The Alpine Yeoman

by Mary Daheim

  “Janie Engelman has an odd speech pattern that’s hard to follow. She came in last Monday with a wedding picture of her and Fred. She griped a lot about Mickey. He’d made off with her TV, along with everything else he could get his hands on. She rattled on about complaining to Mickey that Fred had to listen to the Mariners play the White Sox that day on the radio. It was a Sunday, with a noon start, according to my Mariners schedule. Then I mentioned Mickey having left town. Janie said she hoped he had—by now. That indicated he was still in Alpine Monday morning or at least late Sunday night.”

  Milo puffed on his cigarette. “I don’t know if it’s harder to listen to Janie or to you. That’s the flimsiest piece of speculation I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’ve got a better suspect?”

  He sighed again. “No. But I will check for prints. I’ll get hold of the state to take them off Mickey’s corpse. How would Mickey know who Joe was? Where’s the point of contact?”

  “A bar? A tavern? At the Big Toy in Old Mill …”

  Milo held up a hand. “Okay, okay. I’ll rely on forensics instead of Emma Does Disneyland. They should build a fantasy world in Anaheim just for you and your so-called theories.”

  “Hey—if Mickey was already suspected of being involved in prostitution, isn’t it possible that Joe set up a meeting with him?”

  “Yes, it’s possible, maybe even reasonable. You might’ve said that first. But why the fish hatchery?” Before I could speak, Milo kept talking: “I suppose it makes sense because nobody would be around at night.”

  “Was Joe armed?”

  Milo shook his head. “If he carried, his killer might’ve stolen his weapon. We don’t know who left the ATV by the landing strip. My guess is Joe. It’s still a guess that the abandoned car ran Dobles off the road. If Borg’s prints are on the Nissan, I’ll consider it. But don’t quote me.”

  “Gosh, Sheriff,” I said, “I was memorizing your every word. You haven’t yet gotten to ‘dumbshit.’ ”

  “Give me time. Give me a reason why Borg would know who Dobles is.” He paused, fingering his chin. “Unless Joe told him the Feds were on Mickey’s trail. I’ll let the D.C. brain trust figure that out. Borg’s dead. He’s out of my jurisdiction. How about you getting out of my office? I’ve got so much damned paperwork to do that I won’t be home until ten.”

  “You’re kidding, I hope?”

  “Only a little. I’ll be lucky if I make it by seven.”

  As I stood up, Dustin Fong came into the doorway. “Mullins ticketed Roger Hibbert for no taillights. His grandma’s going to be mad.”

  Milo groaned. “Shit. Blatt can run interference on that one.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dustin returned to the front office.

  I blew Milo a kiss. “See you later, Sheriff. I feel better now. But I’m sorry for Holly’s kids. The two older ones have lost both parents. I don’t care how rotten they were. It is still sad.”

  “Not your problem.” He raised his hand in a farewell salute.

  What was left of the afternoon flew by. I wouldn’t get home on time, either. There was no story to write about Joe or his stepfather as undercover agents. But I did a brief article about Dobles’s release from the hospital and apparent recovery. I considered mentioning that he was the stepfather of the murder victim, then realized that was a bad idea. If I didn’t speculate in public, I didn’t want readers speculating about why the two men happened to be in the area at the same time. Besides, they were outsiders. The locals wouldn’t care.

  Mitch had done a good job on the accident. He hadn’t needed any prodding to contact the state patrol. In the process, he’d found out that not only was Mickey Borg speeding, but that he and his companion, former resident Holly Gross, had been wanted for questioning in regard to possible charges of procuring under-age prostitutes. If that didn’t grab readers’ attention, nothing would. The downside was that nobody would bother to read my editorial. Of course, most people didn’t read it when the front page was dull as dishwater.

  It was already after five when I realized that I hadn’t seen Vida since I’d left to call on the sheriff. Mitch and Leo were still in the newsroom, so I asked if she’d left early to celebrate.

  Leo spoke up first: “She got a phone call just before you got back and took off like a Boeing 747. No idea what that was about.”

