The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  The sheriff was right. I’d acted on a whim. Milo had confided in me not as the local media, but as his wife. It was one of the many pitfalls in our professional lives. I’d crashed and burned on the first stretch of the learning curve.

  “I’m sorry. Really,” I said. “If it helps, I don’t think Ruth knew who I was. Even if she did, would she know we were married?”

  Milo considered. “Maybe not. Sam isn’t the type to talk about stuff like that. He’s even worse than Dwight when it comes to being interested in other people. For all I know, he still thinks I’m married to Mulehide.”

  The hint of humor in my husband’s voice made me feel a little better. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Yes, you will. It’s your nature.” He shut up as Cindi delivered his cheeseburger, fries, and salad and my plain burger with the same sides.

  “I mean it,” I asserted after Cindi had left us. “I really will try.”

  “Hell, Emma, you can’t. It’s built into your own job. Just don’t expect me to like it.” He took a bite out of his burger that would have done justice to a shark.

  “Ruth told me he’d never go back to Toppenish.”

  Milo’s hazel eyes snapped. “She did?”

  I nodded. “I wonder why.”

  “See? That’s what I mean. You can’t help it.”

  “Come on, big guy. You’re curious, too.”

  The sheriff didn’t comment. When he spoke again, it was on a different topic. “I had to let Moro go this morning. All I could nail him for was a trespassing fine.”

  “He didn’t have to post bail?”

  “You filed a complaint that stated he intruded and scared you. The dink started to give me crap because I had him locked up. I told him he needed to get sober. He couldn’t argue that point.”

  “Did he give you an address?”

  “Yeah.” Milo looked irked. “The trailer park. It was the one on his driver’s license from two years ago when he and Wanda were still together, but my bet is he’s shacked up with the Nelsons.”

  “Great. Does he know we’re married?”

  “I doubt it. He didn’t look at your complaint. But I don’t want you going to the door when you’re alone. I never know when I’ll be called out, including the middle of the night, and especially now when we’re short-staffed. I don’t want to put Blatt on extra duty if he’s getting serious with Tanya. It’s good for both of them. And she’s not hanging out with us.”

  “Amanda and Walt may be interested in your house,” I said.

  “Oh? He makes a decent salary at the hatchery. They could afford it even if she doesn’t work after the kid gets here.” He grimaced. “Then what do we do with Tanya? Bill still lives at home.”

  I looked helplessly at Milo. And wondered if we’d ever lead a normal married life. What was “normal”? Never having been a wife, I really didn’t know.

  Back at the office, Vida seemed somewhat more cheerful. I decided to take advantage of her improved disposition by asking if she’d like to do an interview with Clarence Munn about the heyday of logging.

  “Well now,” she said, “if he makes sense, that might be interesting. Shall I inquire about the less savory things that went on back then?”

  “Sure. You can determine if they’re worthy of publication. They just might goad readers into realizing that a firm hand on the reins of government can prevent any repeats. After all,” I went on, trying not to sound ingratiating, “you know enough about Alpine’s history to discriminate between idle gossip and just plain fiction.”

  “True,” Vida allowed, “though apparently there were some things I missed, being too young and naïve to realize the illicit activities that went on. My parents could be closemouthed when it came to such delicate matters. Rather foolish in retrospect, perhaps.”

  Rather incredible, I thought, that Vida hadn’t learned how to apply thumbscrews at an earlier age. It was more likely that the Blatts had turned a deaf ear to unseemly behavior, though I recalled that her father was rumored to have been less than saintly, at least when he was away on business. If true, that might be the reason for discretion on the home front.

  “I’ll call on Clarence tomorrow,” she said. “I have to go through the latest letters for my advice column. Spring causes romantic follies. So many people fall in and out of love, especially this year. I suspect it has to do with the lack of rain.”

  “Possibly,” I conceded. “Anybody we know?”

  Vida looked vaguely affronted. “We’re not supposed to know, since the letters are unsigned. But of course one can often guess.”

