The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  “Because it takes a while to print,” I replied. “I can’t afford to hire drivers or carriers to deliver a morning paper. That’s why. Marius Vandeventer had to send the paper to a printer in Monroe, and so did I before we started our own back shop operation. That’s also why we have a five o’clock deadline. Unless, of course, there’s breaking news before the paper is ready to go to press.”

  Milo reached out to brush at my lower lip. “Crust crumb. Makes sense. Maybe I should try to remember that about your deadlines.”

  “You won’t.”

  He shrugged. “Probably not.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I suspect you do know about our deadlines?”

  Milo’s expression was innocent as he devoured more pie. “No clue.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I decided not to argue. I concentrated on my pie, then suddenly remembered Janie Engelman’s visit. “She thought Fred might like earning extra money as your handyman,” I explained. “You told me he did a decent job when he used to spend the weekends in jail.”

  “He was okay,” Milo said without enthusiasm. “Frankly, Fred’s kind of an alarmist. He sees problems that don’t exist.”

  Before I could respond, the doorbell sounded. “I’ll get it,” I volunteered. “It must be Tanya.” I took a last bite of pie and hurried out to the living room.

  I was right. Tanya stood on the porch with a young woman I didn’t recognize. “Hi, Emma,” my recently acquired stepdaughter said. “Dad’s here, right? I saw his Yukon in the driveway.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We’re late with dinner tonight.”

  Tanya beckoned for her companion to follow her. “This is Deanna Engstrom. We went to school together when I lived here.”

  Deanna put out a plump, freckled hand. “Hi, Mrs.… Dodge.”

  “Hi, Deanna.” Her grasp felt very soft and tentative.

  Milo came into the living room, saluting Tanya. “Hi, kid,” he said before looking at Deanna. “I think I remember you.” His big hand swallowed up her much smaller one. “You married a guy from … Startup?”

  “Gold Bar,” Deanna said, trying not to wince as Milo shook her hand. The first and about the only time he’d shaken my hand I’d thought all my fingers would break.

  Tanya was taking off her tan suede jacket. “Deanna needs to talk to you, Dad. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.” He frowned slightly, darting a glance at me. “Is it anything I need to hear in private?”

  “Ah …” Tanya looked at me, then at Deanna, who simply stared back with wide blue eyes. “I guess not.” She turned again to her friend. “My stepmom owns the newspaper. She finds out everything anyway.”

  I accepted that oversimplification without comment. “Make yourselves comfortable,” I said. “Can I get anything for you two?”

  “I’ll grab us both some bottled water,” Tanya responded, her plain, yet mobile face showing compassion for her companion. “Go ahead, Dee. Take a seat.”

  Deanna hesitated before sitting down at the far end of the sofa. She was wearing a thick navy sweater over what looked like a mock turtleneck of the same color. Milo settled into the easy chair, while I assumed my usual place at the other end of the sofa.

  Over the years, I’d had some opportunities to see how Milo dealt with witnesses and suspects. He had a knack for reading people. The sheriff could bulldoze, intimidate, befriend, or—his favorite ploy—play the small-town hick lawman out of his depth. That last guise had actually fooled me until I got to know him better.

  “My son, Bran, likes to white-water-raft out of Gold Bar,” he said as his opening gambit. “He goes with an old pal from Alpine.”

  Deanna nodded. “A lot of people like doing that, but Dave and I think it looks kind of scary.”

  Tanya returned with the bottled water. She handed one to her friend, but though there was room on the sofa, she sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace hearth from her father.

  “We’ve got white-water rafting here, too,” Milo remarked. “I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about outdoor hobbies.”

  “Well …” Deanna’s fair, freckled face darkened. “No. It’s my sister, Erin. She’s missing.”

  Milo nodded once. “Yes. We heard about that.” He looked at me. “Emma’s reporter noted it in our log. It’ll be in the paper tomorrow. Do you know why she’d run away?” His voice remained casual as he stretched out his legs on the ottoman.

  Deanna shook her head. “No. I hadn’t talked to her for maybe a week or so, but she seemed fine. Erin doesn’t like school much, but she gets decent grades. Anyway, it’s spring vacation.”

