by Mary Daheim
Despite the slightly uneven mattress on the sofa bed, I slept like a rock. To my horror, I didn't wake up until a few minutes after nine. Vida was dressed and sitting in one of the armchairs, reading Molly's diary.
“My God!” I croaked in a froglike voice. “It's late! I've got to get out of here!”
“Good morning,” Vida said brightly. “It's another lovely day.”
I struggled with the sheet and the single blanket. Then I tried to sit up. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was almost impossible. My back had stiffened up and I felt awful. Nor did my neck respond to efforts to turn my head. Leaning against the sofa's headboard, I took several deep breaths and tried again.
“Stiff? Sore?” Vida looked extremely sympathetic. “Just take your time. You really should have seen a doctor yesterday. Maybe,” she added, unable to completely hide the smugness in her voice, “you ought to stay in bed.”
I was beginning to think I had no choice. Finally I managed to sit up. After a brief wait I attempted to stand. But walking was another matter. With each tenuous step, pain rippled up and down my spine. Staggering into the bathroom, I leaned against the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
I looked dreadful. That was hardly surprising, since I felt dreadful. Slowly, excruciatingly, I performed my morning ablutions. The hot shower helped, but only temporarily. Downing more Excedrin, I told myself I should have soaked in the tub. Maybe I'd do that later.
“Poor thing.” Vida clucked as I returned to the living room bearing a mug of instant coffee. “You really must take it easy today.”
I wanted to argue with Vida, to defy her, to insist that I'd feel better in an hour or so, and would be able to go home. But my body told me otherwise. I felt as if I'd be lucky to get dressed, let alone leave the motel.
“Of course I could take you to the local doctor,” Vida said in a musing tone. “I believe he's located in Sandpiper Square.”
It was probably a good idea. But at the moment I didn't feel like making the effort. “You go,” I said in a self-pitying voice as I collapsed onto the unmade sofa bed. “I'll stay here.”
“Now, now.” Vida could barely contain her glee. “I have some errands to run, so you relax, and I'll be back around noon.” She stood in front of the mirror, jamming a yellow cloche on her head. “Oh—by the way, I tried to reach Jesse Damon again this morning. Still no luck. You might try him later on. This is getting very frustrating.”
I roused myself enough to ask Vida about Molly's diary. “Did she reveal any deep, dark secrets?”
“Not yet,” Vida answered, shrugging into her swing coat and picking up her purse. “It goes back almost two years, and I only got up to last fall. You might take up where I left off—mid-November, I believe.” She pointed to the coffee table where she'd left the diary. “Most of what Molly's written is what you'd expect—maudlin, adolescent prattle, and some very bad poetry. However, her handwriting is quite legible and precise.”
Ten minutes after Vida left, I was soaking in the tub and perusing the diary. Vida was right: Molly was suffering all the pangs of youth, especially insecurity about her looks and her popularity at school. Still, I found one of the poems rather touching. Apparently the Imhoffs had owned a dog named Nappy that had gotten run over on the highway.
You almost made old age, dear friend;
We loved you like a brother;
You roamed free and loved the sea;
Were you searching for your mother?
But you traveled too far and got hit by a car;
We mourned you with words unspoken;
There's no replacing such a dog as you;
Our family circle has been broken.
Nappy had been killed in January. Since I'd seen no sign of a dog at the Imhoff house, I assumed that he had not been replaced. I wondered if the developing problems with Audrey and Gordon had had anything to do with not acquiring another pet. Then again, maybe Molly—and her siblings—really didn't feel like getting a new dog.
I added more hot water and continued reading. There was a boy Molly liked, Cassidy, with hair “the color of sunshine” and “eyes like the sea.” Cassidy talked to her in the halls; he ate lunch with her in February; he helped her with her homework in March. Then he was gone. His parents had divorced, and Cassidy had moved to Cor-vallis with his mother. Molly was heartbroken. There were several poems, bitter, melancholy, self-pitying. To my knowledge, Adam had never written poetry, but if he had, I was sure his teenage creations would convey the same melodramatic tone.