  “Speaking of spring,” I said, “now that I’ve finished paving the way for Fuzzy’s proposal, I think I’ll do an upbeat editorial about the recent improvement in the local economy. There’ve been a lot of new jobs created by RestHaven’s impact along with the Alzheimer’s wing they plan to build and the opening of the fisheries building at the college next week. The timing on that one is especially good, since Mitch will cover the dedication. The best news is that we have the lowest number of the unemployed since I got here.”

  “Indeed,” Vida agreed—and beamed. “Roger is one of the newly employed. I’m so proud of his ambition.”

  I hid my surprise—or maybe it was shock. “What’s he doing?”

  “An out-of-town firm is hiring delivery people in this part of the state,” Vida said. “As you know, we’ve lost at least two of our truckers in the last few months. I assume it’s rather like a freelance job, to fill in for whoever needs short-haul trucking.”

  “That sounds very good,” I stated with what I hoped was sincerity. “Does the company supply the trucks?”

  “No,” Vida replied. “Amy and Ted bought him a nice secondhand van from the Nordby Brothers. He has his first assignment tomorrow. I’m glad he won’t be driving one of those big eighteen-wheelers. They can be quite dangerous.”

  “Where’s the company located?” I asked. “We should do a story on it, since it’s a new service for SkyCo.”

  Vida laughed self-deprecatingly. “I was so thrilled that I forgot to ask Roger. But I will. In fact, perhaps we could feature him in the story. As far as I know, he’s the only one they’ve hired from Alpine.”

  Me and my big mouth. Images of Roger posing all over the front of the Advocate leaped into my mind’s eye. Talk about doing a spread—Roger’s rear end could fill up four columns. The newspaper term “double truck” suddenly had new meaning. But the story itself would fit nicely into my proposed editorial about the local economy. In fact, “Roger Gets A Job” should be a banner headline.

  “Just let me know by the first of the week,” I said, wondering how low I could go to restore Vida’s goodwill. Maybe things really were looking up on the local scene. If Ed Bronsky became fully employed, I might have to put out a special edition.

  I left Vida still smiling. That was worth a little fawning and even a few inches of copy about Roger.

  Later, I’d look back on this moment and wonder how I could have been so blind.

  TWELVE

  MITCH WAS STILL SNIFFING NEWS WHEN HE RETURNED around two-thirty. “I got Doe Jamison to run Moro through the system for me. Nothing major—check fraud a couple of times, two minor assault charges, a few DUIs, but not close enough together to get his license pulled. The only local crime he committed was using somebody else’s credit card in Gold Bar, but he talked his way out of that one.”

  He’d paused, and I assumed he was waiting for my comment. I started to open my mouth to oblige, but he’d sat down in one of the visitor chairs after glancing out into the empty newsroom, apparently to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. “There were four calls to his previous address on Cedar Street for domestic violence when he was married to Wanda Johnson. No charges filed. Typical. Battered wives make a big mistake not nailing the guy.”

  “She dumped him,” I pointed out, “but he left her broke, forcing her to move to the trailer park. Now her daughter is our latest runaway.”

>   Mitch nodded. “Makes you wonder, but that’s not my point. Yet. Mrs. Johnson had to learn the hard way. I noticed the trailer park was the address on his driver’s license last night when Fong brought him in after he barged into your house. Did you see that?”

  “Milo mentioned it. He thought it was because the driver’s license was issued two years ago. Oh!” I clapped a hand to my cheek. “I see what you’re saying. If Wanda moved there only last fall, then Vince never lived at the trailer park. That’s odd.”

  “That’s not the only thing that’s odd,” Mitch said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “My first big story here was the Holly Gross disaster, when she offed the leader of the local drug ring while they were holding Vida hostage. I got there after all the action was over, but I worked on the coverage with you. Wanda is living in Holly Gross’s trailer. She must’ve moved in there after Holly was arrested. Go ahead, Emma. You can add two and two.”

  “Barely,” I admitted, but realized where Mitch was going. “Moro was another one of Holly’s customers, either for drugs or prostitution. Maybe that’s where the creep felt at home.”

  “That occurred to me,” Mitch agreed. “He got that license renewed either just before or after his wife filed for divorce. He wasn’t there the night everything came down. Now he’s hanging out at your neighbor’s place while the menfolk are locked up. I can’t help but wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” I asked.