  “Has she got a boyfriend?” Milo asked.

  “She did for a while, but I think they broke up.”

  “You talked with any of her other friends?”

  “Mom did. They’re clueless.”

  Milo looked thoughtful. “How long has it been since your dad died in that hit-and-run in Everett?”

  “Six years last January,” Deanna replied, turning the unopened bottle this way and that in her hands. “They never caught who did it.”

  Milo nodded again. “It was dark. No credible witnesses. I worked with Snohomish County on that, but they came up empty. Your mother remarried, right?”

  “Yes. Vince Moro from Wenatchee. He walked out on her almost two years ago. That’s how Mom and Erin ended up in the trailer last November. Vince cleaned her out.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Milo said quietly. “I’m sorry. Where did your brother go? He was younger, right?”

  “Duane’s married with two kids and lives in Marysville. He works at Paine Field as a mechanic.”

  “I take it Duane hasn’t any idea why Erin might have gone off?”

  “No.” Deanna bowed her head. “None of us can think why.”

  “She and your mom got along, didn’t they?”

  “Most of the time.” Deanna looked up. “She’s the baby of the family. If anything, she got spoiled. There was a big gap between her and Duane—kind of a menopause baby, I guess. At least that’s what Mom said sometimes. But in a funny way, not mean.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Deanna’s mother wasn’t secretly resentful. But, like Tanya, I was a mere observer.

  Milo started to reach for his cigarettes, caught a sharp glance from his daughter, and put his hands on the easy chair’s arms. “Your mother’s report stated that Erin went out Friday night to see a friend, but didn’t say who. Mrs. Moro didn’t contact us until Sunday morning. Why did she wait so long?”

  Deanna’s face not only turned bright red, but she began to cry. “I … don’t … know,” she blubbered.

  I could tell that Milo was getting impatient, but when he spoke, his voice was still casual. “That’s okay. Do you know Samantha Ellison?”

  While trying to control her tears, Deanna shook her head.

  Tanya spoke up: “Who’s Samantha Ellison?”

  Milo shifted around to look at his daughter. “She was reported as a runaway a few weeks ago. It turned out she’d gone off with her boyfriend. You wouldn’t know the Ellisons. They moved here last fall.”

  “Maybe,” Tanya said, faintly chagrined, “I should check the log once in a while.”

  “Not your problem.” The sheriff kept quiet while Deanna wiped her eyes with a couple of tissues and finally opened the bottled water. “Dustin Fong took the original report about your sister,” he finally said when Deanna seemed to have composed herself. “He was off yesterday and we were shorthanded today, so I’ll check with him tomorrow. If you think of anything or anyone who might be able to help us—especially from your sister’s friends—let us know, okay?”

  Deanna nodded dumbly. She might not have realized she’d been dismissed, but Tanya did. “Dee’s spending the night with me at the house, Dad,” she said, standing up. “I don’t want her driving back to Gold Bar tonight. Besides, maybe she can talk to some of Erin’s friends.”

  Milo had also gotten to his fe
et. “Good idea.” He hugged his daughter before helping Deanna get up from the sofa. “Try not to get too worked up over this,” he said. “It’s spring break. Teenagers get some crazy ideas. One year Tanya ran off with the Easter Bunny.”

  “Dad!” Tanya shrieked, but she laughed. “That was Robbie Anderson. He’d been the bunny for the Baptist church’s egg hunt. We only went to Skykomish.”

  “Your mother and I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Milo said. “You didn’t come back until after midnight.”

  I had gotten up from the sofa, standing off to one side, still being an observer. Deanna’s face was blotchy, but she seemed in control of her emotions. “Thanks, Mr. Dodge. I mean … Sheriff.” She glanced at me. “You, too, Mrs.…”

  I moved to touch her shoulder. “Take care,” I interrupted in my kindest voice, lest she call me Mrs. Sheriff and start blushing all over again. “I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers.”

  The offer seemed to flummox her, but she merely nodded before heading out the door with Tanya.

