The Alpine Menace

by Mary Daheim

  Ronnie had tied Buddy up outside before he left for the bars on the night of Carol's murder. Apparently, the police had never checked Henrietta's alibi, but I was certain that at some point she'd left the hospital. A sixteen-hour shift is unusual, though Henrietta mentioned something about a nurse who didn't show up. Still, it was only a twenty-minute round-trip from there to the apartment building. Carol, who must have been in a foul mood after the fight with Ronnie, may have telephoned Henrietta at work to have it out with her. Arriving at the apartment, Henrietta would have heard Buddy barking. The dog drove her crazy, so she cut him loose.

  “I have a feeling he was tied up with an old drapery cord that Ronnie had taken from the Dumpster out back,” I told Kendra. “Henrietta brought it with her into Carol's apartment. The women quarreled. Carol may have been tough and capable of beating up on men who didn't feel it was right to fight back, but Henrietta was a big, strong woman. She strangled Carol, and then returned to the hospital.”

  “Crazy,” Kendra said in a small voice. “They're all crazy. And why? It's my fault. They were all fighting over me.”

  “Not you, specifically,” I said. “They were fighting for the right to be a mother. The maternal instinct is very strong, sometimes overpowering. Look at nature—a lioness or a bear or any kind of female animal will do everything she can to protect her young.”

  “They weren't protecting me,” Kendra protested. “They were ruining my life.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I didn't say that mothers—or would-be mothers—are always right. Sometimes it's the concept of motherhood. It can be thought of as endowing a woman with an automatic halo. Even the very real sacrifices are made not so much for the child as for the martyrdom the mother achieves. Being a mom is not just about giving— it's about giving up and letting go.”

  Perhaps the little homily was aimed at me as much as it was at Kendra.

  “I haven't heard so much guesswork since the junior-high spelling bee,” Vida declared the next morning on the way back to Alpine. Our quarrel was forgotten. We both knew that we'd been under a terrible strain. I could never stay mad at Vida, and, fortunately, she could never stay mad at me. “Still,” she went on, “all we can do is guess what really happened. With Henrietta dead, there's not much proof, especially about Carol's murder.”

  “Enough to spring Ronnie, I hope.” After spending the night at Kendra's apartment, I'd visited him that morning before we left Seattle. As usual, he'd been vague and uncertain. “At least,” I said as we approached I-5, “he remembered that the rope he used to tie up Buddy might have been a drapery cord.”

  Vida rearranged herself in the passenger seat. She'd ended up going home with Sam to the house on Ash-worth and sleeping on a handsome but uncomfortable bed in the spare room. “Sam admitted he'd gone to see Carol the night of the murder rather than that afternoon,” Vida said, readjusting the seat belt over her bust. “He'd been afraid that he'd be considered a suspect if he confessed he'd been there so close to the time she was killed. Sam thought that it was Carol instead of Maybeth and Henrietta who was upsetting Kathy so badly. He and Carol got into an argument, of course, which is what Maybeth overheard.”

  “So Maybeth never heard Henrietta quarreling with Carol before the murder,” I mused. “I suppose the TV was on too loud.”

  Vida lifted one wide shoulder in what I took for agreement. “After strangling Carol, Henrietta took Kendra's graduation picture off the refrigerator. Of course she'd want that. It's such a milestone in a child's life.”

  “And one which no parent can do without,” I noted.

  “Someone at the hospital surely will remember if Henrietta disappeared for half an hour or more,” Vida said. “Particularly if she got a phone call from Carol that sent her racing off.”

  “I hope Kathy comes out of that coma,” I remarked as some idiot cut me off in the right-hand lane of the freeway.

  “Poor Sam.” Vida sighed. “Poor Kathy. Maybe it was self-defense. Henrietta had killed before. And Darryl—I only hope that his work can help mend him. He's suffered more than anyone.”

  “Except for the people who are dead,” I remarked. “Kendra's had no picnic, either.”

  “She's young, resilient, and has some sense,” Vida replied. “At least I think she does. I'd like to think that Maybeth will tell us what she knew now that her life's no longer threatened. But if she was blackmailing Henrietta or the Addisons or even Carol, she'll be afraid of the police.”

