The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  Milo nodded. “That’s a tax deduction. Go ahead.” He stood up. “Now just go. I’ve got work to do.”

  “It’s nice again today, so maybe I’ll do some gardening,” I said as he walked me out of his office. “Since my little log cabin is turning into a stately country home, I feel as if I should hire a landscaper.”

  “Do that. Mountain View Gardens is coming out next week to start on my place. I’ll cut a deal with them.”

  “Milo …” I looked up at him in reproach.

  “Hell, you just spent five grand on appliances. Do something fun.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Maybe I’ll pay Francine Wells a call instead,” I said over my shoulder.

  “There are limits,” Milo warned me in a stern voice.

  I kept going.

  Instead of heading for Francine’s Fine Apparel, I retraced my route to Nordby Brothers, at Sixth and Front. Only one of the siblings—Trout—was in the showroom extolling the marvels of a new Chevrolet Malibu to a young couple. I held back, waiting for the pair to fish or cut bait.

  They did neither, the young man finally saying that they’d think about it before heading out the door.

  “Emma.” Trout greeted me with a big, almost sincere smile. “Are you looking to replace that Honda?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “I take it those two who just left were looky-loos.”

  “From Everett,” Trout replied. “So many people come up here because they think we’ll be a lot cheaper. Sure, we can give them a good deal, but Skunk and I aren’t a charity.”

  I laughed. “You’re also the only GM dealer for miles around. Would it kill you to take out a bigger ad?”

  Trout grinned. “Hey, you doing Walsh’s job? He’s damned good at twisting arms.”

  “No,” I said, growing serious. “I hear Mickey Borg’s back in town. Did he make you richer by buying that Corvette?”

  “Wow,” Trout murmured, “news travels fast around here. Yeah, he drove it right off the lot. Can you believe he put down ten grand cash as the first payment?”

  I tried to hide my surprise. “He did sell Gas ’N Go.”

  “Right, but still … where’s he been since he left town? I asked him, but he shrugged and said, ‘Here, there and everywhere.’ Mickey couldn’t wait to get on the highway to air it out, as he put it.”

  “So he left Alpine?”

  “Who knows? I hadn’t seen him around here for two, three months at least. I asked him what he’d been up to, but he didn’t give me a straight answer. All the same, his money’s good with me.”

  “As long as he’s not printing it himself,” I said.

  Trout obliged me with a chuckle. “So what can I do for you, Emma? Isn’t it time you drove an American car? First a Jag, then a Lexus, and now a Honda. Dodge is a good citizen driving that Yukon. Isn’t it time you changed allegiance?”

  “I’ll have to eventually, but we’re in the middle of a big remodel. I thought I’d stop in to make sure Leo was treating you and Skunk right.”

  “Walsh is good people,” Trout assured me. “Now if I could just talk him out of that old Toyota. Jeez, that thing’s got almost a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it.”

  “It still runs,” I said, seeing a trio of young men who looked like college students enter the showroom. “I’ll let you show these guys something they can’t possibly afford,” I murmured.

  “At least they’re dreaming the American dream,” Trout said under his breath as he smoothed his tie and brushed back what was left of his graying brown hair. “Hey, there … looking for serious wheels or …”

  I was getting into my trusty if aged Honda when I heard a horn honk. Not sure if it was meant for me, I looked across the street to see Mitch in his well-traveled Ford Taurus. As a longtime Detroit resident, he could hardly drive anything but an American car. Pulling a neat U-ie I wouldn’t have dared in the middle of Front Street, Mitch parked behind my Honda. I walked to his passenger side as he rolled down the window.

  “Guess what?” he said, leaning in my direction. “I ran into Mrs. Ellison when I went to pick up Brenda’s meds at the hospital pharmacy. She’s a nurse there. I remembered that her daughter was one of the runaways, so I asked if she’d heard anything more from her lately. She said she had, just this morning, when Samantha sent her a money order for fifty dollars as an early Mother’s Day present. Apparently, the kid’s got a job in Centralia.”

  “Centralia?” I echoed.

  “Right.” Mitch frowned. “I’m not sure where that is.”