I'd gotten up to May by the time the bathwater had cooled again. Six months' worth of adolescent self-absorption was enough for one session. I returned the diary to the coffee table and got dressed. The hot soak had helped, but I was still semimiserable. It was clear that I wasn't returning to Alpine within the next twenty-four hours.
Reluctantly, I dialed The Advocate. Ginny answered in her polite, efficient voice. When I explained my predicament, she expressed sympathy, but also apprehension.
“Carta's not going to be able to stay late tonight,” Ginny said in her most serious voice. In the background, I could hear the Erlandson baby fussing. “She has a really, really hot date.”
“In Alpine? It can't be that hot.” I sounded cross. “She'll have to cancel. Under the circumstances, I don't want Kip left alone.” Ordinarily, our production manager could be relied on to put out the paper without anyone holding his hand, at least not in person. But that was because I was always on top of what was happening and was five minutes away if he should need me.
“She can't,” Ginny replied simply. “She won't.”
“Damn! Who is this super-stud?” I demanded.
“Hush!” I gave a little start at Ginny's tone, then realized it wasn't for me but for her small son. “Here, Brad, play with the pretty bells.” Ginny cleared her throat as what sounded like small sleigh bells jingled in the distance. “Sorry, Brad's getting hungry. Anyway, Carta's going out with Ryan Talliaferro, from the college. You know,” she added reasonably, “the dean of students.”
I knew Ryan. He was single, late thirties, good-looking in a slightly chunky sort of way, and very intelligent. It was the latter attribute that made my mind boggle.
“What's he doing dating Carla?” I all but shouted.
It was the wrong thing to say. Ginny and Carta are close friends. “Why shouldn't he?” Ginny, of course, was on the defensive. “They started going out last month.”
Vaguely, I recalled something about Carta meeting Ryan for coffee or lunch or a drink or maybe all three, but assumed the meetings were professional, since she was covering the college.
“I don't know,” I said vaguely, trying to move my head in directions it didn't seem to want to go. “Maybe I thought he was too old for Carta. I keep forgetting she's almost thirty.”
“She is thirty,” Ginny responded. “Do you want her dating some kid like Kip? Anyway, they're going to Caf6 Fleur, and it's their first really formal date. You can't ask her to break it. What about Leo?”
“Leo will do,” I answered in a subdued voice. “Put him on.”
Leo assured me that he could either stick around the back shop or stay by the phone. “Everything's shaping up just fine. Stop worrying. You must have really racked yourself up, babe.”
“More than I thought,” I admitted. “What about Vida's ‘Scene’?”
Leo emitted what sounded like a grunt. “We still don't have much. Edna Mae Dalrymple's slip fell off on the library's steps yesterday. Pete Patricelli's pizza delivery truck had a flat tire over on Sixth Street. Roy Everson at the post office found a bagful of Christmas cards that never got delivered, but he doesn't want us to mention it. He says he's going to send them out the last week of November and nobody'11 know the difference.”
I winced. Roy was the local postal supervisor, and a nice guy. I didn't want to get him in trouble, but a bag of mail ten months old was news. “Use it,” I ordered. “But make it funny. Now that Roy's found the stuff, he shou
ldn't sit on it. He could get in trouble.”
“I don't know,” Leo quibbled. “If we do run the thing, maybe it should be a news story. That way, Roy could explain how mail gets lost, and how it usually doesn't happen.”
“Make excuses for himself, huh?” I shot back. “The Alpine post office isn't much bigger than my house. Where was this sack, up Roy's butt?”
“Whoa!” Leo's laugh was jagged. “You must be feeling crappy, babe. What have you got against Roy Everson?”
“Nothing,” I huffed. “And don't call me babe.”
“Okay, okay,” Leo responded in what may have been a soothing tone. “I'll talk to Roy. We'll work something out.”
“Anything new since we spoke yesterday?” I asked, trying to shed my irritation.
“No, not really,” Leo said. “The county commissioners will be asking for bids on the new bridge by the golf course at their meeting tonight. Carta wrote that up in advance, since she saw the agenda this morning and those three stooges drone on until about midnight.”
