Alpine Hero (23 page)

But Vida finally gave up musing over the vagaries of Alpine residents and concentrated on the matter at hand. “No, there aren’t any calls to California on Monday. There are three of them to Startup, however.” She shoved the printout in front of me. “Is that Honoria’s number? I must confess, I don’t know it.”

I did, and verified the fact. Switching gears, I gazed at the list faxed to the sheriff by the phone company. Stella’s Salon registered only outgoing long-distance calls. The beauty parlor was a total blank, but a swift perusal showed that Honoria made quite a few out-of-area calls: Seattle, Tacoma, Everett, Bellevue, Edmonds, Issaquah, Kirkland, LaConner, Bellingham, Yakima, and, of course, Alpine. Though barely thirty miles separated the two towns, toll lines ran between them. I turned to Toni. “Can you tell if a call went through from this?”

Toni shook her head. “No, only that it was placed and at what time.”

Vida was wearing a bemused expression as she handed the list back to Toni. “This is most interesting. Thank you, Toni. By the way, have you any notion of where Becca might have gone?”

Toni’s aquiline features looked pinched. “I sure don’t. Becca’s solid. She’d never run out on her job. I’ve been majorly upset since she didn’t come back to work this afternoon.”

Vida was very serious. “We’re all upset, Toni. Had she been seeing anyone?”

“Not really.” Toni’s limpid brown eyes glistened with tears. “There was some salesman she kind of liked, but they’d never gone out. Becca met him at the Venison Inn when he was on his way to eastern Washington. He gave her his card, but I don’t think he’s come back this way since.”

“When was that?” Vida inquired.

Toni sighed. “A week or two ago? I honestly don’t remember. I told Becca I bet he was married.”

Vida recognized a dead end when she saw it. Thanking Toni, she started for the door. But Dustin Fong entered before we got that far. Vida pounced.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe haven’t any idea where their daughter might have gone,” Dustin reported. “They’re pretty upset. I got a search warrant to check out her apartment, but I didn’t find anything.”

“What about a description of Eric Forbes?” Vida asked.

Dustin wore a penitent expression. “They only met Eric once, when he and Becca came for Christmas. Mrs. Wolfe said he was tall, dark, and handsome. Mr. Wolfe said he was runty, brownish hair, and homely. The Wolfes don’t agree on much, I’m afraid.”

Vida inclined her head, the pillbox slipping precariously over one ear. “Neither of them is very
observant, alas. I trust you found no photographs at Becca’s apartment?”

“No, ma’am.” Dustin sighed with regret. “Not even a wedding picture.”

Adjusting her hat, Vida smiled warmly at Dustin. Obviously, she considered him an outstanding rookie on her roster of informants. “No doubt Becca didn’t feel sentimental when it came to Eric or her marriage. It’s a pity that her parents are so self-absorbed.” For Vida, the comment was extremely charitable.

On the way back to the office, Vida couldn’t contain her excitement. “What can it mean? I simply don’t understand. Oh, dear—I so hate to be baffled!”

We were waiting to cross Third Street, with a brisk wind at our backs. I felt baffled, too. “Are you referring to Cassandra or the three calls to Mrs. Smith?”

“Both,” Vida replied as we hoofed it to the next curb. “Don’t tell me that Trevor or Honoria called Castro Valley from a pay phone. That makes no sense. Why would they do such a thing when the call could be made from Milo’s office? The only communication between the Whitmans and Cassandra occurred when she called while we were visiting. Do you remember what Mrs. Smith said?”

I reflected back on our Wednesday visit to Startup. We had commiserated with the Whitmans only forty-eight hours earlier. Somehow, it seemed like weeks.

“Mrs. Smith talked about the grandchildren and how worried Cassandra was,” I said, feeling the west wind pushing me ever forward. “She mentioned Cassie’s concern a couple of times.”

“Indeed she did,” Vida replied. “If you ask me, Mrs. Smith put too much emphasis on her other daughter’s
concern.” We had passed Parker’s Pharmacy and were now crossing Fourth as a yellow school bus returned from its daily run. “But why was Cassandra worried? As far as we can tell, she was never notified of Kay’s death.” Turning into
The Advocate,
Vida gave me her gimlet eye. “I don’t believe Honoria or Trevor or their mother bothered to notify Cassandra. I think she called her family in Startup by chance. What do you suppose that means?”