  “About eighty, ninety miles south of Seattle,” I replied. “Just off I-5. That’s odd—Milo and I were talking about the town last night. Did Mrs. Ellison say where her daughter is working?”

  “A hostess of some kind,” Mitch replied. “Restaurant work, I suppose. She’s too young to have a job in a bar. Anyway, her mom’s thrilled. It sounds like the money must be pretty good. Tips, maybe.”

  “Maybe.” I felt uneasy. “I hope Samantha gets her GED.”

  “At least the Ellisons know where she is,” Mitch said. “I’d better head home before Brenda starts to fuss.”

  “Say hello to her for me,” I called, backing away from the Taurus.

  Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood to visit Francine’s shop. Centralia seemed to be a theme for all sorts of things in the past few days. But I didn’t know why. And that bothered me—a lot.

  When I got home, I wasn’t in the mood to pull weeds, either. Except for the front part of the yard and a stretch along the fence between my property and the Marsdens’, there wasn’t much garden left. The Bourgettes had dug up almost everything out back and along the sides of my little log cabin.

  Instead, I decided to concentrate on my Heppner research. The only problem was that I didn’t know where to look next. What I needed was someone in the Toppenish area with a long memory. Hating to be a pest, I called Dave Grogan, my venerable newspaper contact. He had been my adviser when I was buying the Advocate. Dave was retired now and living in Ocean Shores, near Grays Harbor.

  After five rings, I figured Dave wasn’t home, but he picked up on the sixth. The usual catching-up exchange ensued. I asked how he and his wife enjoyed their life of leisure; he queried me about the near-death experience Milo and I had undergone at the end of December. However, Dave didn’t know about our marriage.

  “Good for you, Emma,” he said. “I always hoped you’d find somebody else after Tom Cavanaugh was killed.”

  I didn’t tell Dave that I’d found Milo long before that happened, but cut to the chase. “Do you have anybody in your cerebral file who knows all of Toppenish’s dirty little secrets?”

  Being a veteran journalist, Dave wasn’t surprised by the question. “Off the top of my head—which no longer has much hair—I can think of two. George Fairweather, who retired a few years ago as the Yakima Herald-Republic managing editor, and Charley Burke, who worked for the Herald-Republic and later for the Spokesman-Review. George is in Europe right now, but Charley should be around. I talked to him a week or two ago, lying a lot about our golf games. Let me get his number. He’s living outside of Spokane, at Liberty Lake. Here it is …”

  Our conversation wound down on the usual wistful yet bitter notes of why cable TV news was inferior to print media, if newspapers were all dinosaurs, and how glad he was to have gotten out of the business before reading in general and proofreading in particular had become lost arts. News, we agreed, was mainly dispensed by attractive talking heads who often didn’t know rumor from fact. If there was one thing print journalists know how to do besides deliver the news, it’s bitch. Dave and I were very good at it.

  Charley Burke was outside doing something with his boat, according to Mrs. Burke. He’d be back only God knew when, but she’d have him call me and was the area code really 360? I assured her it was, thanked her, and hung up.

  Realizing it was going on one o’clock and I was hungry, I was about to make a sandwich when Milo arrived with a Burger Barn bag. “I st
opped to pick up lunch. I didn’t know if you were home, but I figured I could eat two burgers if you weren’t.”

  “Guess what? I can eat a burger. Did you get double fries?”

  “Yeah.” He set the bag down, hooked his arm around my neck, and kissed me. “I’ll make the sacrifice. I had a late breakfast. So did you.”

  “I only had cornflakes,” I said as he let go of me. “You always make yourself a big breakfast. I never have time to do that.”

  “You’re never awake enough to find the stove. Speaking of stoves, what kind did you get?”

  I blanked out for a moment. “Countertop? With built-in double ovens? They’re self-cleaning, by the way.”

  “No kidding. What’ll we do around here for excitement without setting the kitchen on fire?”

  I stared up at him. “We’ll think of something.”