  “Holy shit!” Milo exclaimed after they’d gone. “How did Tanya get mixed up with some poor little twit like that? I don’t remember Deanna as one of her chums while she was still at the high school here.”

  “Maybe,” I suggested as Milo fell back into the easy chair and I collapsed on the sofa, “Deanna wasn’t. I mean, she knew Tanya and figured it was the best way to get some help in finding her sister.”

  “Probably,” Milo replied after lighting a cigarette. “Hell, I can’t blame the girl for being upset because this … Erin has taken off, but she hasn’t talked to any of the high school crowd she hung out with. Yeah, Mrs. Moro asked some of them, but if they knew the girl had pulled some crazy-assed stunt, they wouldn’t tell her mother. Maybe the ex-boyfriend’s got an idea. I’ll talk to Tanya tomorrow.”

  “If Deanna wasn’t a close buddy of Tanya’s, how come you remember her?”

  “Good point,” Milo said, gazing up at the ceiling. “I was trying to think why I did know who she was.” He stopped looking upward, took a last puff on his cigarette, and grimaced. “I went to high school with her mother—Wanda Everson, Roy’s sister. She got involved with our favorite fixated postmaster in their wacky search for their mother’s remains. And don’t remind me I haven’t acted on your theory about where Myrtle’s bones might be found. I’ve been kind of busy.”

  I’d almost forgotten about Myrtle Everson, too. My new role as a wife had put a lot of things on the back burner. But I was sure the Everson family hadn’t forgotten. Myrtle had disappeared sixteen years ago, presumably while berry picking on a fine August day. Family members, especially Postmaster Roy Everson, had become obsessed with trying to find any sign of her. I’d done some conjecturing that she might be buried at the dump site near the Everson family home on the Burl Creek Road. Back in December, the ground had been too frozen for digging. Since then, my life and Milo’s had been focused on more pressing matters, both personal and professional.

  “If,” I said, “Myrtle is where I’m guessing she is, she hasn’t moved.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Milo said. “Burl Creek’s flooded a few times over the years. Part of the dump site may’ve washed away. Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap?”

  “Because,” I said primly, “I have to clean up the kitchen. I should’ve done it while Tanya and Deanna were here. I felt like a ventriloquist’s dummy.”

  “You’re right. You usually talk more even in your sleep.”

  “If you say so. I’ve never heard me.” I headed for the kitchen.

  By the time Milo ambled out from the living room to join me, I was almost finished. “Did you look at that kitchen plan Scott drew up?” he asked, leaning against the fridge.

  I scowled at him. “What kitchen plan?”

  Milo scratched at the graying sandy hair behind his right ear. “Maybe I left it at the office. I got kind of busy by the end of the day.”

  “Dare I ask for a brief summation?”

  “It’ll be longer and maybe wider after the carport is enclosed for both our cars.” He stopped leaning and reached out to pull me close. “Hey—why don’t you try to get me to open up about the details in bed?”

  I gave him a flinty look. “Would it work?”

  I felt him shrug. “Let’s find out.”

  “We don’t need granite counters,” I declared an hour later. “We don’t need to close off the washer and dryer. We don’t need a nook in …”

  Milo put his hand over my mouth. “Okay, skip the granite stuff. Pick out something else. But aren’t you tired of having to walk around the little table and chairs in the middle of the kitchen?”

  He’d removed his hand so I could speak. “Well … yes. I do bump into them a lot. So do you. As for enclosing the …”

  “Stop. That’s about a hundred-dollar idea. The whole thing only adds about five grand to the total cost, okay?”

  I rested my head on his bare shoulder. “It’s your money.”

  “You bet it is. This place can only be ours instead of just yours if you let me pay for the remodel.” He kissed the top of my head. “When I sell my house, it’ll cover most of this job. You fuss too much.”

  “I feel guilty, though, being an impecunious journalist.”

  “Don’t.” He hugged me tight. “You’ve done your own remodel on me. You’ve made me happy.”

  “Oh, Milo! I was such a pain in the ass, as you put it, for so long.”

