The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  “Oh, crap!” Milo laughed. “Do I sense Ed lurking in the wings?”

  “Please! Don’t make it any worse!”

  Letting go of me, he reopened the cupboard and took out the Scotch and the Canadian. “It’s a good thing I had this Glenlivet that Bran gave me for Father’s Day tucked in back, so you didn’t hand it to Moro.”

  “I kept the good stuff. Where do you think Sam’s gone?”

  “Damned if I know,” Milo replied, pouring my drink first. “He has to be touching base here or he wouldn’t have called Driggers about the body.”

  Finishing his cocktail duties, he put a hand on my back and steered me into the living room. We resumed our usual places. Milo paused to take out his cigarettes, then stopped. “I’d better call Tanya and tell her she’s got a dinner invitation.”

  I sipped my drink while Milo spoke briefly to his daughter. “She sounds good,” he said after disconnecting. “God, but I hope this thing with Blatt is real. Is it possible that Tanya could fall for a guy who’s normal? That hasn’t been her style in the past.”

  “I’d think that after the last one shot her and then killed himself, she might get the idea that maybe she was making some poor choices. You realize that if that happens, you and I will be related to Vida.”

  “That’s crossed my mind. Maybe she’d start speaking to me again. I’m not sure that’s good news.”

  “You’ve always liked her,” I said. “I mean, when she isn’t trying to take over your office along with the newspaper.”

  “She’s … something.” Milo took a drink of Scotch and finally lighted a cigarette. “You want one or are you quitting again this afternoon?”

  “Oh, why not? Throw me one and the lighter, please.”

  My husband stood up. “To hell with that. I won’t be home until after midnight. Let’s get a little familiar.” He parked himself beside me. “Not too familiar. I’ve got to get out of here in twenty minutes. You realize I don’t get paid for overtime?”

  “I did not know that. How come?”

  “Because I make a decent salary and I don’t think it’d be right.”

  He lighted my cigarette and put his arm around me. I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Damn,” I said. “I forgot I was mad at you this afternoon. I didn’t come close to breaking my record of eleven minutes.”

  “You will someday.” He kissed the top of my head. “Happy?”

  “Yes. I’m getting used to it. I like it.”

  “Me, too.”

  We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, content to be together. The only sounds were an occasional car out on Fir, a crow cawing in one of the cedar trees, and Val Marsden’s lawn mower. I could almost forget about the missing Sam Heppner, his murdered son, high school hookers, the annoying Nelsons, and office personnel problems.

  “Are you asleep?” Milo asked after another minute had passed.

  “No. Just cozy with you.”

  “What if we never left the house again?”

  “We’d starve. Unless somebody would bring us food.”

  My husband sighed. “I don’t think I could talk my deputies into doing that. Worse yet, Vida might show up with one of her gruesome casseroles.” He finished his drink, kissed me lingeringly, and got up from the sofa. “I’ll go change. Maybe I can get takeout from the Venison Inn. Don’t they do that for MacDuff when he works late?”

  “Yes. I’d better look through my ladies’ luncheon recipes for something really dainty.” The truth was, I was famished, never having had time to finish the burger and fries Milo had brought home for lunch. Maybe a hearty quiche with lots of ham would work. I ventured out into the kitchen to assume my role as kindly stepmother. Never having had a daughter, I rather liked that part of being married, too. At least when Tanya wasn’t bunking with us on a regular basis.

  I had the quiche in the oven before six. Tanya arrived about two minutes later, looking cheerful.

  “Poor Dad,” she said, pouring herself a glass of pinot gris. “He’s been putting in some long hours. Does that make him crabby?”

  “No, not really,” I replied. “I mean, not any more than the job usually causes him to grumble. I’m used to it.”

  Tanya looked bemused. “It’s odd to think how long you’ve known each other,” she said as we went into the living room. Out of apparent deference to her absent father, she sat in the side chair on the other side of the hearth. “Except for coming here as a kid a couple of times for holiday dinners, I never got to know you. Bran and Michelle and I always hung out with your son and whichever other kids were here. We never thought of you as anything but a … hostess.” She laughed, a bit embarrassed. “Then when Dad and you started dating, I just thought it was nice he had a girlfriend who knew how to cook. I never met the woman from Gold Bar.”