  I glanced in the rearview mirror, not to see if we were being followed, but as a symbolic farewell to the city behind us.

  Vida must have read my thoughts. “I feel safer already,” she declared. “This has been a terrible few days. Typical, I suppose. So much violence.”

  I said nothing.

  “And such an incredible coincidence,” Vida went on. “Imagine, Henrietta living next door to Carol Stokes. I find that almost hard to believe.”

  “Vida,” I said with a small smile, “we have coincidences like that all the time in Alpine.”

  “That's because it's so small,” she said. “Thank goodness.”

  “But a city like Seattle isn't so much different in some ways,” I said. “It's really a bunch of clearly identifiable neighborhoods tied together. Henrietta Altdorf probably worked and lived all her life in the Ballard-Greenwood area. She'd know all sorts of people from way back, almost like you do in Alpine. Her circle would be quite small. Believe me, it happens all the time. I've even heard of neighbors who lived next door to each other for years and then found out by chance they were second cousins.”

  “They should have known that to begin with,” Vida asserted. “You see? Families become estranged in the city.”

  Again, I didn't argue that point specifically. “Families are strange.”

  Vida harrumphed, but remained silent for several minutes. We were approaching Everett and the turnoff to Highway 2 and Stevens Pass. As I guided the car around the big curve that led over the rich farmland of Sno-homish County, Vida uttered another, bigger sigh.

  “I can see the mountains,” she said. “Soon we'll be in Monroe. It won't be long then. We'll be home. Emma, don't ever invite me to go to Seattle again.”

  I hadn't invited Vida; she'd invited herself. And though she'd never admit it, I knew darned well that she'd had the time of her life.

  We went straight to the office. To my relief and astonishment, everything seemed to be under control. We had even added another staff member, if not someone exactly new, and only temporarily: Scott had called on Carla Steinmetz Talliaferro to help out in our absence.

  “I've got plenty of time this week,” Carla said. “My parents were jealous because Ryan's folks spent Easter with us, so they insisted on having the baby stay with them in Bellevue for a couple of days. The college paper is still in the works. These kids are really slow.”

  Carla had never been all that fast, and when she was, carelessness reigned. But I enthused anyway. “That's terrific, Carla,” I said, wondering what havoc she had wreaked since returning to The Advocate. “Would you like to get paid in free baby-sitting?”

  “Cool,” Carla replied. “Ryan and I were talking about going out to dinner this weekend. Omar will be back with us by then. How's Saturday?”

  I said Saturday was fine, though I planned on making a day trip to Seattle—alone—to check in with Ronnie. “I should be back by five,” I told Carla.

  The latest Advocate was on my desk. Above the fold, everything looked good. Glancing below the fold, I winced at the bold black headline:

  MR. ED IS NOW A PIG

  Oh, well, I thought, Mr. Ed had always been a pig. It wasn't exactly front-page news.

  * * *

  Because there was quite a bit of catching up to do, I was late getting home that evening. It was after seven when I trudged through the side door and realized that not only was the house dark, it was empty.

  There were no toys on the floor, no TV blaring from the bedroom, no sign of Amber R
amsey and her baby. Worried, I looked everywhere for a note. Finally, I checked the front porch. It would be just like Amber to forget that I often came straight into the kitchen from the carport, especially when I was carrying items like luggage.

  Sure enough, there was a note attached to the screen door.

  Dear Emma, Amber had written in an awkward hand, My dad closed the deal on the McNamara house last weekend. I forgot to tell you about it when you were here a couple of days ago. He was able to move right in, so I did, too. He bought some new furniture and the rest will come from Oregon when the family moves in later. Thanks for all your help. You've been just like a mother to Danny and me. Love, Amber.

  I thought I'd been a bitch. Well, maybe not all the time. By comparison with Amber's oddball mother and indifferent stepmother, I guess I wasn't so awful after all.

  Ironically, the house felt empty, even lonely. I didn't recall that it had seemed that way before Amber and Danny moved in, certainly not since Adam had gone away to college. Bemused, I wandered from room to room, ostensibly looking for any items Amber might have forgotten. In reality, I was in search of comfort. Even the cats were gone, receiving their creature comforts from Mrs. Holmgren across the street.

