by Mary Daheim
“You left someone out,” I said, suddenly realizing that my last two Excedrin had worn off.
“Yes,” Vida responded, “so I did. Dolores. Well now. She comes from an unfortunate background, with parents who drink and fight and generally have provided an unwholesome environment for her and her five siblings. She dropped out of high school midway through her senior year, though I gather she is smart enough. She and Derek have dated for over two years. Audrey was opposed to a long-term relationship—namely marriage—but Gordon took a softer stand. He and Audrey had married young, after all.”
“Which may be why Audrey was against an early wedding,” I pointed out. “Where was Dolores the night that Audrey was murdered?”
“At home,” Vida replied promptly. “Quarreling half the night with her parents. She had been with Derek until almost midnight. Mr. and Mrs. Cerrillo didn't want him staying so late. I suspect they didn't approve of him.”
“Because he's an Anglo?” My aches, pains, and head were beginning to throb again.
In Vida's Alpine world, there are few minorities. When she was growing up, the term intermarriage referred to a union between Catholics and Lutherans. To some extent, it still does. But in the past decade the town has seen the arrival of African-Americans, Asians, and Hispanics. Since the opening of Skykomish Community College, the minority population has increased tenfold, which puts it at about thirty. It took Vida a moment to consider Derek and Dolores's ethnic plight.
“That might be so,” she allowed. “I gather such sentiments work both ways.”
“So they do.” I sighed. “Prejudices of every kind die hard. Look at Dr. Flake and Marilynn Lewis.” The reference was to our departed Caucasian MD and his African-American nurse. Brave souls both, but when they decided to get married, they'd left Alpine and moved to a Seattle suburb. Most of us had hated to see them go, but I couldn't blame them for turning their backs on the inevitable censure they would have faced in Alpine.
“Yes,” Vida said sadly. “Such a lovely girl. And Peyton Flake was so competent, if a bit eccentric. His pony-tail upset a great many of the elderly patients. I do hope we get another doctor soon to help out Gerald Dewey. He's far too overworked.”
The talk of the medical personnel spurred me to get up and take two more Excedrin. “What else did Milo say?” I called from the kitchen.
“Not too much,” Vida answered. “He was sorry about my car. Oh, he asked about you. I mentioned that threatening note you got on your rental.”
I'd almost forgotten about the note. “I think it was one of the Imhoff kids,” I said, returning to the living room. “They never exactly warmed to me.”
Vida shot me an ominous look. “Nonsense. They're not demonstrative.”
I let the remark pass. Vida was obviously making excuses for their lack of affection toward her—as well as me.
“So what Milo found out,” I said, sitting back down in the easy chair, “isn't much more than we already knew. Which means the authorities don't know much, either.”
Vida made a face. “Well—yes. But it strengthens what we've learned. We're on the right track.”
I uttered a derisive little laugh. “Which is taking us nowhere. Say, Vida, what about Gordon and Stina Kane? Didn't Milo mention the affair?”
Behind the big glasses, Vida's eyes grew wide. “Nooo. Only that there were rumors, and that's why the Kanes were questioned. The other extramarital venture he brought up was Audrey and Jesse Damon.”
“Which was flagrant?” I suggested.
“Not precisely,” Vida said, with a disapproving glance for me which indicated that Runkels would never put their sins on parade. “Audrey was frequently seen with Jesse. She had been observed with other young men during the past few years. The conclusion seemed obvious.”
“I wonder.” The words were barely a whisper.
“What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Are you hungry? It's going on six.”
“I could eat a little something,” Vida said. “There's that log house on Hemlock that reminds me of your place. Whatever is it called?”
“It doesn't matter,” I responded. “We can't miss it.” The Excedrin was working. “Let's go. I'm ravenous.”
Vida, however, demurred. “I was thinking about a brief stop first. On Pacific. It can't be far from the restaurant. We ought to call on the Kanes.”
“They're probably gone for the day,” I said a bit impatiently. “This isn't tourist season.”
“We could drive by and see,” Vida said. “It wouldn't take but a minute.”