  “I got to know her fairly well,” I said, though it turned out none of us—including Milo—really knew her. “Honoria was crippled, you know.”

  Tanya looked surprised. “You mean she couldn’t walk?”

  “She’d been pushed down the stairs in a domestic dispute,” I explained, not wanting to offer details. “I always wondered if your dad started seeing her because he felt crippled inside after your mother left him and took you kids off to Bellevue.”

  “That’s … strange.” Tanya looked shaken. I almost wished I hadn’t opened my big mouth. But she was an adult, and I saw no reason to shield her from the harm Tricia had caused Milo.

  “I did my own damage,” I confessed. “I should never have broken up with him the first time around. But the timing was wrong. I couldn’t get over Adam’s dad. I was emotionally crippled, too.”

  She smiled. “But you both got past it. Dr. Reed’s been great treating my PTSD after what happened with my ex-fiancé. She’s sensitive and yet sensible.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “She was widowed recently, you know.”

  “That’s what I heard. Dad told me a little about that after Dr. Reed mentioned in passing that she’d recently lost her husband. I never saw anything about it in the newspaper. Did he live here?”

  “Dr. Reed and her husband—he was a psychiatrist, too—came here from California in January. Their son’s at UCLA. They wanted to hold the services down there, among longtime friends and colleagues. How was dinner at Le Gourmand last night?” I asked, anxious to change the subject for fear of revealing too much about Rosalie’s private life.

  “Amazing!” Tanya’s face brightened, making her look almost pretty. “I knew that place was there, but I’d never thought much about it, except it seemed kind of weird for Alpine. Have you and Dad been there?”

  “Oh, yes, several times over the years. It was our first real date, back in 1990, when it had a different name and different owners. I always have to translate the menu for him—and then he swears he still doesn’t know what he’s eating half the time.”

  Tanya registered more surprise. “You and Dad went on a date way back then?”

  I’d taken another sip from my bourbon refill. “He didn’t make a pass at me and I was disappointed. He told me only recently that he thought I was some religious nut because I was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt. He said I looked like a nun. And I felt there was zero chemistry between us because he was so … aloof.”

  Tanya was laughing. “That is … too … funny! No wonder it took you so long to finally get married. After you broke up the first time, he never really talked much about you until lately. I mean, while he was with me in the hospital. Even then, he didn’t exactly go on and on.”

  “No,” I said, “he wouldn’t. It’s not his style.” Emboldened by the bourbon, I posed the question I’d vowed not to ask: “How are things with you and Bill?”

  Tanya sobered. “Good. He’s really a sweet guy. I hardly remember him from high school, though he was a year or so ahead of me, and then we moved to Bellevue. You probably know he got burned by the woman he was engaged to.”

  “Yes, that happened around the holiday
s. Bill’s very down-to-earth.” I wouldn’t mention Milo’s endorsement of his deputy as a future son-in-law. That might make Tanya dump him on the spot. “Speaking of the high school, have you heard from Deanna since she was here? Her mother told me she’d had the flu.”

  “She called this afternoon,” Tanya said, frowning. “She’s still really worried. What’s worse is that she thinks her mother has lost it. I wonder if that creep of an ex isn’t bugging her. Didn’t he come here the other night and try to get you to party with him and your neighbors? I saw something in the log about that, but Dad sort of blew me off.”

  “It was all kind of stupid,” I said. “Vince Moro was drunk. Say, do you know any of your teachers who are still at the high school?”

  “Oh …” Tanya leaned back in the chair. “I was only there for a year. Offhand, the only one I remember very well is the librarian, Miss Trews. I worked in the library during my free period. I heard she’s retiring.”

  Having already given what might be bad advice to Helena Craig, I was more cautious with my stepdaughter. “Did you like Effie Trews?”

  Tanya smiled. “She was kind of a fussy person, but dealing with kids who lost books, drew X-rated pictures all over them, and at one point set a copy of A Tale of Two Cities on fire in the library, she had her reasons. Why do you ask?” she inquired, looking justifiably suspicious.

