by Mary Daheim
“Just what Helena Craig said on Vida’s show. Maybe you should listen to the tape, too.”
Milo sighed. “Give me those names again.”
“Ostrom, Pedersen, Fritz, and Kramer. The Pedersens had two daughters drop out.”
“I’ll skip the tape for now. I’ve got work to do. We got the body back a few minutes ago.” He hung up.
Spence had discreetly left the tape with Amanda shortly before I’d gotten to work. I’d taken it into the back shop so Vida wouldn’t overhear me listening to it. If Kip suspected I hadn’t heard the original version, he didn’t say so. In fact, he expressed his own concern about what was going on at the high school.
“Chili and I have a long time to wait before we worry about kids going to high school,” he said, “but what’s going on with Freeman? A couple of months ago, it was porn in the lockers, now it’s unreported dropouts? Is he losing his grip?”
“Vida has a family member—a Gustavson—on the school board,” I said. “If she ever gets off the phone, maybe she’ll pin him to the wall.”
Kip laughed. “Oh, she’ll build a fire under him. But some of those other school board members may not have the guts to hold Freeman accountable. Will you handle the story or give it to Mitch?”
“Being from Detroit and not having local roots, Mitch should be the point man. I’ll talk to him when he gets back from his rounds.”
Kip stroked the red goatee that didn’t quite conceal his still-boyish looks. “Karl Freeman was only in his second year when I started high school. He isn’t all that old, really. Fifty or so?”
“I’m fifty or so,” I retorted.
Kip’s fair skin flushed. “I never think of you as that old, Emma. Honest. Maybe that’s because … how old is Dodge?”
“Ninety-six,” I said. “I’m going to dodder off now and try to find the equally decrepit Mitch. He’s even older than Milo and I are.”
“Well now!” Vida exclaimed, rubbing at her tired ear. “Are we having computer problems? You’ve been in the back shop forever.”
“I wanted to listen to your show again,” I said. “I’m going to let Mitch cover it.”
“No! It should be my task, since my program broke the news.”
I rested a knee on her visitor chair. “All the more reason for Mitch to do it. We need an unbiased viewpoint. He’s only been here for seven months. His perspective will be more objective than yours—or mine.”
Vida scowled while adjusting the beribboned mauve pillbox that seemed to be slipping off to one side. “Perhaps. But my ties to the high school go back three generations.”
“I know. That’s why we need an outsider’s point of view.”
The outsider came into the newsroom, running a hand through his thick gray hair. “Am I supposed to mention that the sheriff is not in a good mood?”
Ignoring Vida’s contemptuous snort, I shrugged. “He’s been in one of those off and on for over fifteen years. I’m used to it. The only difference is that early on he was quieter about it. I don’t suppose the cause of his ill humor is newsworthy?”
Mitch was pouring coffee and picking up a bear claw. “Maybe. Just as I left, he took off in the Yukon.”
“Check back later,” I said. “He may have news on the murder vic. They just got the body back. Meanwhile, take on Principal Freeman. It may be spring break, but I assume he’s in town. If he’s not at the high school, talk to him at his home. The address is in the phone directory.” Unlike Vida, I didn’t have every SkyCo resident’s number in my head.
Mitch looked mildly surprised. “I thought maybe you or …” He stopped, seeing that Vida was pretending to be absorbed in a news release. “Sure. But what about the dropouts’ parents?”
“Freeman’s first up. I don’t know these people.” I winced before turning to Vida. “Do you recognize the names of the latest dropouts?”
Her head snapped up, sending the pillbox dangerously aslant. “Of course I recognize them, though they haven’t lived here all that long. The Ostroms are up on Second Hill. He works for the state parks and was a career navy man, which is why their son is going into the service. Mrs. Ostrom tutors dyslexic children. They have a sixth grader named Grace. I wrote an article about them about a year and a half ago when they arrived, having lived previously in Everett.”
“And the others?” I asked.
“The Pedersens are a bit elusive. They’ve been here only a few months. In fact, I believe Mrs. Pedersen may be a single mother. I contacted her when they came to Alpine, but she proved … distant. Perhaps the separation was recent and she didn’t want to discuss it. Understandable, of course. I never pry.”
