Alpine Gamble (22 page)

Edna Mae, as usual, looked shocked, though we all knew better. Vivian was annoyed. I was dubious. “Who?” I asked as Edna Mae dealt the cards with unsteady hands.

“Who?”
Janet was miffed. “I don't know
who.
Isn't
why
enough?”

I shook my head. “Not for
The Advocate
, We don't print gossip.”

“Yes, you do,” Janet shot back. “Look at that 'Scene' thing. It's all gossip. I saw Darla Puckett this afternoon at Stella's Styling Salon, and she insists she didn't drop a dozen eggs at Safeway. It was a pint of cottage cheese. She was one shelf over, next to the eggs. So that makes it untrue and mere gossip.” Janet tossed her freshly permed chestnut curls.

“Darla must have been spotted from a distance,” I murmured. “Whoever saw her probably thought she was in eggs.”

“It's gossip,” Janet repeated firmly.

Edna Mae leaned into the table. “One club,” she said in a timorous voice.

Vivian Phipps was smirking at Janet. “That would be an honest mistake.” She looked at her cards, and then at me. “One heart. Partner, I hate to say this, but there was another error in 'Scene' this week. Chaz says the guests at the ski lodge didn't get the
wrong
shoes back, they got the
right
shoes. But Boots hadn't cleaned them. In fact, they were dirtier than when they'd been left outside their rooms. But don't go printing
that
, because it might get Chaz in trouble with Henry Bardeen. He's already threatened to fire Tony Patricelli for not doing his job. Tony insists he's not at fault, but we all know what the Patricellis are.” Vivian gave the three of us a knowing look.

“Two diamonds,” said Janet with a sharp glance at Vivian. “They're Italian, so what? The Patricellis had a bunch of kids and some of them got into trouble. Then those kids screwed like minks and had kids of their own. Including Tony, who seems okay to me. Cute, too, great butt. Hey, Emma, you're Catholic—do you use birth control? I bid two diamonds, by the way.”

“I believe that individuals, including Catholics, can
answer only to their own consciences.” I sounded as prim as any celibate nun teaching first grade in a parochial school. 'Two hearts.”

“Beating as one,” Janet interjected, unfazed by my prudish response. “Which reminds me, are you sure you haven't lined up a hot date for your weekend in San Francisco? Why waste the plane fare if you're not going to spend half the time in the sack? I tell you, that city is made for sexual pleasures.”

Edna Mae blinked at me from behind her glasses. “You're going to San Francisco? How nice! When?”

I sighed, but smiled at Edna Mae. “This weekend. I've got meetings scheduled with newspaper people.” Okay, so Tom was a person, not a people. It was close enough to the truth. “I'm planning some changes for
The Advocate
, on the business side.”

“Dear me!” Edna Mae exclaimed. “Changes for the better, I hope! I do hate change—especially for the sake of …
change”

“This would be to bring in more revenue,” I answered, still smiling, but sounding very businesslike. “As you may have noticed, we've been trying to take a more aggressive stance in the marketplace lately.”

Janet chortled. “Like the match-and-mate ads? Look, you let people say things like
plush
, which means fat as a pregnant pig, and
bantamweight
, which means you could slip the guy into your purse, and
slender
, which translates as don't-bother-to-open-the-door-this-one-can-slide-under-it. How about using real measurements? That includes everything, especially for the guys.” Janet leered, then panted a bit for emphasis before gazing at her partner. “Well, Edna Mae? Are you going to bid or sit there and dream about peckers?”

“Really, Janet!” Edna Mae blushed furiously. “I've quite lost track of the bidding.” She turned to me. 'Two spades? Oh—two hearts! I'll bid three peckers. No! No!
I mean
clubsl
That is … oh, dear!” Edna Mae's glasses fell off.

Somehow, we got through the rubber, though nobody dared mention the word, lest it set Janet off again. At the last table, I was partnered with Charlene Vickers, while Francine Wells and Dixie Ridley opposed us. I hadn't looked forward to facing Dixie, but she didn't bring up her husband's quote in the sports banquet article. On the other hand, she was very cool to me. It wasn't until we were leaving that Dixie took me aside.

“You must print a retraction,” she said solemnly. “Rip and I discussed it over dinner tonight, and we feel he can't let that statement stand. Already he senses that people are looking at him in a strange way. Suspiciously, you know. That won't do for a public figure like a football coach.”