  “There are a lot of odd rumors going around the school these days,” I replied. “You weren’t in town, so you didn’t hear Vida’s radio program this week. She interviewed Helena Craig, the counselor. The main topic was drop-outs, but I understand there may be some other problems. There are rumors about prostitutes being recruited from the local high schools. It may be just talk, but it’s worth looking into.”

  “Shouldn’t Dad be doing that?”

  “Your father has his hands full right now. You might be able to help both of us.”

  Tanya was quiet for a couple of moments. “That’s awful. Do you think Deanna’s sister has gotten into anything that wild?”

  “Not really. You’ve been gone from Alpine for so long that you’ve forgotten how rumors run like the Skykomish River on a winter rampage.”

  “Weird,” Tanya said with a shake of her head. “Oh, there’s gossip in Bellevue, but it’s not the same somehow. There’s too much other stuff going on. I don’t think I’ll pass on that rumor to Deanna.”

  “Good. Your father’s trying to ignore it, at least for the moment.”

  Tanya nodded. “Dad would insist I keep out of it. He’s very protective of me.”

  “Of course.” I didn’t add that he was also protective of me. Too protective—it cramped my style. “It’s a good thing Bill’s got your back.”

  Tanya’s hazel eyes sparked, reminding me of Milo. “I guess he does. I kind of like that idea.”

  I figured she should. He might have the rest of her, too. I hoped.

  We spent the evening watching When Harry Met Sally and Pretty Woman. We both loved seeing them movies for what was probably the umpteenth time. Tanya had gone to bed and I was already tucked in when Milo returned, a little after midnight. He leaned down to kiss me, then frowned, pulling away.

  “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve been crying.”

  “I have,” I said, snuggling back down and smiling. “Tanya and I watched chick flicks. We bawled like babies and had a wonderful time.”

  My husband just shook his head and ambled off to the bathroom.

  I went to ten o’clock Mass, leaving father and daughter at the kitchen table. The priest subbing for Father Den was from Monroe. He spoke about his own flock, which, somewhat to my surprise, had a large Hispanic membership. Obviously, I wasn’t keeping abreast of developments farther west on Highway 2. Maybe I was becoming a real Alpiner. “If,” as Spence had once said, “it doesn’t happen in Alpine, it doesn’t happen.”

  As usual, I was skittering around taller fellow Catholics to avoid an Ed and Shirley Bronsky encounter. I’d managed to hide behind Brendan Shaw’s broad back when Jack Mullins tapped my shoulder. I gave a start before turning around to greet the deputy and his wife, Nina.

  Jack looked unusually serious. “Nina ran out of milk this morning,” he said, keeping his voice down and putting an arm around his oft-maligned wife, “so I ran over to the 7-Eleven. I saw Sam coming out of the store, and I yelled to him. He took one look at me, jumped into his Jeep, and roared off toward the Icicle Creek Road.”

  “Poor Sam,” Nina murmured before I could say anything. “I think he has a fatal illness and doesn’t want to tell anyone.”

  “He’s got something bothering him,” I said, unsure of how much Milo’s staff knew about Sam’s defection. “Did he look as if he was sick?”

  Jack ran a hand through his red hair, a futile gesture that never made it behave. “He moved fast enough. I didn’t see him up close, but he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days.”

  “Depression,” Nina said softly, her sweet face troubled. “It often accompanies a serious illness.”

  Jack was the flakiest of the deputies, but I’ve always felt he was also the smartest. He’d given his wife a swift, skeptical glance, but he didn’t argue her diagnosis, misguided as it might be. Obviously, the sheriff’s underlings were clueless about their fellow deputy’s personal life.

  “Did you want me to mention this to Milo for some reason?” I asked, feigning innocence.

  Jack and Nina exchanged conflicted glances. “Oh,” he began, “probably not. Sam’s a peculiar guy. Maybe just the sight of me reminded him of work. He hasn’t taken time off in … I don’t even remember when. Maybe a three-day weekend to fish or hunt, but that’s about it. Don’t bother the boss. He’s under the gun right now.”