Mitch turned away abruptly, apparently to hide his incredulity. I could hear my phone ringing, so I had to put off asking about the other two names Helena Craig had mentioned.
“Okay,” Janet Driggers said, “as the sheriff’s wife, can you tell me what we should do with the stiff your big stud sent us? They ran out of space at the hospital morgue, which is good news for us, but not so good for the two old coots who croaked last night. Autopsies pending, though they were both older than God. Pidduck and Nerstad obits to Vida. So do we release the dead guy to the woman who claims to be his mother?”
“His mother?” I was stunned. “Where did she come from?”
“How do I know? I didn’t ask, and I don’t need to know until I talk to your mega-dude. He’s not in, and I already heard he wants the stiff back. Dodge has priority over a mere mama.” She paused while I collected my wits. “I wonder,” Janet mused, “if I should meet with the sheriff, say at the Tall Timber Motel or the …”
“Stop!” I shouted. “When did Milo call you?”
“Jealous? Oh, come on, there’s plenty of that big guy to go …”
“Janet.” My voice turned severe. “I repeat, when did Milo call …”
“He didn’t.” Janet sounded only faintly irked. “Heppner called Al last night and asked to claim the body. I assume the sheriff wants it back for some reason.”
“I …” Pausing, I wondered if I’d heard Janet correctly. “Sam called Al? Or do you mean one of the other deputies?”
“Hell, Emma, Al can tell that sourpuss Heppner from the rest of Dodge’s crew. Unless it’s Dwight Gould, of course, but I heard he’s been banging his ex-wife. It’s almost unbelievable, though it does make him semi-human. Heppner doesn’t come close.”
I was flabbergasted but didn’t want to give anything away about Sam’s apparent defection. “Did you tell Mrs.… Fernandez, is it?”
“I guess,” Janet replied. “I don’t need to get her ID until I know it’s okay for her to claim the stiff.”
“Where’s Al?” My brain seemed to be recovering. “Maybe I should talk to him.”
“He went to Snohomish. Cubby Pierce died during the night, and his widow wants him buried in the Alpine family plot. Cubby and Kitty retired to Snohomish, you know.”
I didn’t know. In fact, I didn’t know Cubby and Kitty Pierce, unless they were somehow related to Vida, which was always a good guess. “Honest, Janet, I don’t know what to tell you. You’re talking to the wrong Dodge. Mitch told me Milo’s on a call, so ask him when he gets back. I’m out of my league here.”
“So am I,” Janet admitted. “We’re liberated women. Why can’t we function when our husbands aren’t around? Unless I’ve got my vibrator.”
I ignored the remark. “We’re liberated, but we aren’t wizards. Now you’ve got me confused. Let me know what you find out, okay?” I rang off.
For a few moments I sat back in my chair and wondered if Janet could have been mistaken about which deputy had called Al about Fernandez. But while Janet might have a bawdy mouth, she had an agile brain. If she hadn’t, she couldn’t hold down two jobs, at Driggers Funeral Home and Sky Travel. As she often said, she had to stay sharp to figure out if she was sending people on a one- or a two-way trip.
Vida snapped me out of my reverie. “The Fritzes live outside of town, down by
where the old second logging camp was located. The Kramers are in the Clemans Manor apartments, by Old Mill Park. It’s well and good to let Mitch handle the story, but I feel an obligation to speak to these people. We need to find out if their children have plans to get their GEDs. I find all this very upsetting.”
“Have you considered that the parents may be homeschooling?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to ask Helena, because I disapprove. Even if a parent is a teacher, that person is still a parent. The lack of social contact is extremely bothersome. Can you imagine not knowing what your fellow youngsters are doing?”
Vida could never imagine not knowing what every resident of Alpine was doing, so the comment breezed by me. But she had a point. I’d known a couple of Portland families who had homeschooled their kids, and they’d seemed fairly well educated. I’d noticed, however, that they interacted well with adults but seemed awkward with their peer group. Maybe when they got out into the real world, they caught up. I’d moved to Alpine before they had come of age.