I knew how the commissioners acted at their monthly meetings, many of which I'd been forced to attend. All three were past their prime, to put it mildly, and inevitably became mired in irrelevant detail, which often led to endless personal anecdotes. No one had the power to tell them to shut up, and nobody seemed willing to run against them. Position number two was on the upcoming ballot, and as usual, there was no opposition, unless you counted Crazy Eights Neffel, our resident nut, who ran for just about everything.
“Okay, I leave this edition in your hands,” I said with a sigh. “I'd like to say I'd be home tomorrow, but right now I can't be sure.”
“We'll make it,” Leo said, the usual breeziness returning to his voice.
“You mean I'm not indispensable?” The remark was only half-facetious.
“That's right,” Leo answered glibly. “Neither is the Duchess. But don't tell her that. She'd clean my clock.”
I was about to confess to Leo that The Advocate seemed to be the last thing on Vida's mind these days, but a knock sounded at the door. I rang off rather hastily, then dragged my pitiful body across the room.
“G'day,” Stuart Kane said with the first real smile I'd seen on his face. Indeed, he looked vaguely abject. “Should I throw in my hat first?”
His hat was a sharp-looking straw with a paisley band. “No, come in,” I said, mustering up a smile of my own. “Have a chair. I'm sorry the sofa bed isn't made up, but I'm not feeling very well today.”
“Oh?” He looked almost sympathetic. “Sorry to hear it. Flu?”
I shook my head, but didn't want to go into the details. Besides, I assumed that in a small town like Cannon Beach, everyone would know about my accident by now. They certainly would in Alpine.
“I must apologize.” Stu looked around, presumably for Vida. “Your friend isn't here?”
“No. She had errands. Would you care for coffee?” I offered.
“No, thanks.” Stu sat in one of the armchairs while I unceremoniously sank down on the unmade bed. “I was extremely rude last night at the restaurant. You must forgive me. So will your friend. Ms. Runkel, isn't it? Audrey's aunt?”
I nodded. “I'll tell her. You've made up with Stina, I take it?” The frank query didn't seem inappropriate, given Stu's present mood.
“Oh, yes.” He had removed his hat and was twirling it in his hands. “It turned out to be a good thing. We had quite a talk. I've been worried about my wife, you see.”
He seemed sincere. But he was a salesman, and now that he was behaving well, I could sense his charm. “You mentioned that Stina was high-strung,” I said. “I can't really tell.”
“She hides it well,” Stu replied. “She has to, working with the public.”
“I suppose so.” I paused, waiting for him to continue.
He hesitated until the silence began to grow awkward. Then he tossed the hat onto the coffee table and regarded me with keen blue eyes. “I was out of line when I came here the other day, too. As I mentioned, I was concerned for Stina. Ever since Audrey died, my wife has been upset. She's afraid, you see.”
“Of what?” I wished Vida were present with her encyclopedic memory. Or that I could take notes. It sounded as if Stuart Kane had something important to say, and if I omitted any details, Vida, as she'd put it, would be wild.
“Stina's afraid for me,” Stu responded, his voice now grave. “I'm no saint, but I do love my wife. However, she can be irrational. Stina got it into her head that I was—how shall I put this?—carrying on with Audrey. That's not true.”
“It's not.” My voice was flat.
Stu shook his head. “Not at all. Audrey came to me several times, asking advice about selling the house, the shop, setting herself up in business in Portland. She trusted me, had faith in my judgment. There was no difference between Audrey asking me for advice and Gordon seeking sympathy from Stina. In both cases, the relationships were innocent. But Stina has trouble believing that.”
Since Stuart Kane appeared to have a reputation as a ladies' man, I could understand his wife's reaction. “You said you had a talk with Stina. Was it about the alleged affair? Did you convince her it never happened?”
“I hope so.” Stu took a deep breath. “It's vital that she believes me. Otherwise—and this is very difficult for me to say out loud—I honestly think she may suspect that I killed Audrey.”
Great, I thought. If Stina's right, here's old Emma, practically paralyzed with pain, entertaining a homicidal maniac.
“But you didn't,” I said in a voice that begged it to be so.