  The phone rang. I hurried from Amber and Danny's old room to answer it.

  “Sluggly, what's up?” demanded my brother, Ben. “Where the hell have you been? Still trying to bake a cake that can hold a file? I've tasted some of your cakes, and nobody would ever notice. Why don't you try using flour instead of library paste?”

  “Shut up, Stench,” I shot back. “I'm exhausted and I don't need any crap from you.”

  Ben just laughed. Funny man, I thought grimly. Hilarious brother. Zany priest. I wanted to kick his butt.

  “Ronnie didn't do it,” I said, still irked. “So ha-ha on you because I found out who did.”

  “Wow, I'm impressed,” Ben said sarcastically. “Tell me all about it.”

  I did, because I knew that deep down, Ben was impressed. He was just faint with praise. I always figured that was because he didn't want to puff me up and encourage me to vanity and other forms of sinfulness. Or maybe it was just because he was my rotten brother.

  “Amazing,” he finally said when I'd summed things up as succinctly as I could. “You and Vida. What a team. Tell me, how many different hats did she wear, and were any of them used as a defensive weapon?”

  “I feel like I've been away off and on for weeks,” I said, having wandered into the kitchen with the gypsy phone to make a hefty drink. “I still have to go back this weekend to see if Ronnie's really getting out. Honestly, Ben, I don't understand how he and his parents could be so different from the rest of us. Do you remember Uncle Gary and Aunt Marlene very well?”

  “Sort of,” Ben said. “They were always loud and often drunk. Sometimes I feel remiss, though. I mean, they're living in the same state as I am, and yet I've never made an effort to visit them. Of course they're at the other end of Arizona. I guess that's my excuse.”

  “Don't beat yourself up,” I said. “You've got a full plate as it is. I'd just like to know how our dad and his sister could have turned out so totally unalike. They sure ruined Ronnie, and probably their two daughters. I suppose it was Uncle Gary's influence on Aunt Marlene.”

  “That's a big part of it,” Ben said. “Aunt Marlene must have felt she had to live her husband's lifestyle. And of course you've got to remember that she was adopted.”

  “Adopted?” I shrieked. “I not only don't remember it, I didn't even know it. Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” Ben said calmly. “You really didn't know? That's weird.”

  “Are you sure?” I demanded, still aghast. “Where did you ever hear such a thing?”

  There was a long pause. Finally, Ben spoke. “Well,” he began, and I could picture him scratching his crinkled chestnut hair, “I think Dad told me when we were having one of our heart-to-heart talks before I went into the seminary. I honestly can't remember why he told me. Maybe it had something to do with charity, and how his parents had taken pity on a family they knew who couldn't afford to raise another child during the Depression. Anyway, Grandma and Grandpa took Aunt Marlene off the neighbors’ hands and adopted her. I guess they'd always wanted another baby, but had had no luck.”

  “I'll be damned,” I said, a little breathless. “Then Ronnie isn't really family after all.”

  Another pause, much briefer than before. “Oh, yes he is, Sluggly. We're all family, and you damned well better not forget it.”

  The journey, if that is what it was, had begun in memory, of a small boy tied to Ben in a sack race. Now that small boy was a grown man, seated across from me in a coffee shop several blocks away from the county-city complex where he'd been wrongfully imprisoned. Ronnie Mallett had finally won something, though I feared that his freedom could still be his undoing. Hopefully, the experience had changed him. But I was probably wrong.

  “I'm pickin’ up Buddy this afternoon,” Ronnie said with a shy grin. “Mr. Chan is lettin’ me keep the apartment. Maybeth said Buddy showed up two days ago, all hungry and lookin’ kinda bad. He'll be okay, doncha think?”

  “He'll be fine,” I assured Ronnie. “I'm so glad Alvin got you out of jail. How do you feel?”

  There was still a small bandage on Ronnie's ear. He looked pale and drawn, but otherwise he seemed all right. At least for a guy who was terrified of facing the real world.