  Mitch stood up and stretched. “I was on the phone with the state patrol. All I saw was a blur.”

  Amanda was equally ignorant. “I did see her drive away. I’d just come from taking the rest of the classifieds out to the back shop.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “somebody staged a takeover at the retirement home. I’ll make sure Kip has all her copy in.”

  My techno-wizard told me that as far as he could tell, the House & Home page was set to go. “This has been a really crazy day,” he said. “When I was in high school, I didn’t know much about hookers. I mean, I heard rumors about women in town who lived off of men, but teenaged girls? That’s pathetic.”

  I agreed. “I’m going to check the wire service to see if there’s anything local that may have come in this afternoon.”

  “Mitch already saw the first stories on Borg and Holly going into the river. No details, just that it was during a high-speed chase by the state patrol. Do you think we can beat the met dailies on this one?”

  “Probably not,” I replied. “Although nobody expects big stories to come out of SkyCo. The only way that will happen is if they do their homework between now and mid-evening. The Seattle Times’ news deadline is ten, except for sports scores.”

  “You and Dodge made headlines last December.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I said.

  Both Mitch and Leo had left by the time I went through the newsroom. As I expected, the AP had only the bare bones about the river deaths. I did find a story on a proposal to expand the Alpine Lakes Wilderness area. That was close enough to be of local interest.

  I poked my head into the back shop at five-thirty to wish Kip good luck, adding, as I always did, that he should call me at home if there were any problems. Getting into my car, I noticed that the air smelled fresh after our spring shower. Instead of taking my usual route up Fourth, I drove along Front to see if Milo was still on the job. I spotted his Yukon in place. I also saw Bob Sigurdson coming out of the sheriff’s office. That piqued my curiosity. Maybe he’d stopped in after work to apologize for bothering Milo on a Saturday. But judging from the grim expression as he got into his SUV, I thought not. I waited for him to pull out, ignoring whoever was honking at me from behind.

  Bob reversed so fast that he almost ran into an oncoming forest service truck. I zipped into his parking place. When I went inside, Lori was gone, but Dustin, Jack, and Doe Jamison were congregated behind the counter. They all looked somber.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  The trio seemed to have gone mute. Jack finally spoke: “Roger’s in big trouble. Dodge and Dwight have him in the interrogation room.”

  I leaned against the counter. “What did Roger do now?”

  Doe also found her voice. “We got an online anonymous tip this afternoon that he was involved in the prostitute procurement.” She turned to Jack. “You take it from there.”

  “He had his taillights out, so I stopped him on Alpine Way,” Jack said. “Just because he’s such a jackass, I asked what was in the van. I expected some lip, but he cooperated. Sure enough, he had party stuff, but not much of it.” He paused, brushing down his unruly red hair and making a face. “I noticed Roger didn’t have a business license posted in the van, so I checked out the company through the state. They never heard of Party Animals. I was off duty by then and when I got here, I found out Bob Sigurdson had showed up to see Dodge.” He paused again, looking at Dustin and Doe. “Should we go public?”

  Doe shrugged. “Bob filed a complaint. It’s official.”

  Dustin nodded agreement. “Bob’s daughter Ainsley hadn’t told her parents where she was the nigh
t she went missing. She’d been with Roger. He’d tried to talk her into turning tricks down in Morton. He made it sound like being a hostess at a club. I guess Ainsley isn’t too swift. She told her sister about it. Alicia’s younger, but a lot sharper. She thought it sounded beyond weird and said to dump Roger ASAP. Ainsley met him Sunday to tell him she was done. Then Alicia insisted Ainsley tell their parents. Bob was still here when Roger was brought in. We had to restrain him from decking the dumb kid.”

  I’d leaned an elbow on the counter so I could prop up my head. “Oh, my God! What’s Vida going to do?”

  “Bill’s at the Hibberts’ house now,” Jack said. “I guess Amy called her about the ticket. She was probably there when Dwight busted Roger at home about ten minutes ago.”

