The Alpine Kindred

by Mary Daheim

  “The library was open that night until eight,” I pointed out. “Maylene works on Mondays. What if she was still there, what if Einar asked to meet her at the RUB? What if he made advances, and she tried to ward him off with the knife?”

  Vida twirled a celery stick. “Defending her virtue. Why not say so?”

  “Because the lecher was Einar Rasmussen Jr.” I liked my own reasoning. “The courts are still wishy-washy about a woman's rights when it comes to defending herself. Maylene was afraid she wouldn't be believed, especially with those rumors afoot. And Einar was a trustee, a big gun in the community. She'd never get hired full-time if she killed Einar, self-defense or not. Ron would probably get the sack, too. In fact, I imagine he'll be fired anyway.”

  “Hmm.” Vida's mouth worked as she thought through our little scenario. “Ron lets Einar in. Maylene may have already alerted him about the assignation. He lurks in the background. But Einar pounces, and Maylene has to act quickly. By the time Ron arrives, Maylene has stabbed Einar. Next, they try to cover her crime.”

  It made sense. At least for thirty seconds. “Why? Why there, why in the RUB, when Einar knew that Carla was on the way to take pictures? Carla was a few minutes late. What if she'd been on time? And why would Maylene agree to meet Einar in the first place?”

  “To seek a full-time position?” Vida suggested. “We don't know what Einar may have told her.”

  I chucked the Burger Barn containers and napkin into my wastebasket. “I don't know. It sounded good at first, but now it doesn't make much sense.”

  “But it's not impossible,” Vida said, getting up from my visitor's chair. “We'll discuss it later. I'm off now to see Marlys. And Davin. My section is all locked up.”

  “You're going to Einar's house now?” I said in surprise. “Can't you wait until I can go with you?”

  “Not and make deadline,” Vida declared. “This time I won't be denied.” She hesitated at the door. “You are tied up this afternoon, aren't you?”

  I was, at least for most of the afternoon. But Vida wasn't going to one-up me. “I can spare an hour,” I said. “Let's go.”

  Vida did her best to hide her disappointment.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IN THE MIDDAY sun that filtered through the vine maples and evergreens, the Rasmussen house should have looked even more attractive. Instead, the shafts of light created eerie shadows on the cedar roof and long arched windows. Maybe my imagination was playing tricks on me, but I sensed something sinister about the house. Maybe it was Einar Jr., haunting his handiwork until his killer was brought to justice.

  Vida had tried to ensure her entry by stopping at the Upper Crust Bakery to buy a peach pie. Once again, Deirdre came to the door. She didn't look quite as careworn as before, but she definitely wasn't pleased to see us.

  “Look, Mrs. Runkel,” she said, directing her words at Vida, “Mother isn't seeing anybody. I don't mean to be rude, but—”

  “You're not rude, you're merely good-hearted,” Vida said cheerfully, and barged right inside, nearly knocking Deirdre off balance. “I'll take this out to the kitchen; I know where it is. My, my, what a lovely carpet.”

  I couldn't help but follow, and Deirdre no longer barred my way. “Vida is very determined,” I said. “She's extremely strict about duty calls.”

  “She could have written a note,” Deirdre said in a sulky voice as we trekked through the living room and dining room to reach the kitchen.

  Vida had placed the pie on the dark granite countertop. “Peach,” she said with a bright smile. “I considered apple, but everyone does apple. I thought peach would be a special treat. Now, where is Davin? I do so want to meet him now that you two have been reunited.”

  Deirdre slumped against the refrigerator. “Who told you?” she asked in a faint voice.

  “Why, your grandmother, who else?” Vida's eyes had grown very wide behind the orange-framed glasses.

  “Grandmama!” Deirdre sounded aghast, then rallied. “Okay, why not? I'll go get him.”

  “She wants to appease us,” Vida whispered after Deirdre had left the kitchen. “As long as Marlys and Beau are under wraps, she'll offer Davin as her sacrifice.”

  “To be honest, it's Beau I'd like to see,” I said. “At least I got a glimpse of Marlys at the cemetery.”

  “True. I wouldn't mind seeing Beau myself.” Vida nudged me as we heard footsteps approaching from down the hall.