  “Damned right,” he said in an amused tone. “But you were so cute. Even when you walked into walls and fell over your own feet. I couldn’t resist somebody who was even clumsier than I am.”

  I laughed. And went to sleep in Milo’s strong, safe arms.

  The first bad news of the day came when Amanda informed me that Mitch had called to say Brenda was still sick. “He’s taking her to see Doc Dewey this morning,” our receptionist explained. “Maybe it’s not just an emotional crisis this time.”

  “Or both physical and mental,” I said, wishing my voice didn’t sound so churlish. Repenting, I paused by the counter to offer Amanda a rueful smile. “A noisy start at home. I thought they were done, but the Bourgettes are taking out more logs. It sounded as if they’re rolling them into the house instead of away from it.”

  “That’s okay,” Amanda said. “I still have some ups and downs with being pregnant. Speaking of houses, Walt and I are thinking of looking for one. When the baby arrives, the condo at Parc Pines will be too crowded. I wonder if we can afford what Dodge is asking for his house.”

  “It’s too much,” Vida asserted, suddenly appearing in the doorway between the front office and the newsroom. “Milo hasn’t kept up that place the way he should.”

  I turned to glare at Vida. “He’s always done basic maintenance, and lately he’s been making sure everything else about the house is in good order. He’s never been much of a housekeeper, except for his workroom downstairs, which is in perfect order.”

  “The garden is a disaster,” Vida shot back. “I thought you were going to help with that.”

  “I did,” I retorted. “I’ve done quite a bit, but you know that this time of year everything grows like crazy. Besides, he’s asked Mountain View Gardens to landscape it.”

  Vida harrumphed before veering around to head to her desk. Amanda and I exchanged puzzled looks, but neither of us spoke. My House & Home editor had such keen hearing that she could probably get messages from one of Averill Fairbanks’s alleged UFOs.

  To avoid any further remarks from her, I headed straight to the back shop. Kip was eating a chocolate doughnut and checking a list of subscribers who lived outside of our delivery area.

  “No problems?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “But we need to update some of our programs.” Knowing I’d beg him to spare me details I wouldn’t understand, he grinned. “No big deal. Technology moves so fast these days. It’ll probably cost only about two hundred bucks.”

  “G
o for it,” I said. “Any idea why Vida seems, as she would put it, to be on the peck this morning?”

  “No. She was on the phone when I got here. In fact, I think she arrived early, even before Amanda. What’s up with Mitch?”

  “Brenda,” I said. “He’s taking her to see Doc Dewey. Apparently, some bugs are still going around. We need more rain.” I glanced at the Advocate’s front page. “Looks good, Kip. I’ll check out the rest of it at my desk.”

  I entered the newsroom via the back hall, noting that Leo had just arrived. He was talking to Vida, so I assumed she hadn’t yet verbally assaulted him. Taking my time to skim the newspaper, I didn’t find any glitches, though the retirement home photos were mediocre. That couldn’t be helped. Vida took decent pictures, but she didn’t have time to cover all of their numerous events.

  Finally deciding I was a chicken, I went to get coffee and a pastry. Amanda had chosen two kinds of cinnamon rolls along with several varieties of doughnuts. I opted for a raised sugar doughnut, turned around to greet Leo, and marched over to sit in Vida’s visitor chair.

  “Are you feeling sick, too?” I asked in a serious tone.

  Vida stared at me from under a purple cloche adorned with a bright yellow bow. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  “You don’t seem very cheerful,” I said. “There must be something bothering you.”

  She looked away. “Certainly not. I was merely trying to give Amanda some guidance about real estate. It’s a big decision. At almost two hundred thousand dollars, Milo should arrest himself for attempted robbery. His house is basically a fixer-upper. The Hansons don’t need to take on such a burden with a new baby.”

  “It is not a fixer-upper,” I declared, practically speaking through clenched teeth. “Face it, Vida, you have no idea how much work Milo has put into that house, both inside and out.”

  She shrugged but still didn’t look at me. “If you say so.”

  I may have been talking through my teeth, but Vida was talking through her hat. Something was bothering her, and it wasn’t Milo’s house. I wasn’t giving up.