  Nina, however, disagreed. “I think you should say something, Emma. If Sam’s ill, he needs to see Doc Dewey. After all, he missed work last Tuesday because he wasn’t feeling well. That’s not like him.”

  “I’ll think on it,” I said, smiling, and not just because the Bronskys had driven off in their only remaining Mercedes. “Enjoy your Sunday.” On that Pollyanna note, I headed for my Honda and went home.

  “That didn’t take long,” my husband said from his easy chair. “Did your sub priest forget to show up?”

  “Visiting priests are in a hurry,” I replied, hanging my jacket on a peg. “This one is the regular at St. Mary of the Valley in Monroe.”

  Milo set the Northwest section of The Seattle Times aside. “Did you grill him about paying a call on Dobles at the hospital?”

  “I thought about it,” I said, sitting on the easy chair’s arm. “Maybe the admission form didn’t state that Dobles was Catholic. I talked to Jack and Nina Mullins. He saw Heppner this morning at the 7-Eleven.”

  “He did?” Milo paused in the act of caressing my back. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Sam was coming out of the store, saw Jack, and drove off in his Jeep. He’s growing a beard, by the way.” I hopped off the chair. “I need coffee. You want a refill?”

  “I just got one.”

  “Where’s Tanya?” I asked before I reached the kitchen.

  “She went to my place to do some cleaning.”

  “Cleaning? As in housecleaning?”

  “Right—I forgot to mention she’s been doing some of that lately.”

  “Good. Then I won’t have to.” I poured my coffee and returned to the sofa. “She’s showing a lot more spunk these days. I gather Dr. Reed’s a big help.”

  “Reed’s got all the right bullshit,” Milo said with a wry expression. “Hell, whatever works. It’s a good thing Tanya has coverage for this shrink stuff.” He rubbed his chin. “So Heppner’s still in civilization. I wonder where he’s hanging out, if not at his own place.”

  “With his sister in Sultan? She might not tell you.”

  “True. They’re tight. I get that now, after finding out the brother was killed. What do you figure? Amos Heppner went to the tavern to … what? Say his brother wanted
to do right by the Hispanic girl?”

  “That’s possible,” I allowed. “Or maybe he was trying to make peace with her family. Are we sure she’s Carmela Dobles?”

  “It fits. You know I don’t like things that don’t fit.”

  “So why do they get into a fight? They’re anti-Anglo?”

  Milo shrugged. “Could be. Prejudice comes in all forms and shades. Maybe it wasn’t racial. How about religious? Catholic versus Protestant or, in the elder Heppner’s case, Pentecostal?”

  “Gee, big guy, you’re speculating?”

  “I can do that with you. You’re the Little Woman.”

  “Shut up. If you don’t stop it, I may become an abusive wife.” I glared at Milo just for the hell of it. “You’re right that religion might’ve been a big deal. But I’ve got a quibble. We know Carmela married another man, a Hispanic named Fernandez who put his name on the birth certificate. Is that legal if he wasn’t the father?”

  “Who’d know? I mean, that’d go through the courthouse in Yakima. Nobody there would pay any attention.” Milo lighted a cigarette. “But how did Sam know what Joe Fernandez looked like so that he recognized his corpse and went semi-nuts?”

  “Good point. He wouldn’t. Unless they’d met later in life.”

  Milo took a drink of coffee and sat back in the easy chair.

  “Damn. This is when I wished I pried into my staff’s private lives.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Milo chuckled. “You’re right. I’d have to listen to Mullins tell me how he and Nina have their discussions over every little damned thing that comes along. I might even have to hear how Blatt wishes his aunt didn’t pin him to the wall and make him break every law enforcement rule on the books.”

  “Maybe,” I said with a straight face, “Sam and Joe were Facebook friends.”

  “God. Now you’re in Fantasyland. But you’re right about technology. They could communicate in some form, and with pictures. It just doesn’t sound like something Sam would do, though.”

  “You know what we’re missing?” I said—and bit my lip.