  Deirdre entered the kitchen with the young man we'd seen through the window on our previous visit. His long, fair hair was now tied back in a pony tail, and he was wearing a flannel shirt over his T-shirt. I saw no resemblance to Deirdre in Davin's angular features and slight build. I assumed he took after his father, Mr. Jerk-off.

  Deirdre, however, was giving her ex no credit of any kind. “This is my son, Davin,” she said, apparently unwilling to mention the boy's last name.

  Davin put out a long, thin hand, but to my amazement, Vida enfolded him in a suffocating embrace. “Davin! How wonderful to finally meet you! Your dear great-grandmother has often sung your praises to me!”

  Neither Vida nor Davin could see the surprise that registered on my face and Deirdre's. I knew Vida was lying; Deirdre may have guessed as much.

  Davin looked goggle-eyed as Vida released him. She stood there examining him, hands on hips, one foot firmly planted, the other resting on the heel of her sensible shoe. “Did you enjoy staying with your great-grandparents? They live in such a lovely old house in Snohomish.”

  Davin glanced uncertainly at his mother. “I … it was okay. I had my own room.”

  “Yes, so many bedrooms,” Vida rattled on, “even a ballroom on the third floor. Axe you very crowded here?”

  “We're fine,” Deirdre interrupted. “This house has three bedrooms.”

  “How nice,” Vida enthused, then moved closer to Davin. “That was very naughty of you not to tell your poor mother that you'd gone to live with great-grandma and great-grandpa. I hope you two have everything sorted out by now. Your grandfather should have told your mother where you were. I'm sure his intentions were the best, but I couldn't see what harm it would do to let her in on your whereabouts and not worry her to death.”

  I had seldom heard Vida spin such a tale, especially one based on guesswork and conjecture. But Davin seemed taken in, and Deirdre was beginning to look somewhat credulous. I, however, felt lost in Vida's maze of supposition.

  “I think Dad was afraid I'd interfere,” Deirdre said, moving to stand by her son. “Maybe I would have. But only because I wanted the best for Davin.”

  “Mothers are like that,” Vida said, oozing empathy. “We always want to keep our chicks under our own wings. How long were you gone, Davin? Before you joined your great-grandparents, that is.”

  “Um …” Davin scratched behind his ear. “Four weeks? Something like that. It wasn't all that bad, at least not after the first few days.”

  “But so beneficial.” Vida was nodding wisely. “Your grandfather knew what was best for you. Under the circumstances.”

  Davin also nodded. “Gramps said it ran in the family. Both sides, for me.”

  “It can be hereditary. Your grandfather was very smart to notice your propensities.” Vida patted the boy's shoulder; Davin flinched only slightly. “Now, you must follow up. That's terribly important, I'm told.”

  “I know,” Davin replied. “I should have gone to a meeting last night, but I was still kind of upset.”

  “Understandable, but all the more reason to attend,” Vida said. “Now we must go.” She beamed at both Davin and Deirdre, then started out of the kitchen. “Oh!” she exclaimed, turning around in the doorway that led into the dining room. “I meant to ask—were you here or with your great-grandparents when you learned the dreadful news about your grandfather?”

  Davin exchanged a swift look with Deirdre. “I was still in Snohomish. I moved in with Mom after the funeral.”

  “So thoughtful,” Vida murmured.

/>   Deirdre accompanied us to the door, but Davin remained in the kitchen. “Grandmama talks too much,” Deirdre said, though the wary expression I'd first seen in her hazel eyes had now returned. “That's not like her.”

  Vida clasped Deirdre's hand. “Your grandmother and I go way back. You can't imagine the memories we've shared.”

  I could, and marveled that Vida kept a straight face. “We appreciate getting to meet Davin,” I put in, then realized that no one had introduced me.

  Apparently the oversight had gone unnoticed. “Thanks for coming,” Deirdre said, giving me a small smile. “Thanks for the pie, Mrs. Runkel. We'll have it for dessert.”

  “Excellent,” said Vida as we started to descend from the porch. “My regards to the rest of the family, especially your dear grandparents.”

  “Sure,” Deirdre said, standing by the Little Mermaid. “I just wonder how long we can live with them without going nuts.”

