze going. It had already burned quite a bit of the stuff that was stored there, but the flames and smoke got into the hall where there were some garbage bags ready to go out. Most of the stuff inside was paper and plastic, so it all caught pretty fast. Luckily, they were able to get the extinguishers and help contain the fire even before the emergency guys got there.”