The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  I went—but not before advising him to call Mitch. If my reporter didn’t get the news directly, he might plunge into one of his moods. When it came to turf, Mitch was hypersensitive.

  Half an hour later, he was also confused. “What was the big holdup releasing the dead guy’s name?” he asked from my office doorway.

  “There are a lot of Fernandezes in Yakima County,” I hedged. “Their sheriff wanted to be sure they had the right one.”

  Mitch looked thoughtful. “I suppose that’s true. I keep forgetting how much agriculture there is on the other side of the mountains. I shouldn’t—not after Troy got arrested in Yakima for drug dealing.” Shoulders slumping, he turned away and went back to his desk.

  Except for fielding two dozen phone calls about Fuzzy’s proposal and my editorial—seven against, five for, and the rest confused—I spent the next two hours going through notes I’d made in February while researching some of the less savory aspects of local history. Admittedly, until then my knowledge had been limited to the town’s founding and its near demise before Rufus Runkel and Olav the Obese injected new life into Alpine. The retrospective had been triggered after Vida interviewed Clarence Munn, a former mill owner who was now confined to RestHaven with something akin to Alzheimer’s. While Clarence might not recall what he’d had for lunch or even what lunch was, his memory seemed quite keen when it came to the distant past. He cited various forms of corruption, some of which came as news even to Vida. Whether his recollections were worthy of publishing was dubious. Milo had suggested holding off at the time, but to save the long-ago dirt until we announced Fuzzy’s proposal. Still trying to get back into my House & Home editor’s good graces, I sought her opinion.

  “I believe,” Vida said, adjusting her glasses, “that you decided to withhold Clarence’s revelations to show opponents what happens when government is in shoddy hands. That was probably wise.”

  I nodded but wouldn’t let on that the advice had actually come from Milo. “I have no idea if we’ll need to resort to that, but the phones aren’t ringing off the hook with unbridled endorsements.”

  “No-o-o,” Vida said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t expect that to happen. People here tend to take their time making up their minds. Prudent, of course. Knee-jerk reactions are often later retracted.”

  I heard my phone ringing but decided to ignore it in deference to Vida. “I suppose you’ll start rallying your Presbyterians tonight before you get on your telephone tree.”

  “I certainly will. Perhaps the new minister, being young, will be of help. Pastor Purebeck tended to hold more conservative views. Except,” she added with a look of disgust, “when it came to Daisy McFee.”

  Amanda called my name from the front office. “It’s the sheriff,” she said. “Are you or Mitch available?”

  “He must be in the back shop,” I informed her. “I’ll take it in my office.” Despite Vida’s sour look, I excused myself to beat a hasty retreat.

  “We just got the ME’s report,” Milo said. “Four stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. No sign of a struggle. Death occurred between two and six A.M. Vic was a healthy male and if his driver’s license is real as well as accurate, he was twenty-seven years old. What’s for dinner?”

  “Chicken,” I said, though I hadn’t given it a thought.

  “Chicken again? What ever happened to steak?”

  “I’m in a rut, okay? Back up. This guy was stabbed in the chest and abdomen but he didn’t put up a fight?”

  “Neal Doak doesn’t elaborate in his reports. If you want a story, ask Edna Mae Dalrymple to bring you a book at bridge club tonight.” Once again, the sheriff hung up on me.

  I met Mitch coming out of the back shop and relayed the information to him. He turned around to have Kip put the news online. Finally reaching my desk, I noticed it was ten to five. Not knowing if Tanya was coming to dinner, I called the sheriff office’s main number.

  “Tanya didn’t come in today,” Lori said. “Dodge told us she had out-of-town company. You have her cell number, right?”

  I did, though I had to look it up. I still wasn’t fully immersed in my role as stepmother. Tanya answered on the first ring. I inquired about her dinner plans.

  “I’m in Bellevue, at Mom’s,” Tanya said. “With the weather getting warmer, I decided to drive down here to get some of my spring clothes. I’m spending the night so I can go shopping at Bellevue Square with Mom. Didn’t Dad tell you?”