“Ohhh …” I knew defeat when I met it. “Okay, but if they're in, let's not take forever. What could we ask them at this point?”
“I'll think of something,” Vida said, opening the front door.
Gordon Imhoff was standing on the porch.
He had driven the girls into Seaside and put them on a bus to Portland. From there they would take a connecting Greyhound to Martinez, California. Gordon had a cousin there who would let them stay for a while.
“I haven't seen Kirby in years,” he said, standing uneasily in the middle of the living room. “But he's about the only relative I have who's reliable. My mother's somewhere in New Mexico and my dad died three years ago. Not that they were exactly dependable types.”
It hadn't been easy to get Stacie and Molly to leave without him, Gordon admitted. But the choice was simple: either they left, or they stayed. Whatever his daughters chose, he was going to face the music. Did they want to go through what might be an ugly episode? Better to let him remain in Cannon Beach and try to get things straightened out. Maybe it wouldn't take long. Gordon had tried to paint an optimistic picture.
“My, my,” Vida finally said. “I'm rather surprised. Are you going to contact the police tonight?”
Gordon shook his head. “I need a decent night's sleep. The couch at my mother-in-law's place isn't very comfortable. Besides, I want to see Derek. For all I know, he doesn't realize I'm here.”
“You might as well join us for dinner,” Vida said. “We were just leaving.”
Gordon hesitated. “Derek may be home by now. I should talk to him.”
“I understand Derek can't cook,” Vida said. “Can you?”
“Actually,” Gordon replied with a self-deprecating smile, “I can.”
That was more than I could say for Vida. But she coaxed him into coming with us. I was pleased with the arrangement. Over dinner I could discuss the accident with Gordon. I had to find out about his coverage so that I could rent another car and head home in the morning.
We were walking under the archway to the parking lot when we saw a Cannon Beach police car pulled alongside the pickup. A young policeman and an even younger policewoman were standing not by the truck, but next to the Ford Taurus I had briefly called my own.
The policeman whirled around when he saw us. He stared, as did his companion. “Are you Gordon Imhoff?” the policeman demanded.
Gordon's shoulders slumped. “I am. You know that, Corey. Am I under arrest?”
“Well… ah … I guess so.” Corey gulped. He glanced at the young woman, a pretty girl with long braids the color of winter wheat. “Or is it just for questioning, Tami?” he asked, trying to inject some authority into his voice. Fleetingly, I wondered if Corey was trying to impress us—or Tami.
“I can call the sheriff and ask,” Tami offered, sounding both hopeful and excited. I suspected that except for Audrey Imhoff's murder, the local police weren't accustomed to serious crime.
Corey nodded. “Do that. We don't want to mess up.”
“How did you find me?” Gordon inquired, his composure unruffled. “Was it the rental car?”
Corey frowned. “No.” He glanced around the parking lot. “Oh! The Taurus! We should have seen that. But we got a call that someone had left an illegally parked pickup in the motel lot. We came to ticket it. People can't park here unless they're registered guests.”
“People are very nervy,” V
ida remarked. And then it dawned on her that the pickup was the one we'd borrowed. “Wait! You can't ticket that truck! It's mine! I forgot to tell Madge at the desk. Oh, dear!” She raced over to the office.
A worried-looking Tami had returned from making her call. “They want us to bring you into Astoria, Mr. Imhoff. It's just for questioning. You're listed as a missing person, but under the circumstances, they'd like to talk to you. There's also something about leaving the scene of a traffic accident this morning. I'm sure you can explain all that.” The young policewoman's manner was very apologetic.
“That's fine,” Gordon responded, avoiding my gaze, “but I can drive myself. I'd like to see my son first, though. Could we make it around eight?”
The officers glanced at each other. “Yeah, I guess,” said Corey. “Why not? We'll call Astoria and let them know.”
I was amazed at the local law-enforcement officials' cavalier attitude. But they knew Gordon, they trusted him, he had an exemplary reputation in the town. Still, I doubted that Milo would have treated a witness in a homicide case so casually. Especially when that witness was the victim's spouse and had been missing for almost a month.