  “Besides that, I mean.” Milo ruffled my hair. “I don’t see any sign of digging in the garden. Did you really go clothes shopping?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Your closet’s crammed with clothes. There’s hardly room for mine. That’ll change when the bedroom’s bigger. Say, I was trying to find my shoes on the floor in there this morning and a pile of stuff fell over. Mostly pictures, including one of you and Cavanaugh in Leavenworth. But where’d that one of me come from? I look like an idiot.”

  I smiled. “I took that after you found the gun that had been used to kill one of the California developers. I saved it because … I liked it.”

  “That was before we started dating.”

  “So?”

  Milo shook his head. “I often wonder what was going on in your head all the years you didn’t think you were in love with me. Let’s eat.”

  “I was insane, okay? Get over it.” I got out two plates from the cupboard. “I’ll heat up the burgers and fries.”

  “Go ahead.” He filled the plates. “I was right. That Nissan was stolen from a parking lot by the fairgrounds in Monroe. The owner reported it as missing to the cops Monday night.”

  I set the timer on the microwave. “So it was stolen just for the hell of it or to run Dobles off the road?”

  “The latter,” Milo said, sitting down at the table. “It makes more sense. If it was an accident, kids steal car, clip Porsche, dump Nissan in Alpine. That doesn’t play for me. On that stretch, you’re going too fast to turn off into town. You have to, especially with oncoming traffic, until you can turn off on the Martin Creek Road and double back.”

  The microwave buzzed. “Why?” I asked, setting the food on the table. “Nel Dobles is a Californian. You say this wasn’t an accident. Thus, I deduce he had enemies. Please, Sheriff, enlighten me.”

  Milo made a face. “Don’t be a smart-ass. That’s what I want to know. It’s spring break for most of the schools around here. It could be kids jealous of some guy in a hot car and wanting to do some damage. But there’s one thing I haven’t told you. Dobles is a fruit inspector.”

  I was puzzled. “Which means?”

  “Fernandez was a fruit inspector.”

  “We grow fruit, California grows fruit. Are you saying Dobles and Fernandez planned to meet and talk about grapes?”

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m saying,” Milo growled. “I can’t get squat out of Yakima, but I don’t think it’s their fault. I doubt they know more than I do. It’s the Feds who are screwing it up. For once, I’d like you to come up with one of your nutty ideas. I’d even listen to Vida yammering at me with some half-assed theory.”

  “Strangely enough,” I said, “Vida isn’t very interested in the case. Fernandez isn’t a local, and nobody in SkyCo seems to be a suspect. She’s too wrapped up in Roger’s new job.”

  Milo downed three fries. “Great. The one time I might want to use what’s under her crazy hats, she’s a dud.” His cell rang. Muttering under his breath, he barked, “Dodge,” and listened to whoever was on the other end. “Shit,” he said. “Okay, Dwight, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Bob and Caroline Sigurdson reported their daughter as missing,” Milo said. “I’m going out to their place on the Burl Creek Road. Bob is Blackwell’s logging manager, so I don’t want to piss him off just before I have to get together with his boss on Monday. I don’t need any more guff from that asshole than I usually get.”

  “Which daughter?” I asked. “Don’t they have two?”

  “Amy or Antsy or whatever. They’ve got a son, Andy.” Milo paused to take a last bite of burger. “The girl’s not a teenager, so it can’t be an end-of-spring-break fling.”

  “It’s Ainsley, and she’s Roger’s girlfriend.”

  “Christ. No wonder she’s missing. Maybe she’s hiding from him.” He grabbed four more fries and stood up.

  “Can I come?” I gave the sheriff my most winsome look. “The woman’s touch.”

  “Hell, no. Stay put!” He started out of the kitchen, then stopped just inside the living room. “Why not? Gould says Caroline’s hysterical. Maybe you can calm her down. If you stay here, you might invite Jack the Ripper in for a drink.”

  We didn’t speak again until Milo turned off Alpine Way to the Burl Creek Road. “Okay,” he said, “tell me what you know about this girl besides the fact that she’s dumb enough to go out with Roger.”

  “She’s an aide at RestHaven. That’s why Roger volunteered.… Hey, I told you all this a long time ago.”