  “No,” I replied, deciding to make excuses for her father. “He’s been busy.” That much was true. “Enjoy your fashion frenzy. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure. I might stay over again to catch up with some of my friends here. I haven’t been in Bellevue for almost two months. I’m out of the loop, despite texting. You can’t get all the juicy details that way. I’ll let Dad or you know tomorrow.”

  I wished her luck and rang off. Given her aversion to all things Bellevue, with its horrific memories, I viewed her visit as an encouraging sign. Maybe Tanya wasn’t going to make Alpine her permanent home. On the other hand, Bill Blatt wasn’t on Seattle’s Eastside. I wondered if Tanya wanted to perk up her wardrobe for his benefit.

  I had time to make one last phone call. Not wanting to pester Tanya while she was out of town, I’d decided to go to the primary source, Deanna Johnson Engstrom. I found the number for David Engstrom in the SnoCo directory, but got a recording. She hadn’t mentioned having children. Maybe Deanna worked. I hesitated before leaving a message, then figured the Advocate’s number had shown up.

  “Hi, Deanna,” I said, “this is Emma Dodge.” Damn, I’d forgotten—my office phone came up as Emma Lord. But Deanna knew me as Emma Dodge. Maybe she could sort it out. “I was wondering if you’d found out anything from your sister Erin’s friends. We’re all concerned about her.” Double damn. She’d think the sheriff wasn’t doing his job. “My husband and his staff are involved in a murder investigation.” Great. Deanna might worry that he’d found Erin’s body. “If you can, could you call me back”—I hesitated, realizing I’d be gone most of the evening and Milo might be playing poker—“tomorrow at this number? Thanks.”

  Suddenly, being Mrs. Dodge and Ms. Lord at the same time didn’t seem like a good idea. I decided to go home and forage in the freezer. At least I knew how to deal with cooking chicken.

  My biggest anxiety was that someone had cooked Erin Johnson’s goose.

  NINE

  WHEN I ARRIVED AT HOME, THE FIRST SURPRISE WAS THAT I couldn’t put my Honda in its usual spot. That was because the carport was gone. The Bourgette brothers were still at it when I parked in the driveway.

  After greeting me, John offered an explanation: “We figured we should begin with that because once work starts on the cabin itself, the weather will be warmer. Maybe you and Dodge can move into the other bedroom while we’re adding on to yours. The existing bathroom will be fine, but the kitchen will be out of commission for two, three days. By then you could be barbecuing if the weather holds.” He grinned in his affable manner. “Or maybe you’d both like to go on vacation.”

  “What’s a vacation?” I mumbled. “How long is all this going to take? Milo originally thought it’d be under a month.”

  Dan had joined his older brother. “That was before he and Scott Melville made additions to the project. The second bathroom, along with the kitchen and laundry area alterations, will require new plumbing. That’s another two, three days of work right there.”

  I kept my exasperation in check. “Okay. I guess I missed something along the way.” Like the dunderhead I married not keeping me informed. “Are you two off the clock now?”

  “Almost,” Dan replied, still chipper. “We’d like to polish off the carport first. Don’t worry. We’ll haul everything away when we’re done.”

  It was impossible to get annoyed with the Bourgettes. I forced a smile and went inside through the back door. Luckily, they hadn’t yet removed the steps.

  I didn�
��t need to change clothes since I’d be going to bridge club, so I found some chicken breasts in the freezer, put them into the microwave to thaw, and searched for the rest of the ingredients I needed to make a longtime favorite I usually reserved for company dinners. It was easy to do, but I couldn’t recall if I’d ever served it to Milo. About now I felt like feeding him gruel. Or one of Vida’s loathsome casseroles.

  After forty more minutes of pounding, the sheriff literally vaulted in through the kitchen door. “What on earth …?” I asked before I saw that the carport steps were gone.

  “What?” he barked, taking off his regulation hat.

  “Nothing,” I snapped. “Damnit, you’re a real jerk when it comes to letting me know what’s going on with this remodel. Why didn’t you tell me the carport was coming down today?”

  Milo shrugged. “I didn’t know it was. I’m not supervising the project. That’s Dick Bourgette’s job.” He opened the liquor cabinet.

