The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  “Maybe,” Leo said, “but in this era of rampant self-publishing, Ed’s autobiography seems almost as if he saw the future—and stumbled into it ten years ago. Did you ever find out how many copies of Mr. Ed sold?”

  “He bragged about ten thousand copies and a second printing, but I doubt he even came close to that. I wondered if he didn’t have enough left over to use as the foundation for the villa that is now RestHaven.”

  Vida tromped into the newsroom, holding on to her hat. Or her head. She looked annoyed as she pointed at Leo. “You didn’t tell me Mrs. Pedersen lived in your apartment building. Shame on you, Leo!”

  Leo was obviously puzzled. “Mrs. Who?”

  “Pedersen, the mother of the dropouts,” Vida retorted. “Don’t tell me you missed my program.”

  “I didn’t,” Leo said, holding up his hands as if he feared Vida might attack him. “I can’t keep track of all the Scandinavian names in town. Pedersen, Peterson, Petersen—what ever happened to Smith and Jones?”

  “If you must know,” Vida shot back, “Johnson is the most common name in the region. Really, after all these years you should pay more attention. Are you sure you know the names of your advertisers?”

  “I think of them only as dollar signs,” Leo replied, retreating to his desk. “All I want is their signature on a check to pay your salary.”

  Vida glared at him, then turned to me. “Anna Pedersen is indeed a single mother. Living on welfare, I should imagine. She told me her daughters were with their father in Maltby. Then she slammed the door in my face. Imagine!” She clutched at her hat before it slipped down over her angry gray eyes.

  “Are you sure that hat fits you?” I asked. “It seems kind of big.”

  “Oh?” Vida stared at me before yanking off the hat and tossing it at her desk. She missed. The hat fell to the floor. “You’re right. At our church TULIP festival, we have Secret John Knox presents, like Secret Santa at Christmas. My present was this hat. I suspected at the time—due to her smirking—that my horrid sister-in-law, Mary Lou Hinshaw Blatt, had drawn my name. I decided to wear it in case she asks me how I liked it. Of course it’s too big. Mary Lou head’s so swollen with ego that it doesn’t fit me.”

  “You’re lucky the tulips are blooming earlier this year,” I remarked as Vida retrieved the hat and plopped it on her desk.

  “TULIP doesn’t refer to flowers,” Vida said. “It stands for John Knox’s five points of Calvinism. Total depravity, Unconditional …”

  Mercifully, my phone was ringing. Amanda leaned into the newsroom. “It’s the mayor, Emma. Can you pick up?”

  Saved by the Baugh. “Sure.” I dashed into my office, marveling anew at how the straitlaced Knox would spin in his grave if he knew his followers were taking his name in vain to have fun.

  “I have been remiss,” Fuzzy said into my ear. “I’d intended to call a meeting between the county commissioners and your stalwart husband, but Irene and I’ve had a touch of the flu that’s going ’round. I’m setting the get-together for Monday, being as it’s an off week for the commissioners’ bimonthly meeting. It might be a trifle … shall we say heated? It will be closed to the public.” He paused. “You understand, Emma, darlin’?”

  I thought I did. “Yes, that’s fine. But Spence may not be happy.”

  “You are the sheriff’s lady. To appease Spencer, I’m inviting myself to be on Vida’s next program, though I haven’t yet informed her.”

  “Can we put the meeting on our website now?”

  “Hold off, if you will,” Fuzzy said. “I haven’t issued the invitations, though I’ll do that before the day is done.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll wait until Milo tells me he’s heard from you.” Assuming he remembers.

  “Thank you, sugah. As ever, I’m grateful for your discretion.”

  I rang off just as Vida charged at me like a warrior going into battle. If she’d been a medieval knight, her shield would have had curiosity rampant markings.

  “So what did our mayor have to say for himself?” she asked, settling into one of my visitor chairs. “Still preening over his proposal?”

  “Fuzzy was bringing me up to speed,” I said. “He and Irene have both had the flu.”

  “Oh? That could be a ‘Scene’ item. I’m sure he nursed his illness with liberal doses of Southern Comfort.”