In Alpine, Rip Ridley could be defined as a public figure. That was unarguable. But I thought he was imagining the suspicion. It was too much of a stretch to take his basically harmless remark about Californians and turn it into a motive for murder. Except, perhaps, in Alpine.

“Look, Dixie,” I said, trying to be friendly as well as reasonable, “we can't retract the quote, because Rip said it. Sixty people heard him, including my reporter. It would be better if he wrote a letter as I suggested to him on the phone this afternoon. He could expand on his comments and make a real statement, maybe even talk about the direction he wants for the high school athletic program. There's a growing sense of dissatisfaction about education in general. I'm sure Rip has plenty of good ideas we could publish in
The Advocate.”

Dixie's heart-shaped face grew uncertain. “Well … Rip certainly has opinions. But we don't like being under scrutiny. Even tonight I felt certain persons were watching me as if I were married to a Mafia don or
something.” She let her eyes flicker over the Dithers sisters, who were putting on their denim jackets and saying goodbye to Edna Mae.

'Tell me about it,” Charlene Vickers said under her breath. She had sidled up to the two of us and was shaking her head. “Cal says some of his regular customers have been avoiding him the last couple of days and going to Gas 'n Go at Icicle Creek instead.”

“Exactly.” Dixie nodded vigorously. “It's contagious. Did you see how Linda avoided me tonight?” She nodded in the direction of Linda Grant, the high school women's RE. teacher. “She cut Rip dead in the parking lot this afternoon.”

Though I don't know Linda well, she has always struck me as more broad-minded than most. But she does tend to be preoccupied. “Maybe she didn't see him,” I said.

“Maybe she should mind her own business,” Dixie snapped. “If Jack Mullins was nosing around yesterday to find out if any of Rip's students came to school with hangovers, he should have asked Linda the same question. And having Jack at the high school hasn't helped. Now everyone will think he really came to question Rip about the murder.”

Charlene was also indignant. “Bill Blatt stopped in to see Cal today. Now if that isn't enough to scare customers away, I don't know what is.”

“Did you see the way Francine Wells acted when we were partners?” Dixie asked in a whisper. “She hardly spoke to me, except to bid, and even then she passed at three spades when I opened with two. Now I'm glad I returned that Maggie London silk blouse. And to think she practically accused me of wearing it!”

I seemed to recall seeing Dixie in the red and black blouse at least twice, but it was best not to mention the fact. I had been slowly edging away, trying to reach
Edna Mae. “Urge Rip to write a letter,” I said in a confidential tone to Dixie. “I promise to run it next week.”

Dixie glared at me, and Charlene's expression was unusually aloof. It wasn't my fault that Stan Levine had gotten himself shot on Spark Plug Mountain. But as so often happens, the messenger got blamed for the message. I grabbed my jacket, thanked Edna Mae, and would have run all the way home if it hadn't been uphill.

At that, I was slightly winded when I arrived. I had to quit the damned cigarettes again. No one smokes at bridge club because Mary Lou Blatt and the Dithers sisters claim to be allergic. Thus, I hadn't been tempted during the course of the evening. Now I picked up the half-empty pack I'd left on the coffee table and started to crumple it. The telephone interrupted my virtuous intentions.

“Where've you been?” Milo sounded querulous. “I've left three messages on your damned machine.”

I glanced at the glowing red number, which actually registered five. “I was out,” I said abruptly. Suddenly my male acquaintances seemed far too interested in my whereabouts. “What do you want?”

“It's too bad you published today,” Milo said, still sounding irascible. “You missed getting a big story.”

“About what?” Suddenly I was excited. As I fumbled around to take out a slightly bent cigarette, I heard voices in the background. It was almost ten-thirty; Milo must have still been at work.

“We got a print off the Chee-tos bag,” Milo said. “You know how we got prints from several leading citizens a few months ago to push our program with the schools?”

I remembered. Skykomish County had launched a campaign to fingerprint all children fifteen and under. The goal wasn't to nail future delinquents, but to help
in case the youngsters were kidnapped, especially by parents involved in custody battles.

“So?” I clicked the lighter, managing to miss the cigarette on the first try.

“The print on the bag matched Henry Bardeen's,” Milo said, now downright unhappy. “We've brought him in for questioning.”