“That’s fine about talking to the parents,” I said, “but touch base with Mitch. He gets prickly if he feels any of us are edging onto his turf.”
Vida looked askance. “So silly. It’s not as if we have a large staff. Sometimes I think he doesn’t realize he’s not in Detroit anymore.”
“That would be pretty hard for him not to notice,” I said.
Vida put a hand to her imposing bosom. “I should hope so! Can you imagine what it would be like living in such a place? Rust Belt, indeed! It must be comparable to the Dust Bowl.”
It was futile to argue with Vida, but sometimes she succumbed to reason. “I came to Alpine shortly after logging had been curtailed. This town was in bad shape and it didn’t start getting better until the college came along. You’ve also told me about how rough-and-tumble it was during the Depression. When I was growing up in Seattle, every time Boeing lost a big contract, the city was sunk into gloom. Back then, it was basically a company town. Now look at it—Microsoft, Amazon, Starbucks, Costco, T-Mobile, Nintendo of North America. I could go on, but my point is that cities can rally.”
“And end up like Seattle, with all that horrid traffic and construction? Cranes everywhere, or so my son-in-law Ted told me when he attended a meeting there recently. He thought they looked like giant steel dinosaurs looming overhead. So ugly. If that’s progress, I don’t want to see it here.”
“But we’ve got our own progress,” I pointed out. “I just wrote an editorial about that.”
“So you did.” She frowned. “This morning I had to wait for three other cars before I could get to Front Street and make sure no one had taken my parking place in front of the Advocate.”
Then there were times when Vida didn’t listen to reason. I gave up. “Which family will you start with?”
“The Pedersens,” Vida replied, obviously having already made the decision. “Mrs. Pedersen’s evasiveness irked me. Most newcomers are pleased to be welcomed to Alpine. I’d like to know why she seemed indifferent to what is basically being a good neighbor on my part.”
I wished her luck. My priority was to find out why Sam Heppner had asked Al Driggers about Fernandez’s body. Back in my office, I called the sheriff, but Lori told me he was still out. After I emphasized that it was business, not domesticity, she promised to relay the message to her boss.
Mitch returned around ten-thirty. “Freeman was home, but he tried to stonewall, as usual,” he said, sitting down. “I persevered in my best UAW-union-local-boss-interview mode. The Ostrom boy was officially noted as dropping out, but not until last week. Apparently the kid began waffling about joining the navy when he realized he could be sent farther than San Diego.”
“I suppose Helena Craig hadn’t yet heard about that,” I said. “What about the girls?”
Mitch held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “It was never official. The Kramer girl didn’t come back after the Martin Luther King weekend in January. Her mother explained that she had mono.”
“For three months?”
Mitch’s expression was ironic. “That’s what I asked. Freeman said the mother insisted she’d had it before a couple of times, as their doctor in Marysville could confirm. As for the Fritz kid, Freeman said that was confidential, but she’d been suspended and would probably return to school before the end of the year. Knocked up, I figure. She left in early February, so maybe she was beginning to show.”
“Baby bump.” I sighed. “The Pedersens?”
“Unexplained absences. After thirty days, come Monday—they don’t count spring break—both girls will be considered dropouts unless the parents come up with some good reasons.”
“Well … it doesn’t sound as if Freeman has done anything illegal. Did you ask him about Ms. Craig’s allegations?”
“He called them ill-informed.” Mitch grinned. “I mentioned calling on her, but he told me to wait. She’s very sick with a cold.”
“I’ll bet. Good job, Mitch. I’m getting spoiled having a real reporter around here.” I leaned to one side, making sure my House & Home editor hadn’t overheard, but she was gone. “By the way, I’m letting Vida talk to some of the parents. I don’t want to overload you.”
“And you couldn’t stop her with a sawed-off shotgun.” Mitch stood up. “That’s fine. I don’t shine at doing domestic interviews. Maybe that’s because my own family situation isn’t exactly ideal.”