  Mitch’s thin face turned grim. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. But I think it’s worth thinking about, don’t you?”

  As Mitch left my office, I realized why Vida wasn’t eager to call on Wanda. Last October’s trailer park tragedy had revealed not only Roger’s fathering of a child by the town hooker, but that he was doing drugs purchased from Holly. Vida had removed her rose-colored glasses and seen Roger for what he really was. But that reality check bounced. It had taken only a month before she began regarding him as a hero for giving the sheriff valuable information on the drug operation. If Milo hadn’t grudgingly gone easy on the kid, he’d have been busted, too. After Holly was later let out on bond and tried to reclaim Dippy, my House & Home editor had revoked any gratitude she might have felt toward the sheriff.

  If Vida wouldn’t visit the trailer park, I would. Grabbing my purse, I stood up to put on my jacket—and remembered I didn’t have my car. Spruce was all uphill, the street just north of my house. I wasn’t in the mood to walk that far. Maybe I was still worn out from last night’s unpleasant activities. I’d take the easy way out and call the sheriff.

  Lori Cobb answered. “The boss went to Monroe,” she informed me in her pleasant voice. “Can we do anything for you?” She sounded dubious, perhaps thinking my call was domestic instead of business.

  “Maybe,” I replied. “Who’s on patrol?”

  “Doe Jamison. Do you have something to report?”

  “No, but I wondered if Wanda Johnson has been interviewed again about her runaway daughter. She’s living at the trailer park, you know.”

  “Sam Heppner talked to her Monday morning,” Lori said, “but she couldn’t add anything except that maybe Erin had gone off with the guy she’d been seeing. Mrs. Johnson thought they’d broken up.”

  None of that was news to me. Even when Sam was on the job, his people skills weren’t finely honed. I was tempted to make a suggestion that Doe interview Wanda but realized she had other duties to perform. As shorthanded as the sheriff was, the patrol deputy might be covering the whole county and even some of the highway.

  “I’ll try to pay Wanda a call tomorrow,” I said—and suddenly wondered why Milo had gone to Monroe. He wasn’t just my husband, but my ride home. “When do you expect your boss to be back?”

  “I don’t know,” Lori replied. “He only left about fifteen minutes ago. It’s a fairly long drive, at least an hour round-trip. Are you sure there isn’t something we can do for you?”

  “No, I was just curious—about dinner. Thanks, Lori.” I hung up. If Milo didn’t get back by five, maybe I’d ask Leo to take me home. My house was just five blocks up from his apartment on Cedar Street.

  My phone rang, and to my delight it was Adam. I hadn’t talked to him in over two weeks. The connection between St. Mary’s Igloo and Alpine was iffy at best, so we usually emailed instead. Thus, I was startled when his voice came through clear, if not loud.

  “Where are you?” I asked, wondering if he’d miraculously come down to the Lower Forty-eight.

  “Nome,” he replied. “I had to fly here with a new mom from the village who had twins—and complications. I was lucky to get a bush pilot to collect us in time.”

  “Is everybody okay?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine, but I guess I missed the seminary class on delivering babies. Our midwife got a bad case of flu and couldn’t help except to tell me what to do.”

  “You …?” I was speechless.

  “We had to leave the dad behind. Not enough room on the plane. He’s probably a nervous wreck, but we’ll head back tomorrow. What’s up with you, pretty and wise mother of mine?”

  “What do you want? Or is it a need?”

  “If you call clothing a need, then it is. A nude priest makes a poor impression. Besides, summer’s coming, and that means mosquitoes the size of a 747. I’ll email you my list. How’s the annulment going?”

  “Well … Milo’s been busy with readying his house for sale and the remodel here. He planned to see Father Den to get some advice, but our pastor went to visit family in Houston.”

  “Has Dodge talked to Mulekick?”

  “Mulehide,” I corrected him. “Try to call her Tricia. I’m working on that, too. No. He hasn’t been down to Bellevue since February.”

  “Do I hear the sound of dragging feet?”