HENRY BARDEEN
STRUCK me as an unlikely suspect. Milo agreed, but insisted that Henry had to be considered “a person of interest.” Not only were his prints on the discarded bag at the murder site, but he had the most clear-cut of motives. The hot springs would definitely compete with the ski lodge.

“What about an alibi for Monday morning?” I asked Milo.

“Henry swears he was in his office, going over the books. He usually does it the first of the month, but he got behind because of the three-day Memorial weekend.” Milo emitted a weary sigh. “I don't like this one damned bit. But I have to follow procedure. If Henry can come up with a witness who saw him Monday at intervals of an hour, I'd let him go right now.”

“Can't he? What about Heather?” I was now half-lying on the sofa, my shoes off, the cigarette down to the filter. “Or the rest of the staff. They must have seen him come and go.”

“But they didn't,” Milo replied doggedly. “He asked not to be disturbed. So he wasn't. Not even phone calls. Heather collected the messages.”

“How is he?” I tried to envision the dour ski lodge manager in custody. If Henry were innocent, he'd be outraged. He was a man who stood on his dignity and his reputation. The toupee enhanced neither, but was evidence
of concern for his image, as well as a certain amount of vanity.

“… than flabbergasted,” Milo was saying. Consumed by my own thoughts, Fd missed the first part of the sheriff's response. “Look, Emma, Fve got to go. But I didn't want you to hear about this secondhand and come in tomorrow morning ready to clobber me with a baseball bat. Okay?”

It wasn't okay, but I hung up anyway. Then I called Vida. She usually stayed up until around eleven. I wasn't surprised that she already knew about Henry's detention.

“Billy phoned me and then I tried to reach you,” she said, sounding agitated. “I called twice, but you weren't home yet from Edna Mae's.”

That accounted for the other two phone messages on the machine. “What do you think?” I asked, wishing my brain wasn't falling asleep ahead of my body.

“Oooooh,” groaned Vida, and I could see her rubbing frantically at her eyes, “I think there's something very wrong here. Henry would never shoot anyone. He lacks gumption. But don't ask me how his prints got on that wrapper. The only explanation that comes to mind is that Henry didn't shoot Stan Levine, but he did go up to the hot springs that night to destroy incriminating evidence.”

I sat up on the sofa. “You mean he's covering for someone?”

“That would have to be it.” Vida's tone became fretful. “The only person I could imagine him doing such a thing for is Heather.”

Henry's wife had died of leukemia shortly before I arrived in Alpine. If Henry had courted any women since becoming a widower, Vida didn't know about it. Which, I figured, meant he practiced abstinence.

“Heather,” I said slowly. “Do you honestly see her going up to the springs and shooting Stan Levine?”

“Well, no.” Vida hesitated, then lowered her voice. Maybe she thought her canary, Cupcake, was eavesdropping. 'There are just the two of them since Doris died. Henry was raised in Everett, and there was an older brother, but he was a career man in the Air Force. For all I know, they've lost touch over the years. Henry's not what I'd call a very warm sort of man. But he dotes on Heather, and it seems that the feeling is mutual. It's amazing what people will do for one another when they feel isolated from the rest of the world.”

Briefly, I thought of my own situation. Adam and I had been on our own for over twenty years. Would I have killed for him? Maybe. Would he have killed for me? I was doubtful.

I was also tired. There was nothing more that Vida and I could do as far as
The Advocate
was concerned. Milo's questioning of Henry would be a week old by the time we published our next edition. Heaven only knew what might transpire in the murder investigation before deadline rolled around again.

The urgency of the case was beginning to bear down on me. As I prepared for bed, the first doubts about my proposed trip began to rise. I'd be gone only a little over forty-eight hours; surely Vida could cover any new developments.

But that wasn't Vida's job. She was my House * Home editor. This was a front page story, complete with screaming headlines. If I delegated my authority, it should be to Carla. The bald fact was that I didn't trust her to handle such tricky coverage. Carla had been right in accusing me of a lack of confidence.

But I couldn't back out on Tom now. It was possible, even probable, that he was looking forward to our weekend together with as much anticipation as I was. If
I asked Carla
and
Vida to keep on top of the story, difficulties might be avoided. Carla could save face, and Vida would relish being in on the chase.