  “Hey,” I yipped. “Don’t I get a kiss? And how come you’re not changing your clothes before you make a drink?”

  “Oh.” The sheriff looked pained before he took me in his arms. “Damnit, it’s a wonder you don’t walk out on me like Mulehide did.”

  “Too late for that,” I said, looking up into his face.

  “You’re too damned softhearted.” His kiss lingered until we both needed to breathe. “I’m still on duty,” he said, letting me go.

  “What? No poker game?”

  Milo took the liquor bottles out of the cupboard. “Doc’s delivering a baby—or will be in about ten minutes. Then he has to back up Sung, who hasn’t gotten out of surgery. This was Heppner’s night to hold down the desk. I made Mullins stick around until I had dinner.”

  “Can you wait twenty minutes to eat?”

  “Sure. Mullins can probably use the extra money. Jack Junior’s going to be sixteen in May. He wants a car for his high school graduation present. Speaking of cars, some kids came across an ATV by Anthracite Creek. No registration, but Jack’s checking the plate.”

  I stared at Milo. “Gosh. That sounds like something akin to news. Is the only reason you mentioned it is because J.J.’s hankering for his own wheels, you big dolt?”

  Milo’s expression was innocent as he handed me my Canadian Club. “Hell, I only got the news from Dwight when he came back from patrol as I was leaving. I haven’t seen the damned thing. Cal Vickers is towing it to headquarters. I’ll check it out when I get back to work. What’s the rush? Fleetwood won’t hear about it until we tell him.”

  “I know, but …” My shoulders sagged. “I’ve never figured out if you and your crew really don’t recognize news or if you just like teasing me.”

  “You want to come into the living room and sit on my lap while I explain that to you?”

  “I’ll come into the living room, but I won’t sit on your lap. I have to check the rice and the broccoli.”

  “Rice again?” Milo said as we left the kitchen. “You got something against Idaho and their spuds?”

  “No. Stop asking that. Besides, some of the Grocery Basket’s potatoes come from the Moses Lake Basin in this state. This chicken dish is better with rice.” I paused to look out through the picture window. “There go the Bourgettes. Are we paying them overtime?”

  Milo sank into the easy chair. “They’re charging for the overall project. Jesus, stop fussing. You’re tying yourself into knots over this.”

  “That’s because you’re very lax at keeping me informed. Besides, you didn’t let me know Tanya was going to Bellevue today.”

  “Oh. Guess I forgot.” He lighted a cigarette before continuing. “She told me some of the stuff she and Deanna heard from Erin’s pals.”

  “Gee,” I said, leaning forward and propping my chin on my hands, “I don’t suppose I’d even be remotely interested in what it was.”

  “I don’t know if I should tell you. It could violate father-daughter confidentiality.” Milo’s eyes strayed to the beamed ceiling. “I wonder if we need a new roof. It must be at least twenty years old. If we do that, we might replace the beams or redo them. They look kind of smoky.”

  My head sank almost to my knees. “I can’t stand it. I really can’t.”

  Milo kept looking at the ceiling.

  I sat up straight. “You’re drinking on duty. I should report you to the county commissioners.”

  “Go ahead.” He finally made eye contact. “You want to get me fired and end up paying for the remodel all by yourself? God, but you’re a perverse little twit. Changed your mind about sitting on my lap?”

  I stood up. “No. I have to check the rice.” I detoured to kiss the top of his head. “I hate you.”

  “Right. I’m used to it.” He picked up The Seattle Times and pulled out the sports section.

  I continued on into the kitchen. The rice was done. So was the broccoli. The chicken needed only another five minutes, so I started to dish up. It’d take my aggravating mate that long to finish whatever sports story had caught his eye.

  “Okay, big guy,” I said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Dinner’s ready. You through underlining all the words as you go along?”

  Milo tossed the paper aside and stood up. “What the hell kind of crack is that? I was reading the box score of the Mariners game against the Angels. You’re the one who can’t do numbers. I read just as fast as you do. I know that. I’ve timed you.”

  “What?” I shrieked as he barged past me. “You did not!”