Gordon was talking easily to Corey while Tami returned to the phone. “You don't want to have to drive all the way into Astoria,” Gordon was saying. “Who else is on duty tonight?”
“Just us,” Corey replied, “but we could get some backup. Ron and Betsy are standing by.”
“How's Ron?” Gordon asked. “Aren't he and Amy expecting?”
“Any day now,” Corey said as both Vida and Tami approached us. I was glad to see Vida; I was feeling left out of the chummy conversation. I was also losing the opportunity of finding out about Gordon's insurance. But I was tired and hungry; maybe it was more important for Gordon to get his life squared away than for me to secure a free rental car.
“That's taken care of,” Vida declared, tapping one foot. “Well?” She looked first at Gordon, then at Corey and Tami. I still felt left out.
“I'm going to Astoria later,” Gordon said. “I'm afraid I'll have to skip dinner after all.”
“Later?” Vida blinked. “I don't understand.”
Gordon explained while Vida listened with a dubious expression. “This sounds very peculiar.”
“It's okay, ma'am,” Corey assured her. “It's not like Mr. Imhoff's a criminal. Sorry about the pickup. We didn't realize it belonged to a guest.” He tipped his hat and left with Tami.
Vida put a hand on Gordon's arm. “You won't change your mind?”
Gordon laughed. “Of course not.” Then he turned serious and finally looked at me. “I've got insurance. It's with Oregon Mutual. There's a 1-800 number in the local phone book. I'm really sorry I took off this morning. I guess I panicked.”
I gave Gordon a halfhearted smile, “I'll call this evening. I assume they have twenty-four-hour service. I'd like to pick up another car and leave tomorrow morning.”
Vida didn't seem worried about my dilemma. She was still eyeing Gordon, and not without a certain amount of compassion. “You'll get through this all right? It might not be as easy as you think.”
“I've got to get it sorted out eventually,” Gordon replied, then gave a little shrug. “It's no big deal. After Audrey's funeral, I ran away because I was upset, that's all. I needed time to think. Having your wife murdered isn't easy to deal with.”
“Certainly not,” Vida agreed, withdrawing her hand. “I realize all this has been very difficult. Your solitude must have helped.”
“It did,” Gordon said, but he didn't meet Vida's gaze. “I can cope better now.”
“Insights,” Vida said softly. “I'm sure you had time to come to some conclusions. About Audrey's death, I mean.”
Gordon seemed startled. “Conclusions? Well … Not really. What's to conclude? The sheriff hasn't been able to find the killer. How could I figure it out? As terrible as it may be, I'm beginning to believe that Audrey's murder will go unsolved. It happens.”
“Not as often as you think,” Vida said. “Frequently the police know who did it but have no proof. Then the killer goes free but the case is solved, at least in the minds of the law-enforcement officials. Of course it's very frustrating for them.”
“Yes,” Gordon said slowly. “I suppose that's the way it works sometimes. Well, I'll be seeing you. You're heading home soon, I suppose?”
It occurred to me that with the girls gone and Gordon back on the scene, there was no need for Vida to stay in Cannon Beach. But I was mistaken.
“I'm taking a leave from work,” Vida responded with a sharp glance in my direction. “I've not had a real vacation for some time. This area is such a pleasant place to recreate, don't you think?”
“It's ideal,” Gordon said, though I thought he looked put off by Vida's words. “Just bring the pickup back when you're ready.” He held out a hand.
If he'd intended to dismiss Vida from his life, Gordon was misguided. He didn't know her the way I did. She shook his hand and gave him a friendly smile.
“I'll be seeing you,” she said.
It sounded more like a threat than a promise.
Chapter Twelve
“IT'S A CRIME of the mind,” Vida asserted after we were seated at Morris Fireside Restaurant. “There are no clues, motive is elusive, the list of suspects is vague. Whoever killed Audrey did it because of something up here.” She tapped her temple.
“You mean it was a psychological killing?” I asked.