  “You won’t mention that in ‘Scene,’ I trust.” To divert her, I kept talking: “Did you see any sign of the Pedersen girls before their mother shut you out?”

  “I did not,” Vida declared. “They’re supposedly in Maltby, but she opened the door only a few inches. I suspect she’s not much of a housekeeper.” She brightened a bit. “I did, however, find out the name of the company Roger is working for. It’s called Party Animals.”

  I must have looked put off, because Vida hurriedly explained: “They provide party supplies for people of all ages. All sorts of themes—Hawaiian, Hispanic, Asian, English garden and tea parties, not to mention all the major holidays. Quite ingenious.”

  “It actually sounds like a good idea,” I said, “but I thought it was a short-haul trucking company.”

  Vida laughed in a faintly embarrassed manner. “I guess Grams was too thrilled to take in all the details. Of course, Roger was so delighted to reveal his participation in this enterprise that he may have been a trifle inexplicit about the company’s operation.”

  Or maybe the dumb cluck was grunting his answers in his usual monosyllabic speech. “You should tell Leo so he can get them to advertise,” I said. “We don’t have much in the way of party supplies, unless you count the gift shop at the mall or the stationers in the Clemans Building.”

  “I’ll find out the details,” Vida promised, still beaming. “It occurred to me that they could have a float in the Summer Solstice Parade. Roger could ride on it. Wouldn’t that be special?”

  The only way I could keep from looking horrified was to feign a coughing fit. “Hay fever,” I gasped, not able to look her in the eye. “The pollen is worse this year. I suppose it’s the lack of rain. Are you going to talk to any of the other dropouts’ parents?”

  “Perhaps the Kramers. They’re also apartment dwellers. I haven’t heard anything about a housing shortage. If Milo wasn’t so greedy, he could probably get a quick sale on his place.”

  I ignored the barb. “I suspect that some newcomers are looking for work or haven’t found jobs that pay enough to cover a mortgage.”

  “Perhaps. I’m wondering if Helena Craig didn’t do herself a disservice by criticizing Karl Freeman on my program. Oh, he can be a stuffed shirt, as so many educators are, but it does bother me. I’ve always been a loyal supporter of the high school, being an alum.”

  “Freeman tried to cover up the porn that was found in the school earlier this year,” I pointed out. “That was foolish of him.”

  “True, but it’s a touchy subject,” Vida said. “That story also broke on my program. I must find something noncontroversial for next week. Perhaps I’ll ask Roger to talk about his job. If, of course, they agree to advertise. It would mean Leo should go the co-op route with Spence.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, though not keen on listening to Roger mumble and bumble over the airways, as he’d done on previous “Cupboard” segments.

  Vida stood up. “I must finish my advice letters. So many concerns about love gone wrong. People make such poor choices.”

  As she made her exit, I wondered if she was referring to me. It occurred to my evil side to write her a letter saying that my dearest woman friend disapproved of my husband. How could I possibly win her over? But Vida would sense that I was the writer. Unless, of course, I tossed in a lot of misspellings and poor grammar.

  Shortly before noon, Vida left for lunch and Leo came into my office. “I have seen that Pedersen woman, now that I think about it. I was going to mention it, but Vida went off on her tangent. Too bad, because she’d like this juicy tidbit.”

  “Which is?” I asked
.

  “I’ve spotted her with a guy a couple of times. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him until now. It’s the former owner of Gas ’N Go, Mickey Borg. I always go to Cal’s Chevron, but I’ve stopped at the mini-mart there over the years. I thought Borg left town.”

  “He did,” I said. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. His ex—Janie Engelman—indicated he’d moved away. He’s always struck me as a sleaze, though he stayed out of trouble with the law.”

  “Being a sleaze isn’t illegal,” Leo noted. “I’m off to lunch with the Kiwanis Club to suck up to advertisers. Oh—they’re going as a group Sunday to see the Mariners play the Indians. They’ll ask to be acknowledged on the big screen at Safeco Field. Contain your excitement.”

  I laughed and wished Leo good luck. But for some odd reason, something he’d said niggled at my brain. Being unable to figure out what it was, I switched gears, deciding to pick up a sandwich at Pie-in-the-Sky and then go to the trailer park to interview Wanda Johnson. Deanna had never called me back. That bothered me. But not as much as I’d been bothered by Wanda’s second ex, Vince.