  “The hell I didn’t,” he shot back, sitting down. “Where’s the chicken?”

  “Right here,” I said, opening the oven. “You want cold food?”

  “See what I mean? You can’t read a clock.”

  I placed the baking dish on the table and plopped down in the chair. “Cooking isn’t an exact science,” I muttered.

  Milo helped himself to a chicken breast and heaped sour-cream sauce over his rice. “I was good at science in school.”

  “I wasn’t,” I admitted, suddenly feeling childish. “Why are we arguing?”

  Milo paused before taking a bite of broccoli. “Because we can.”

  I reached out to touch his free hand. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  He shook his head but finished chewing before he spoke again. “Even when Mulehide and I were first married, every argument escalated, no matter how dumb. At least back then, we could make up later on. Then it got to the point where we couldn’t do that. She’d go into her deep-freeze mode, I’d go fishing or she’d tell me to sleep on the sofa. Finally, I gave up arguing and just let her badger me. It wasn’t worth it anymore. But I never saw it coming when she ran off with Jake the Snake and took the kids with her.” His expression was rueful. “That won’t happen to us, little Emma. Not after almost sixteen years.”

  I smiled. “You and I’ve had time to get to know each other on so many levels. I never really knew Tom very well and Rolf was unknowable by design.”

  My husband shrugged. “I’ll bet neither of them ever bothered to time you while you read a book.”

  “Milo! Did you really do that?”

  “Hell, yes. A couple of weeks ago you were reading in bed and told me you only had three pages to go before you finished and could turn out the damned light. It took you six minutes and forty seconds. Was the print that small?”

  I winced. “I kept nodding off.”

  “I thought you were meditating on what you were reading.”

  “Let’s say the ending wasn’t packed with suspense. Now tell me what Tanya had to say about Erin Johnson.”

  Milo tugged at his left ear. “The boyfriend was of the most interest. One of the girls said he was older, a college student who was transferring to another community college. All she could remember was that his first name was Rick. I had Dustin Fong check the SkyCo Community College records, but among the dropouts from the past year and a half, they found three Richards, four Erics, one Erik, and a couple of last names that began with
Rick or Rich. Only three of them could be accounted for in the county. The rest came from somewhere else. We’ll keep checking.”

  “He may never have been enrolled at all,” I pointed out.

  “Right. It’d be the kind of thing a guy might make up to impress a high school girl.” Milo jabbed his fork at his plate. “This is pretty good.”

  “Chicken is very versatile,” I said in a tone that would have done Vida proud—if she could actually cook a chicken that didn’t taste like a bald tire. “Did this girl have a description of Rick?”

  “She thought he was okay but no hottie, as she put it. One of the other girls thought he was on speed. Tanya figured they were both jealous or some damned thing.”

  “I meant what he really looked like.”

  Milo grimaced. “Tanya and Deanna talked to three girls, but not at the same time. One said he was six feet, average weight and build, dark eyes, and had a black mullet. I asked Tanya if that was his dog. She told me I was hopelessly uncool. Hell, it sounds like Mullins’s hair when he lets it grow too long and it goes all over the place.”

  I laughed but kept on track. “Did the other girls agree?”

  My husband shot me an incredulous look. “Are you nuts? Since when do witnesses ever agree on a description? The second one said he had medium-length light brown hair, bad complexion, sketchy mustache, about five-nine and stocky. Number Three just shrugged and said she thought he looked a lot like Christian Bale. I asked Tanya if that was the new guy at the PUD, but she told me he was the new Batman. Guess I got him mixed up with Chris Bailey, who was hired after Wayne Eriks got killed. I guess if we find somebody in a cape and tights, that’s our man.”

  “It sounds more like Crazy Eights Neffel,” I remarked. “He trashed his unicycle, so maybe he’ll get a Batmobile. Anything else the teenagers had to say that might be of interest?”

  “Not really,” Milo said after eating a bite of chicken. “The Ellison girl’s boyfriend wasn’t a high school student, either. He was supposed to be working for the forest service. Cameron—Cam—Frazier. We checked him out. They never heard of him.”