  “I try not to think about Roger if I can help it. As I recall from the dim, dark past, she started hanging out with him when they were still in high school. Have they been going together all this time?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Vida began mentioning them as a couple this past winter. Now that I think about it, she hasn’t talked about Ainsley lately. She didn’t say if she was at Dippy’s birthday party. Vida usually doesn’t miss a chance to gush about ‘young love.’ ”

  Milo made a disgusted face. “Let’s hope Roger isn’t mixed up in whatever stunt this Ainsley pulled.” He slowed down by a white picket fence that enclosed a tidy Dutch Colonial two-story house. “You say they’ve got another daughter?” he asked, turning into a paved driveway.

  “Yes, but I don’t know anything about her. I’m not even sure how I know that much. I’d forgotten they had a son.”

  Bob Sigurdson met us at the front door. He was a big man, not as tall as Milo but even broader. “Come in,” he said quietly. “I told Caroline to lie down. She’s a wreck. Women don’t cope very well with a crisis.”

  For some reason, Bob didn’t seem to notice that I was a woman; nor was he surprised that Milo was accompanied by someone who wasn’t a deputy. The sheriff introduced me as Mrs. Dodge. I’d seen Bob around town, but I didn’t really know him—or his wife. “I brought backup,” my husband explained, “in case you needed some help with your wife.”

  “Very kind,” Bob said, leading us into the well-appointed living room. “I made her take a couple of those Tylenol nighttime pills. I’ve got coffee on, if you’d like.”

  We both declined. Milo and I sat down on a peach-and-green striped sofa. Bob settled into a matching recliner. “I don’t know where to start,” he said, passing a hand across his high forehead.

  “The last time you saw your daughter is fine,” Milo responded. “We can back up later, of course.”

  Bob grimaced. “We saw Ainsley yesterday morning at breakfast. She left for RestHaven—she’s an aide there—a little before eight-thirty. Our other daughter, Alicia, drove her to work. Ainsley’s car needs a brake job.” Bob frowned, staring at his hands, which he’d carefully folded in his lap. “Alicia said Ainsley planned to get a ride home with one of the nurses who lives farther down the road, by the radio station. When she wasn’t home by six—she gets off at five—we got worried. Caroline called the medical rehab unit, but they told her Ainsley had left at the regular time. We figured maybe she and the nurse had stopped somewhere. By going on seven, she still wasn’t home, so we tried
to get hold of Jennifer Hood, who’s in charge of the unit. We couldn’t reach her until almost ten. I wondered if the two of them had gone someplace, but …” Bob’s face grew grim. “Jennifer thought Ainsley had a date. She told us Ainsley seemed sort of excited about it, but she didn’t know who or what it was all about.” He paused again, now gripping the chair’s armrests.

  Milo waited for Bob to continue. When he didn’t, my husband posed a question: “Does Ainsley often stay out all night with friends?”

  Bob shook his head. “Not as a rule. She has done overnights with girlfriends from time to time. We checked with everyone we could think of, but no luck. Either they hadn’t seen her or they weren’t home.”

  “You waited until this afternoon to call us,” Milo said in a neutral tone. “Was that because you thought she’d still show up?”

  Bob looked faintly pugnacious. “Well, yes. She’s twenty-two—she’s not a kid. I mean, she’s entitled to have a life.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Does she have a current boyfriend?”

  Bob’s full face reddened. “She did, but they broke up a few weeks ago. Just as well, frankly.”

  Milo didn’t speak, so I figured that was my cue. “I take it you didn’t like him,” I said. “Had they gone together long?”

  Bob let out a big sigh. “About six months or so.” He seemed to look at me for the first time. “Say—aren’t you the newspaper lady?”

  “Yes. Call me Emma.” I smiled in what I hoped was a kindly manner.

  Bob grimaced. “Ainsley had been seeing Mrs. Runkel’s grandson. Roger Hibbert. He’s not a bad kid, just kind of lazy and unmotivated. But Caroline and I … well, we felt she could do better, find somebody with a real future.”

  “Maybe,” I suggested, “they got back together.”

  “I doubt it,” Bob said. “She never stayed out all night with him even when they were going together.”

  I kept my kindly look in place. “It might be different if they were reconciling. Long talks, sorting things out, considering a second chance.”