  I decided to drive to save time. Arriving at the sandwich shop, I was about to get out of the car when my cell rang.

  “Want to meet me at the Venison Inn for lunch?” Milo asked.

  “I just pulled up at Pie-in-the-Sky.”

  “Oh. Get me a roast beef sandwich with mustard, mayo, and lettuce. Potato salad, since you haven’t made any lately. Chips and pie. Apple, if they’ve got it, and coffee. It tastes better than ours at work.”

  So does chemical waste, I thought. “I’m glad I drove or else I couldn’t carry your order without getting a hernia.” I hung up on him.

  Milo was right about how I’d fed him over the years we’d known each other. The thought occurred to me as my large order was rung up for twenty-four dollars and thirty cents. When I arrived, shortly after noon, the only person on duty was Jack Mullins. “Whoa,” he said when I came in the door, “you get to feed the big guy lunch, too?”

  “Keep your mouth shut or he might get ideas,” I retorted.

  “I have to admit you have a good effect on him. He only reams us a new one twice a day now instead of every hour or so.”

  “No comment.” I noted that Milo’s door was closed. “Is he busy?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not too busy for you. He shut the door because he’s listening to the tape from Vida’s show.” He grinned and leered. “Don’t tell me you two didn’t catch it live last night.”

  I tried to look indignant. “As a matter of fact, it turns out that Helena Craig was off base about some of the things she alleged. You can read all about it on our website. I’m not sure if Fleetwood will have it on the news, unless he makes a disclaimer.”

  “He already did,” Jack replied. “Spence mentioned it when he brought the tape to Dodge. He doesn’t want his butt sued off.”

  I made a mental note to ask Mitch to interview Helena. “He’s not responsible for what an individual says on KSKY. If he’s smart—and he is—he’ll interview Freeman for a special program.”

  “Why not let Vida do …” Jack shut up as Milo opened his door.

  “Where the hell is lunch?” he bellowed.

  “Jack ate it,” I snapped, moving through the swinging gate to thrust the large paper sack at him. “Here. It’s heavy, you big pig.”

  The sheriff grimaced. “Watch it in front of the hired help. They’re supposed to respect me. Got that, Mullins?”

  “Yes, sir!” Jack responded, but he kept his back turned. I sensed he was trying not to laugh.

  “Did they have apple pie?” Milo asked as we went into his office.

  “Yes. I even got a chunk of cheddar to go with it.”

  The sheriff eased his big frame into his chair and chuckled. “You’re so damned perverse. Hell, I could probably have walked across the street and asked Janet Driggers to feed me lunch.”

  I flashed him a dark glance. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I won’t. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

  I searched in my separate, much smaller, paper bag. “Hey—you’ve got my chips.”

  “Oh.” He tossed a bag to me. “I thought you’d gotten me two.”

  “Keep it up and you’ll look like Ed Bronsky.” And, feeling perverse, I told him about Ed’s wacky idea.

  “Sheriff Pig?” Milo groaned. “Oh, God, can I arrest him for … something?”

  “You want him here with you in the jail? You couldn’t afford to feed him. I can’t afford to feed you, for that matter.”

  Milo reached for his wallet and threw me a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  “What change?”

  “My stuff didn’t cost twenty bucks. I listened to the tape of Vida’s show. That Craig woman has a loose mouth.”

  “As it turns out, she’s also wrong. Mitch interviewed Freeman this morning. You can read some of it on our website.”

  “I’ll let you tell me about it at home. Frankly, I don’t give a shit.” He looked out into the front office to make sure Jack wasn’t listening, then lowered his voice anyway. “You had a chance to do any research?”

  “No. I’ve been busy. But I will, maybe this afternoon when I get back from interviewing Wanda Johnson.”

  Milo paused before taking a bite of potato salad. “You’re going to see her?”

  “Yes. That’s why I drove to Pie-in-the-Sky instead of walking.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t … what?”

  “God, Emma, use your head. For all we know, Moro may be hanging out there. I don’t want you anywhere near that bastard.”