  “How,” I asked, still trying to deal with this latest blast of bad news, “did Roger get mixed up with this low-life crap in the first place?”

  Jack held up his hands. “Holly, I suppose. For all we know, they’ve been in contact ever since she got out on bond.”

  That was plausible. I asked if Roger was upset about Holly’s death.

  “I don’t think he knew about it,” Jack said. “Roger seems to live in a world of his own. I had to go four blocks before I could pull him over. He had one of those Bluetooth things in his ear.”

  “Is he being charged with anything?”

  “We don’t know,” Doe replied. “Dodge and Dwight haven’t had enough time to get the dumb jerk to spill his guts. The boss man probably hopes he can throw the book at him, along with that mounted steelhead on the wall.”

  I realized I couldn’t yet give the news to Kip. What was even worse, I didn’t know how to handle it.

  Dwight appeared from the interrogation room area. “The fat bastard asked for food. Who wants to go to the Burger Barn?”

  “I’ll go,” Doe said. “I didn’t get lunch, being on patrol while the river crisis was going on.”

  Dwight handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s what the son of a bitch wants. That’s two chocolate malts to go with the grub.”

  “There goes petty cash,” Doe said, and made her exit.

  Dwight went back to the interrogation room. “I guess,” I said, “there’s no point in me sticking around. I didn’t get lunch, either, though I seem to have lost my appetite.”

  Jack chuckled. “Think how hungry your better half will be. He’s probably about ready to eat one of Roger’s fat arms.”

  “Guess I won’t make leftovers,” I mumbled as I headed to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After I got into the car, I wondered if I should go to the Hibberts’ to see how they—and Vida—were coping. But I’d be intruding. Worse yet, I wasn’t up to facing my House & Home editor. What I really wanted was a stiff drink and the comfort of my little log house. The rest of the world seemed to have gone insane. Maybe I was going nuts, too. The town, which had looked so normal a few hours earlier, seemed the same. But I knew that like a seismic fault lying dormant under the earth’s surface, the impact of Roger’s latest misdeeds had shattered Vida’s world forever. And there was nothing I could do to help her.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  AFTER I’D CHANGED CLOTHES AND MADE A DRINK, I REALIZED I had time to turn the leftover chicken into my white sauce lasagna. Milo liked that, and I always made more than even he could eat. Pasta seems to multiply when it’s boiled. Shortly before seven, I was putting the baking dish in the oven when the doorbell rang.

  Once again, I had trouble seeing through the peephole. I could tell it was a man, but not much else. In fact, in the dying light of day, he looked as if he had a beard or at least some heavy dark stubble.

  “Who is it?” I asked, remembering Milo’s warnings.

  No response. I was about to ask again when my caller finally spoke: “It’s me, Sam Heppner.”

  Aghast, I opened the door. I hardly recognized the errant deputy. He probably hadn’t shaved for at least a couple of days. Sam also looked thinner, and his sharp, jutting nose seemed to dominate his angular face.

  “Where’s Dodge?” he asked.

  “Still at work,” I said.

  “His Yukon isn’t there.”

  “Maybe he’s on his way home. Do you want to sit down?”

  Sam looked around the living room as if he were searching for contraband. “Thanks,” he said, sitting in the side chair by the hearth.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Got any beer?”

  “Yes. Need a glass?”

  Sam shook his head.

  I grabbed a bottle of Henry Weinhard’s dark ale out of the fridge and poured a short shot of Canadian into my almost empty glass. “Here,” I said, handing him the ale. He’d already lighted a cigarette.

  “Thanks.” True to form, Sam remained a man of few words, but at least they weren’t surly. In fact, he looked and sounded tired.

  I sat on the sofa. “You haven’t been here in a long time.”

  “I’ve been on leave.”

  “I meant here, at the house.”

  “Oh, right.” He paused to drink some ale. “Did they pick up the Hibbert kid?”

  “Yes. Milo and Dwight have been interrogating him. Maybe they’re done by now. Otherwise the Yukon would still be there.”

  “He might’ve gone to see the prick’s parents.”