Leo Walsh was getting ready to go home. When he saw Vida and me return to the news office, his face took on a sheepish look.

“I’m off to eat some humble pie,” he declared. “My hot-shit source in Carmel dried up on me.”

At first, I couldn’t think what Leo was talking about. Then I remembered his old pal, Jake Spivak, who supposedly was going to dig the dirt for us.

“That’s okay,” I reassured Leo. “Honoria probably moved away before Jake arrived in Carmel.”

“That’s true,” Leo allowed, fastening the hooded down jacket that he’d acquired after his first winter in Alpine. “Jake moved there just a couple of years ago. Still, he might have asked around. But his wife, April, doesn’t expect him back until Monday.”

“We won’t be back until then, either,” I said, glancing at the clock, which stood at almost five. “Enjoy the weekend.”

Leo flipped the hood over his head. “I’ll enjoy it more than poor Jake will. He got stuck in San Francisco with our old boss.” Snatching up an almost empty pack of cigarettes, Leo shook one out, clicked his lighter, and exhaled. “Jesus, sometimes I think I’m luckier than some people—all my wife did was run off with another man. That’s
normal,
for chrissakes. But this poor bastard
married a broad who’s not only nuts, but now she tries to kill herself. It’s too bad she didn’t do it right. Her husband’s a hell of a guy. Tom Cavanaugh deserves better. See you Monday.”

I
READILY ACCEPTED
Vida’s offer to follow her home and have a cup of hot tea. The Buick’s taillights led the way up Sixth Street to Tyee, while my windshield wipers seemed to keep time to an old folk song, “Delia’s Gone.” Except it sounded like, “Sandra’s gone, one more round, Sandra’s gone.…”

But she wasn’t. Sandra had survived. It was Tom who had gone, out of my life and over the edge and free-falling into my past. What did it matter that his wife had slashed her wrists or swallowed sleeping pills or hooked up a hose to the Rolls-Royce exhaust pipe? I’d finished with Tom. He had no power to affect my life.

“Emma lies,” went the wipers, “one more round, Emma lies.…”

Vida’s tidy bungalow was filled with a different song, the melody spun by her canary, Cupcake. Vida greeted him with little cooing noises, then turned the burner on under the teakettle.

“You should have pressed Leo for more information,” she said in faint rebuke. “It would have been natural enough. I almost quizzed him myself, but your reaction put me off. I’m glad Leo didn’t notice how pale you turned.”

I had now regained much of my composure. “It’s
stupid. I’ve put all that behind me. But having Leo mention Tom out of the blue … I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Flummoxed,” Vida agreed, setting two exquisite English bone-china cups on the kitchen table. “Flabbergasted. All those things. Do sit, while we wait for the kettle to boil. I’ve got some cookies somewhere.…” Vida twisted around, glancing at shelves, cupboards, and counters. “Danish shortbread, quite delicious … Now where …? Aha!”

As I’d suspected, the cookie tin was decorated with merry elves and prancing reindeer. No doubt Vida had avoided the holiday offering because of her diet. If the contents had been tightly sealed, they might still be fresh.

But except for the pleated paper containers, the tin was empty. Vida’s jaw dropped, and then she chuckled.

“Roger! I thought I heard him rustling around in here a week or so ago. So cunning, the way he figures out where Grams hides her treats! And so adorable when he nibbles away like a little chipmunk!”

Having seen Roger cram a mound of mashed potatoes into his kisser and create an illusion that he’d swallowed a softball, I didn’t quite buy Vida’s affectionate version of her grandson’s eating habits.

“I’m not going to tell Leo,” I declared. “There’s no reason for him to know about Tom and me.”

Vida had emptied the cookie wrappers into the garbage and resealed the tin. “Perhaps not. The question is, I suppose, why you find it so important to keep Leo in the dark.”