“How is Troy?” I asked, willing to bring up the Laskey son since Mitch had alluded to the subject first.
“Okay. He’s got seventeen months to go. The Monroe Correctional Complex isn’t as god-awful as some prison facilities. Another inmate is teaching him the electrical trade. The guy’s good. He got busted for disabling bank security in Tacoma. But he’d done it a half dozen times before he got caught.”
“Sounds tricky. How did they catch him?”
Mitch shook his head and laughed. “Somebody hot-wired his car while he was in the bank, so he stood outside to wait for a bus and the police nabbed him. I guess the bus driver was behind schedule.”
I laughed, too. “That story must’ve been on the wire service, but I missed it. Did the guy ever get his car back?”
“No. The thief crashed it on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.”
My reporter ambled off just as my phone rang. “What now?” the sheriff asked in a beleaguered tone.
“Are you available?” I inquired.
“Jeez, Emma, what’s with you? It’s not even eleven o’clock. I can’t take off right now. I’m busy.”
“It’s business, you big jerk.” I lowered my voice. “It’s about Sam.”
“Shit. Okay, come on down.”
“I’ll …” But Milo had already hung up.
I arrived in less than five minutes and went directly into the sheriff’s office. Keeping my voice down, I relayed Janet’s account of Sam’s request for Fernandez’s body. “I assume it wasn’t official, but personal.”
Judging from the puzzled expression on Milo’s face, he agreed. “That’s damned odd.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t suppose Janet had any idea where Sam called from?”
“She naturally figured it was from here.”
“Right. No way to tell these days, with all the cellphones. Hell, maybe he’s home. We haven’t checked his place since Mullins went out there. He hasn’t been spotted in town. Even Sam has to eat.”
“But no matter where he is, why would he want to claim Fernandez’s body? Do you think he knows this Mrs. Dobles somehow and is acting on her behalf?”
Milo was lighting a cigarette. He took a puff before answering my question. “I wonder if maybe he does. Or else he knows her husband, but I can’t think what the connection would be.”
“Or …” We stared at each other.
The sheriff sighed. “I’d better call Al Driggers.”
“He went to Snohomish. He might not be back yet.”
Milo nodded once. “Okay.” He paused again,
looking off at his SkyCo wall map. “I’ve worked with Sam for twenty years. It dawns on me that I don’t know the guy. He might as well be a stranger.”
“Maybe it’s time to find out more about him,” I said quietly.
“Maybe. But will I like what I find out?”
I couldn’t answer that question.
“Okay,” Milo said after a long pause, “maybe I should delegate.”
“Meaning what?” I asked.
He leaned closer and dropped his voice another notch. “I don’t want the rest of my staff to know I’m digging into Heppner’s private life. You’re good at that stuff—you’ve done it a hundred times. Just don’t let anybody else in on it. Especially Vida. She’d blab to Blatt.”
“And the rest of Alpine,” I murmured. “Got it.”
“If it costs anything to check into records, use my credit card. You’re on my personal one anyway. Now beat it, so I can get back to whatever the hell I was doing before you showed up.”
I got to my feet. “Keep in mind that if any rumors start flying, they won’t be from me, but from Janet Driggers.”
“Damn!” Milo held his head. “Is there any way you can shut her up?”
“Probably not,” I said. “You could, but the only way I know how would cause me to shoot both of you. ’Bye, Sheriff.”
I left Milo still holding his head.
FIFTEEN
THE ONLY STAFFER IN THE NEWSROOM WAS LEO. “LUCKY you,” he said with a dour expression. “You missed Bronsky’s latest madness.”
“Sheriff Pig? Please say no.”
“Yes. He’s getting Marcella Patricelli to make sheriff’s uniforms for stuffed pigs to promote his latest self-aggrandizing idea. Have you told Dodge about this?”
“No, and I hope I never have to,” I said. “If it’s like most of Ed’s inane schemes, nothing will come of it.”
Leo grimaced. “I hate to tell you this, but those two supposed Bellevue hotshots he worked with on his self-published autobiography appear to be encouraging him.”
“Oh, no! They must be desperate!”