“Of course not.” Stu actually laughed. “I'd never hurt Audrey. I never have. We've always been the best of friends.”
“Oh.” I gulped. “That's … nice.”
“It was Gordon that I didn't particularly care for,” Stu went on. “He was all wrong for Audrey from the start. Too spineless, too unadventurous. I tried to talk her out of marrying him, but Audrey was always headstrong. That was one of her charms; maybe her greatest strength, too.”
I gave myself a little shake. Something didn't track here. Was my brain as nonfunctional as my body? “You knew Audrey before she was married?”
Again came that laugh. “Of course. Before Audrey married Gordon, she married me.”
Chapter Fifteen
I SHOULD HAVE guessed. Stina Kane had made allusions to Audrey that indicated knowledge prior to Cannon Beach. The Audrey-Stuart union also explained the references to an early marriage. I—along with Vida—had assumed the marriage was between Gordon and Audrey. But that wasn't necessarily so. We had taken too much for granted, and ignored other signals along the way.
Stu's account was quite simple, really. He'd arrived in San Francisco for what was to be only a visit. But he liked the city, and had fallen in love with America. He had not—quite—fallen in love with Audrey. Yet when his visitor's visa expired and he couldn't get a green card, Audrey had offered to marry him. For her, it was a lark; for him, it was his ticket to a new life.
“My parents were divorced,” Stu explained. “I was ten, and had a younger sister. We'd lived in Christchurch on the south island, but my mother's family was in Auckland, on the north island. We moved there, but Celia and I were shunted back and forth, forth and back, to spend half the year with each parent. It was harrowing. By the time I was eighteen, I felt like two different people. It was an unpleasant divorce, with my mum and my dad fighting constantly, even though they were in different parts of the country. My sister and I grew up with a great deal of unbearable stress and a terrible sense of guilt. Celia's never married, and she's a very bitter woman. But I got away, I had to, and San Francisco was where I headed. I realized then that I could make a new start. Audrey helped me do that, and I'm eternally grateful.”
“But the marriage didn't last?” I remarked, still wishing that Vida had been on hand for this revelation.
“No. We liked each other, we shared some interests, but we were too young and—frankly�
��we were never serious about the commitment. We split up in less than two years. I decided to leave San Francisco and enroll at the University of Oregon in Eugene. That's where I met Stina. She was helping to put her first husband through engineering school and working in the bookstore. Her marriage was already on the rocks. We didn't really start seeing each other until after her divorce and I finished my degree in business. Three years later we were married. We wanted to be sure, since we'd each had a failure behind us.”
The irony of Stu's words struck me: he didn't want another broken marriage, yet he allegedly conducted affairs. His own family background was rooted in domestic discord. According to Stina, he hadn't gone back to New Zealand until their visit last winter. Family ties didn't bind Stuart Kane; nor did marriage vows keep him faithful.
Yet his story touched me somehow. However, when he had finished, I kept to factual matters. “Do people here in Cannon Beach know that you and Audrey had been married?”
“No,” Stu replied, looking faintly embarrassed. “There was no need for them to know. Audrey had been estranged from her father for some time. If Rett Runkel ever knew about the marriage, he didn't pay any attention. He was heavily into alcoholism at the time. I believe she told her mother, but I never met Rosalie. I understand she lives down at Manzanita. I may have seen her, but I wouldn't recognize her.”
“And Marlin?” I asked, wondering if he was locked in a cell in Astoria this morning.
“Marlin!” Stu made a slashing motion with his hand. “Who can say? The man's completely disassociated from reality.”
“So you and Audrey and Stina and Gordon all managed to keep the marriage your little secret?” I was incredulous.
“That's right.” Stu's long, lean face was very earnest. “It wasn't that hard, really. Audrey had been gone for several years, and when she returned with a husband and children, there was no reason to ask embarrassing questions. Stina and I'd been living here for a while by the time the Imhoffs arrived. I had to tell Stina, of course. It wouldn't have been fair not to. And I must admit, my wife was jealous from the start. But she had no reason.” Stuart Kane gave a dismissive shrug, as if his innocence was never at stake.