  Vida turned, the swing coat fluttering around her sturdy calves. “You're going to move in with Thyra and Einar Sr.?”

  Deirdre nodded. “We're putting the house up for sale this weekend. Grandmama insists it's silly for her and Grandpapa to rattle around alone in that big place in Sno-homish. I suppose she's right, but it won't be easy.”

  “How does your mother feel about that?” Vida asked, her voice a trifle sharp. “She doesn't enjoy being close to neighbors.”

  “She'll adjust.” Deirdre spoke without inflection, her eyes resting somewhere beyond us.

  “I hope so,” Vida said. “Good luck. Oh, and do give our best to Beau.” We continued along the paved path. I heard the double doors close behind us as Deirdre went back inside the house.

  “Ridiculous!” Vida exclaimed when we were back inside the Buick. “Not to mention stupid. Why give up such a lovely place to live with Thyra and Einar Sr.? It doesn't make sense.”

  “Maybe Marlys wants to install herself in order to inherit the house for herself and Deirdre,” I offered.

  “No, no, no,” Vida asserted. “Marlys wouldn't have had Einar Jr. build her this house away from everybody if she wanted the place on Avenue B. It would make more sense for Deirdre to inherit the Snohomish house, though she doesn't act as if she wants it. Certainly Thyra won't include Mary Jane in her will, and I doubt that she'd leave the family home to Harold and Gladys. As for Beau, it doesn't matter where he lives—he keeps to his room, so he might as well live in a hotel.”

  We were back on the highway, passing Alpine Falls. “I'll bet that Deirdre and Davin won't stay with the senior Rasmussens for long,” I said. “Maybe Deirdre will get her wish and move to the city.”

  “The city?” Vida bristled. “Why would she want to do that?”

  I never argue the benefits of city living with Vida. She is convinced that a small town—specifically a small town named Alpine—is the only acceptable place to live. Thus I changed the subject.

  “You're an infamous liar, Vida,” I said with a laugh. “I've rarely heard you spin such a story. And how did you guess that Davin had been in rehab?”

  Vida gave a small shrug. “It wasn't difficult. His uncle Harold has had a drinking problem, Einar Sr. was reputed to enjoy more liquor than was good for him, and I've always wondered if Marlys's reclusiveness was due to Demon Rum. I also suspect that Mr. Nichols—I don't recall his first name—may have been a drinker. Perhaps that's what broke up his marriage with Deirdre. If Einar Jr. thought his grandson was beginning to drink heavily— Davin is only seventeen, but that's no hedge against alcoholism these days—then he may have uprooted him from Deirdre's too protective embrace and shipped him off to a rehab center. It had to be that or drugs or even both, but given the family history, I decided it was probably liquor. Naturally, I could be wrong about which vice Davin had acquired, but the point is, the boy had problems, and wasn't a runaway.”

  “He still has problems,” I remarked as we took the turnoff into Alpine. “He acted just a bit strange when you not so subtly inquired as to his whereabouts the night that Einar Jr. was murdered.”

  “So he did.” Vida sighed. “Perhaps he was still staying with his great-grandparents. But that's a big house, and you could easily disappear without anyone knowing. It's the kind of place where you can get lost. In many ways,” she added on a somber note.

  I really shouldn't have taken the time to go with Vida to the Rasmussens'. We had learned nothing new for our coverage, since Davin's apparent stay in rehab didn't have any viable connection with his grandfather's murder. Indeed, we had ended up with more unanswered questions.

  I couldn't dwell on the homicide story. There was the rest of the paper to put together, and less than three hours before Kip MacDuff would start to print. Leo and I finished up the Memorial Day section by three-thirty, Carla and I worked on the front page and the inside, Ginny finished the classifieds, and Vida rechecked her House & Home domain. At five to five, we were ready to roll. After all these years of meeting our deadline, I don't know why I always feel a sense of panic around four-thirty. The paper has always come out on schedule, even when upon rare occasions, we've had a late-breaking item.

  “It's a good issue,” I said to Leo after giving Kip the thumbs-up signal. “That is, death isn't usually a good thing, but it does create avid readership.”

  Leo, who had read my story on the remains at the warehouse site, grinned. “Dem bones will have everybody in SkyCo yapping their heads off. You got any guesses?”