  “He might.” My jaw dropped. “You tipped them off, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been on to that kid ever since the trailer park mess.”

  “You knew he was up to something?”

  “Hell, punks like him don’t change. Dodge let him off too easy.”

  “He did that for Vida, not Roger. The kid was a help with the information he had on the local drug operation.”

  Sam inclined his head. “Yeah, the boss was in a bind. But this time he’s nailed him.”

  “Yes.” Now I was reduced to monosyllables, unable to stop fretting over Vida. But the booze had given me courage. “Sam, why did you fall out of sight? We were all worried about you.”

  He was looking at me, but I sensed he wasn’t seeing me. “It was Joe,” he finally said. “I never met him. Carmela sent pictures.”

  “He was your son.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sam nodded once. “Her father wouldn’t let me marry her. I wasn’t Latino. Or Catholic. She was so young. She couldn’t stand up to him.”

  I remembered Carmela’s comment about not always having been a strong woman. “Did your brother try to intervene on your behalf?”

  Sam sighed and passed a hand across his forehead. When he looked at me, his dark eyes were shadowy. “You know about Amos?”

  “Don’t get mad. I was trying to help Milo find out what had happened to you. As I mentioned, we were worried.”

  He sighed again. “My brother went to that tavern to try to reason with Carmela’s dad and two of her brothers. You don’t reason with drunks, especially when it gets personal. I didn’t know he’d gone there until after it all came down.” Sam shook his head. “What a waste. He was a hell of a guy.”

  There was nothing I could say that would comfort Sam. He’d probably heard it all and found it meaningless. Instead, I changed the subject. “What happened to Carmela’s first husband?”

  “Road accident outside of Wapato. He was drunk. I didn’t find out about that for a long time.”

  “But she sent you Joe’s pictures.”

  “That was later, after she married Dobles and moved to California. She didn’t dare keep in touch with me before that. Carlos Fernandez was a real creep. Dobles is a decent guy.”

  “What about your parents? I mean, would they have approved if you had married Carmela?”

  “Hell, no.” Sam stared at me. “They were rock-ribbed Pentecostals and anti-anything-but-white. Prejudice cuts every which way.”

  “Did you see Carmela while she was here?”

  He looked away. “Yes. For about an hour in Monroe.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”
r />   “It was.” He still didn’t look at me.

  “She’s a strong woman.”

  “She’s a good woman,” he said, finally meeting my gaze. “A good wife to Nel. She was a good mother.”

  “I believe she never had any other children.”

  He drank more ale and shook his head. “She had problems when Joe was born. No more kids for her.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

  “There’s nothing to say. Carmela and I said it all to each other. Everything changes in life. But some things don’t change.”

  I felt tears in my eyes. I wouldn’t cry, though. It might make Sam crack. He seemed so brittle. No, I realized—he was fragile. Or were they the same thing? “So you were actually working while on leave?”

  “Right. My brother-in-law’s with the state highway department. They had some big road problems down in Lewis County last month and needed extra help. Phil went down there and heard about the cathouse at Morton. I got suspicious, with Holly on the scene.”

  “Did you mention it to Milo?”

  “No. The boss doesn’t like guesswork.”

  I was puzzled. “Did you suspect Roger had killed Joe?”

  “Hell, no. Roger’s too chickenshit to confront anybody. I knew Joe worked vice. Even Carmela never had any idea where or what he was doing undercover. But I suspected there was a tie-in between here and what was happening in Lewis County.”

  “You must’ve wanted to know who killed Joe,” I said.

  Sam grimaced. “That was up to Dodge and the Feds. Finding Joe’s killer wouldn’t bring him back. I wanted the trash who hired Roger. Hell, what’s worse than ruining a young girl’s life by selling her?” He looked away. His thins lips pressed together. I didn’t know how to respond. Sam finished his ale and got to his feet. “I guess the boss man is still tied up. Thanks for the drink. Sorry to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother. I am so sorry for what happened to Joe. Really. He sounds like he was a great guy.”

  “I guess he was. That’s Carmela’s doing.”