Vida nodded. “A mind temporarily deranged. What else?”
I gazed around the restaurant with its arched ceiling and log interior. A cheerful fire crackled in the big grate, and the polished wooden tables were almost all filled with diners. Even as I studied the handsome dining room a couple was being ushered to one of the few vacant tables, which happened to be right behind Vida.
“Hey,” I said in a whisper, “the Kanes are here. Don't turn around.”
Vida turned around. “Mr. Kane,” she cried, sounding delighted. “How nice! Is that Mrs. Kane? We haven't met.”
Stuart Kane's angular face froze. “I'm sorry, I've forgotten.…”
But Stina rescued the moment. “Emma? Introduce me to your friend. How are you doing? I heard you were in a wreck this morning.”
It didn't surprise me that in a small town news would travel fast. I made the official introductions, though they scarcely broke any ice with Stu. He murmured greetings, then turned his back on us.
That didn't faze Stina, either. “Is it true Gordon Imhoff 's back in town? Somebody said he was the one who hit you.”
I assured Stina that the tale was true. “He's going to get things squared away with the sheriff this evening.” It wasn't easy leaning around Vida and Stuart Kane to communicate with Stina.
“Great,” Stina called back. “Gordon's a good guy, even if he won't sell the blasted shop.” She stopped making eye contact with me to look at her husband. “Isn't that right, babe?”
Stu's answer was a growl I couldn't make out.
Vida fanned herself with the big plastic menu. “My!” she said in an undertone. “Such an obnoxious man!”
Fortunately, Stu couldn't hear Vida over the din in the busy restaurant. But something set him off. A moment later he was on his feet, shouting at Stina. Then he hurled the menu onto the floor and stalked out of the dining room.
I leaned sideways in my chair to signal to Stina. “Are you okay?”
Stina was doing her best to stay composed, but that full lower lip trembled dangerously. “Sure, I'm used to it. Stu's temperamental.”
Vida had scooted around in her chair. “Come join us. We could use some company.”
Stina hesitated, then stood up, grabbed her chair, and pulled it over to our small table. “Why not? I've got to eat. At times like this, food's my only friend.”
“Men are so thoughtless,” Vida remarked, giving Stina a sympathetic little smile. “Sometimes my Ernest had no tact whatsoever. I don't like to speak ill of
the dead, but there it is.”
“Lucky you,” Stina muttered, then turned to me. “Are we drinking?”
“We can be,” I responded cheerfully.
“Lucky?” Vida echoed.
Stina nodded vigorously. “Yes. It sounds like Ernest is dead.”
“He is.” For once, Vida seemed taken aback.
“Then your troubles are over,” Stina said, tight-lipped. “Most of them, anyway.”
Our server arrived before she could go on. Stina ordered a martini; I opted for bourbon. Vida primly asked for a refill of her ice water.
“Sorry.” Stina sighed. “Stu's a prick sometimes. Luckily, he doesn't show that side when we're dealing with clients.”
“What set him off now?” I inquired. “Was it us?”
“No.” Stina started to rub at her eyes, apparently remembered she was wearing eyeliner, and carefully folded her hands in her lap. “It was what I said about Gordon Imhoff. Stu can't stand him.”
That figured. No doubt Stu was jealous of his wife's lover. Naturally, I kept my mouth shut, and so, surprisingly, did Vida. We waited for Stina to go on. Before she continued, however, our drinks arrived.
Stina took a big sip of her martini. “I'm tired,” she said, and her shoulders sagged as if to prove the point.
“It must be very hard running your own business,” Vida said, still sympathetic. “Especially in the off-season when sales must drop off.”
“Oh, right,” Stina agreed. “We're used to that, though. It's not that. It's … other things.”
“Oh?” Vida's tone was encouraging.
Stina took another big drink. “You're from a small town? Then you know how people talk. They've nothing much else to do, especially after the tourists go away. Yak-yak-yak, babble-babble-babble. I hate it.”
I offered a commiserating smile. “Gossip is more than a hobby, it's a lifeline.”