  “None,” I replied. “Vida reviewed all the women— assuming Milo's right, and it is a woman—who had gone missing in the last year, but they were accounted for.”

  “She might not be from here,” Leo said, making a haphazard attempt to put his desk in order. “Those freight riders could be responsible. I hear they almost never get caught. Or someone could have carted a dead body from another town down the pike. If the corpse was naked, then it was either rape or an attempt to disguise the identity. Let's face it, in bigger cities, plenty of people go missing every year. Sometimes their disappearance is never reported.”

  I knew that was true. The woman might be a hooker, a runaway, a homeless person. “We don't know that foul play was involved,” I said. “Milo didn't mention the cause of death.”

  Leo shrugged. “If you've only got bones, it can be hard to tell. But why dump the body of someone who died a natural death?”

  Leo had a point, and in all honesty, I had been assuming that the bones belonged to someone who had been murdered. “I don't blame the Bourgettes for being discouraged,” I said, hoisting my handbag over my shoulder. “I'm not sure I'd want to build a restaurant where a corpse had been found.”

  Leo laughed. “Why not? It could be a marketing ploy. They could have a crime theme, maybe Roaring Twenties gangsters. How much violence has there been in Alpine over the years?”

  I found Leo's idea distasteful, and told him so. “Besides,” I added, “I think Dan and John are going more for the Fifties diner concept. A simpler lifestyle, innocence, the Eisenhower years.”

  “Bull.” Leo lighted a cigarette. “What was innocent about Ike? You don't send hundreds of thousands of troops to be slaughtered at Salerno and Omaha Beach and Bastogne and all those other hellholes of World War Two because you're innocent. My old man got blinded by a grenade at Monte Cassino. You'd think he'd have blamed the Germans and the Italians, but it was Ike he never forgave. Up until the end, about fifteen years ago, he was a bitter, angry man.”

  I'd never heard Leo talk about his parents before. The story touched me, and I temporarily forgot about the Bourgettes and the bones and even Einar Jr. “You want to have a drink?” I asked.

  But Leo shook off my suggestion with a wry smile. “Can't, babe. I'm meeting with some of the chamber-of-commerce folks. We've got School's Out, Father's Day, and the Fourth of July issues coming up. Your ad manager never rests. 'Night.” He blew me a kiss and was gone.

  So was everybody else. I turned off the lights in the newsroom and headed for my car. Then,
seeing Milo's Cherokee Chief still parked down the street in front of his headquarters, I changed directions.

  Jack Mullins and Dustin Fong were booking a couple of drunks. I didn't recognize the men, who were dirty, disheveled, and kicking at the curving counter with their worn-out work boots. The taller of the two had long black hair and was badly pockmarked; his drinking buddy wore a black-and-white bandanna around his stringy blond hair and had the potbelly that younger men acquire with too much beer.

  Always polite, Dustin peered around the two inebriates. “Ms. Lord, are you looking for Sheriff Dodge? He's in his office.”

  I hesitated, but just then the two drunks burst forth with a foulmouthed indictment of the justice system in general, and Jack Mullins's ancestry in particular.

  “Actually,” Jack said in his droll manner, “my mother was a quilt maker.”

  I slipped inside the counter and headed for Milo's office, pausing to knock on the door. “It's me, Emma,” I said.

  Milo told me to come in. Did he sound resigned, or merely tired? As T faced him across his desk I noticed that he certainly looked worn-out. “You're working too hard,” I blurted.

  “What else is there to do?” he shot back.

  “It's baseball season,” I said brightly. “Watch the Mariners on TV.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Milo and I had spent many hours curled up on the couch, watching baseball. It was the one thing—besides sex—that we both enjoyed with a passion.

  “Don't rub it in,” Milo sneered. “I didn't know you were such a bitch.”

  I'd sat down, and now held my head in one hand. “Damn it, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry.” I removed my hand and looked Milo straight in the eye. “Are we ever going to get past this?”

  “That's up to you.” Milo averted my gaze, and stared at one of his NRA posters. His ashtray was overflowing, the air smelled like cigarettes and bad coffee, and his in-basket was about to tip over.

  “Okay.” I gave him what was probably a phony smile. “Then I'm past it. Can we talk about something else, like business?”