  “I'm okay,” Ronnie said. “I still can't believe that that nurse killed Carol. And then Kendra's mom killed the nurse. That seems just plain wacko to me.”

  Kathy Addison had come out of her coma on Thursday. She had admitted striking the fatal blow to Henrietta's skull, but insisted that the victim had threatened to kill her first. It seemed that Kathy was right: a butcher knife had been found under Henrietta's body. Vida and I had never seen it, because we didn't see the corpse being taken away.

  Maybe the Addisons would somehow heal themselves and be a family with Kendra again. She was their daughter. Some birth mothers must discard their children, for various reasons. The burden of raising them, with whatever motives, falls on the adoptive parents. We are complicated creatures, and rarely are any of our actions pure.

  “Roy's takin’ care of Buddy right now,” Ronnie said, finishing his hamburger. “Roy's okay. Maybeth don't like Buddy, but she'd never hurt him. Can you drop me off at the apartment?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Do you think you'll get your old job back?”

  “I hope so,” Ronnie said with feeling. “Mr. Lang's a good guy. Maybe I gave him a lot of shit. I'll try harder this time.”

  “That's a good idea,” I said, and picked up the tab.

  The last time I saw Ronnie he was running to meet Buddy outside of the apartment house in Greenwood. He embraced the dog, then stood up to wave at me.

  “Hey—keep in touch, okay?” he called.

  I leaned out of the car window. “I will, Ronnie. I promise.”

  Ronnie nodded, then picked up something and threw it about twenty feet away. Buddy ran after the object and brought it back to Ronnie. Man and dog embraced again.

  I drove away, wanting to remember Ronnie as happy. After a mile or so, I realized that Ronnie was happy, in his own strange way. For him, happiness was a simple thing—a dog fetching a stick. For others, like me, it was more complicated. I shouldn't judge the Ronnies of this world. We were all different.

  And, as Ben had reminded me, we were all the same.

  Family.

  MARY: Welcome back to the Big City, Emma. You grew up here in Seattle, but you've lived in Alpine for almost ten years. I've lived in small towns twice in my life, and frankly, I had trouble adjusting. How do you manage?

  EMMA: It's attitude, Mary. When I made the decision to buy The Alpine Advocate, I knew it would be a long-term investment of my life, maybe even a permanent one. That made it easier for me—I knew I was going to stick around. The other thing that helped was being the local n
ewspaper's editor and publisher. I automatically became part of everyone's life. I had an identity. But don't get me wrong—since I wasn't born in Alpine, I'll always be something of a stranger. And, yes, I definitely miss the cultural and sports activities of a big city. Weekend high school football and the St. Mildred's Christmas pageant just don't do it for me. And while they got rid of Log-gerama, I don't think I can stand another year of Ed Bronsky as the Winter Solstice Parade's grand marshal. Ed should never ever wear anything diaphanous.

  MARY: I don't really want to think about that. Let's talk career paths. Like you, I always thought I had printer's ink in my veins and started out in newspapers. Then I discovered you had to walk a lot, so I went into P.R. What made you hang in there?

  EMMA: For one thing, Mary, I don't have flat feet like you do. Maybe the real difference is that I do have printer's ink my veins. Keeping the public informed, having the power to wield some influence (though it be rather small) through my editorials, and meeting deadlines all keep me alive. There's an enormous satisfaction to producing a paper every week. You can see what you've done. You can share it with the community. You feel as if your job has some meaning in a nutty world where personal achievement is hard to find.

  MARY: You also have a knack for sleuthing. How did you develop this, or is it a gift?

  EMMA: Journalism is all about sleuthing. It's tracking down graft in the union pension fund, it's figuring out the rationale of timberland swaps, and sometimes it's as simple—and important—as making sure you've identified the right John Smith in an article about sexual perversion. I once made a horrendous mistake in The Oregonian. There were two Alan Barkers in the news. Alan L. Barker had won a prestigious poetry prize. Alan R. Barker had been arraigned for indecent exposure at Jantzen Beach. I got them mixed up, and there was all hell to pay. What made it even worse was that at the trial the Barker exhibitionist quoted Tennyson's “Some civic manhood against the crowd.” The jury was bewildered.