  “No. I mean … really, we’ve been up to our ears. You forget we both have jobs. Don’t worry, we’ll do it. How could we not with you and your uncle nagging us?”

  “Hey, I should call that rascal while I’m in Nome. I want to hear about his new assignment in El Paso. I better go, Mom. Got two small mouths to feed. Bet you never thought I’d say that.”

  “You’re right. I had no idea where your vocation would take you. Delivering babies was never on the list of duties I thought you’d be carrying out.”

  “Me neither. But it’s kind of a hoot, now that I did it without bouncing one of the kids off the floor. Prayers, Mom. Love you. The list is yet to come.”

  I sat back in my chair and smiled. Who knew? My irresponsible son who couldn’t make up his mind about anything except which girl to take out or which kegger to attend had made me proud. Not that I’d had much to do with it. He was more Ben’s son than mine. I’d resented that for a while, but now that I was married and had a man of my own, I could take a certain amount of pride in having kept Adam out of jail for the first twenty years.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through more of the responses to Fuzzy’s brainstorm. The most outlandish of these came from an unknown source who had written that we should abolish Skykomish County altogether and throw in our lot with King or Snohomish County because they had money to burn. Knowing that both those huge entities were growing so fast that they, too, were strapped for cash, I figured this reader hadn’t done his or her homework. At least that was one letter I wouldn’t print in the Advocate. Unsigned missives were never published, which saved me from being called a wacko left-wing dirtbag—or worse.

  Just before five I called to ask if the sheriff had returned from Monroe. Lori informed me he hadn’t, so I told her I’d get a ride home from someone on my staff. Vida had already left to prepare for her radio show, Kip had a four o’clock dental appointment, Mitch was always anxious to get home to Brenda, and I didn’t want to bother Amanda, who seemed more and more tired by the end of each workday. Luckily, I still had my first choice of Leo.

  “Damn, babe,” he said, “I can’t. My car’s in the shop. The fuel pump went out, and it won’t be ready until tomorr
ow. I planned to walk home. It’s only two blocks, and it’s nice out.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll wait for Milo at his office.”

  “I’ll walk you to the corner,” he said, putting on his sport coat. “Hey, the Duchess seemed in a better mood this afternoon. How come?”

  “You won’t believe this, but Roger has a job.” We both paused to say good night to Amanda, who was about to leave, too. “He’s going to be making short-haul deliveries.”

  “Of what?” Leo asked, opening the door for me.

  I shrugged. “Whatever anybody wants delivered. It’s an out-of-town company. When Vida tells me who and where they are, you should hit them up for an ad.”

  Leo frowned as we passed the dry cleaners. “If they’ve been around for a while, I wonder why I haven’t heard of them already.”

  “I gather SkyCo is new territory for them. For all I know, they’re located in Everett or even Seattle.”

  “Could be,” Leo said we got to the corner. “It’s not a bad idea. Competition for UPS and FedEx, maybe with cheaper rates. If they’ve been in business awhile, they probably know what they’re doing. They’ve got a lot of those smaller delivery services in the metro areas. See you tomorrow—and don’t forget ‘Vida’s Cupboard.’ ”

  “Required listening for all of SkyCo,” I asserted, waving Leo off and continuing along Front past the hobby shop and Parker’s Pharmacy. I nodded to an older couple from St. Mildred’s that I knew by sight if not by name. The Yukon wasn’t parked in its usual place, so I assumed Milo wasn’t back from Monroe.

  Lori came out as I went in. We exchanged a brief greeting in passing. Bill Blatt was behind the counter, looking as if he’d just come on duty. “Two nights in a row?” I said. “How’d you get so lucky?”

  “Well … I don’t mind,” Bill said. “We’re all doing extra with Heppner gone. Anyway, I have nothing better to do.”

  I smiled. “You mean Tanya’s still in Bellevue?”

  Bill’s ruddy complexion darkened. “She’ll be back tomorrow. I made dinner reservations at Le Gourmand. She’s never been there. It wasn’t around when she lived here before. Do you think she’ll like it? I mean, she’s used to those fancy places in Bellevue.”