  “It’s broad daylight,” I asserted. “If I see a sign of him, I’ll leave.”

  The hazel eyes bored into me. “Don’t go near that trailer park. I mean it. What have I told you about taking chances? Christ, I feel as if I should have a full-time deputy to keep an eye on you.”

  Milo’s expression daunted me. “Okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll phone her.”

  “You promise?”

  I nodded.

  He heaved a big sigh. “You scare me sometimes. After all the trouble I went through to snag you, I want to keep you around in one piece. Think about that.”

  I managed a small smile. “You worry about me too much.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve got lettuce on your front. I’ve always worried about you. I took a solemn vow to cherish you, which includes keeping you safe—and not just because I’m a sheriff. I’m your husband. Got it?”

  “That works both ways. How can I keep you from getting injured or killed on the job?”

  Milo sighed again. “You can’t. I took an oath on that, too.”

  “I know.” I couldn’t stop looking at him. Maybe that was because I was terrified that someday I wouldn’t be able to see him at all. “I love you,” I finally said, in almost a whisper.

  His face softened. “That’s the best reason I can think of for not getting killed.”

  I called Wanda Everson Johnson as soon as I got back to the office. Surprisingly, she sounded glad to hear from me.

  “I haven’t seen you around town in ages,” she said. “Deanna told me she’d gone to see you and the sheriff. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. Dee’s had the flu, which is why she hasn’t returned your call. Is that why you phoned me?”

  “Yes,” I fibbed. “She was very upset when she visited us. Maybe she was coming down with it then. Of course, I know you both must be worried sick about Erin. Have you heard anything from her?”

  “No,” Wanda replied. “I’m convinced she’s gone off with Rick Morris. I thought they’d broken up, but I suppose it was just a spat. Erin’s very headstrong. I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon.”

  “I take it you like Rick,” I said.

  “He seems like a decent young man. Not that I ever saw much of him.” She dropped her voice. “It’s not easy to entertain in a trailer.”

  Knowing Wanda only as a noddi
ng acquaintance, I decided it wasn’t up to me to offer advice. Vida would have drenched her in suggestions. Such as getting a job—which I didn’t think she had done, given that she was at home during the noon hour.

  “Did Rick live around here?” I asked. “I didn’t recognize his name.”

  “No,” Wanda replied. “He was originally from … oh, it begins with an M. I’m not sure I ever heard it before, but it’d been a logging town like Alpine. I think it’s not far from Mount Rainier. He’d decided to drop out of college here, so maybe he was going back to his hometown. He mentioned there was a college nearby but he’d wanted to try going to school in another part of the state. I guess they didn’t have some of the classes he was interested in here. I’m not sure what he intended to choose as a career. We never chatted much.”

  “So you think Erin and Rick may be in his old hometown?”

  “That’s my best guess,” Wanda said. “It must be interesting, being close to Mount Rainier. I’ve never been there. If they stay in … whatever town it is, maybe I’ll visit them and see the mountain.”

  “That’d be lovely.” I winced. “Rainier is quite a sight. If you hear anything, would you let us know? We’re concerned about Erin, too.”

  “Of course I will. You take care, Emma.”

  I rang off. Wanda’s mind seemed to be wandering when it came to her younger daughter. Maybe she was incapable of facing up to serious problems. Like Vince Moro. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d seen him more recently than I had. Or if he was there in the trailer with her.

  That was a very unpleasant thought.

  SIXTEEN

  SAMUEL JONAH HEPPNER WAS BORN ON FEBRUARY 1, 1958, in Toppenish, Washington. His parents were Jacob and Sarah Heppner. He’d been christened in the Pentecostal church when he was six. One sister, Ruth, born in 1956; one brother, Amos, born in 1953, died in 1978. I paused over that statistic. Too late for Vietnam. Car accident? Illness? Maybe the Toppenish Review-Independent, the local weekly, had the answer. I tried to find a listing with the Washington Newspaper Publishers Association. No luck. I was a member, though the last big meeting I’d attended was twelve years ago. My reason for going to Lake Chelan had little to do with the Advocate. Tom Cavanaugh had been the featured speaker.