I had no difficulty meeting Vida’s steady gaze, but giving her an answer was much harder. “Well,” I began as the teakettle whistled and Cupcake sang along, “it isn’t just Leo. It’s everybody else in this town.”

Vida waited until I finished speaking before she got up and went to the stove. “Frankly, Emma, that doesn’t
make much sense. Nobody in Alpine knows Tommy,” she said, using the nickname that my House & Home editor considered her exclusive prerogative. “Oh, he was here for a few days four years ago, but except for the
Advocate
staff and Milo and a handful of others, no one actually met him. Adam’s existence is proof that he had a father. Why would you care if Grace Grundle or Harvey Adcock or Jack Mullins could put a name on him?”

Staring at Vida’s plaid place mat, I tried to think through her query. “You’re right,” I finally said. “I don’t care about Grace or Harvey or Jack. But I do care about Leo knowing, because he knows Tom. Maybe I’m merely guarding my privacy.”

Having waited longer than usual for the tea to steep, Vida poured us each a steaming cup. “I can understand that. But I think you’re being overly protective. You worry too much about what Leo thinks, perhaps because you don’t want him to invade your life. Now, that’s wise from a professional point of view,” Vida went on quickly before I could interrupt, “but personally, I’m not so sure. You’ve built such sturdy walls around yourself, Emma. You’re isolated.” Vida lowered her eyes and picked up her teacup. “Just like me.”

I’d expected Vida to compare me with Honoria, rather than herself. Or to say that small towns are good hiding places for the heart. Until that moment I hadn’t thought much about the similarities between us.

Cupcake had stopped singing while the rain spattered against the kitchen windows. Buck Bardeen had been the first man in Vida’s life since her husband’s death. His arrival had led her out of self-imposed exile, and now it seemed that she wanted me to follow.

“I’m not in love,” I said flatly. “Not with Tom, not with Leo, not with … anybody.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Vida replied
calmly. “Being ‘in love’ is a state of mind which comes unbidden and often goes in the same way. Nor do I refer to celibacy. Intimacy is so much more important. I’m speaking about friendship, about affection, about trust. None of us should cut ourselves off from these very basic human needs. I almost learned that too late. You still have time.” Daintily, Vida sipped her tea.

I, too, drank, though I noted that my hand shook a bit as I raised the cup. “Change is tough,” I remarked in a hushed voice.

“Oh, yes.” Vida nodded. “Don’t I know it?”

“You’ve done it, though.”

“Perhaps.”

I sighed. “I don’t know how I feel. About Tom and Sandra.”

“I know.” Vida nodded again.

“I’ve tried to hate him.”

“That only works for a short time.”

“I’ve tried to forget.”

“That takes much longer.” Vida got to her feet. Cupcake was hopping around in his cage, flapping his wings and cheeping. “Dear me, he gets so fractious this time of night. I believe he needs a bath. Tomorrow, precious.” Vida made a clucking noise with her tongue.

Resting my head on one hand, I tried to focus on my goals in life: Being a good person. Being a good mother. Being a good journalist. Surely they were worthy ideals, of which I’d often fallen short. Was something missing? Of course it was, and I’d always known it, but so what? Nobody has everything. That was part of the human condition.

Vida’s phone rang just as she was about to pour more tea. She picked up the receiver from the extension by the refrigerator and uttered her usual imperious greeting.
And, as is also characteristic, her voice then fell into a conversational lilt:

“Why, Laurie—how nice! No, I came straight home … Well, certainly. No, that would be fine … Yes, take a right on Sixth, then a left on Tyee … Bye.” Vida’s eyes glittered with triumph as she hung up the phone. “Laurie and her mother are stopping in for a chat. Isn’t that nice?”

It took a moment for the news to register; my mind was still bogged down with Vida’s advice. “Laurie—and Jane? What are they going to chat
about?
”

“I can only guess,” Vida said, whisking my teacup off the table. “You don’t mind, do you? Leaving, that is. I didn’t tell Laurie you were here.” Vida had the grace to look sheepish.

I had no choice but to make my exit. By way of apology, Vida hugged me at the door. She is not a demonstrative person, so I felt partially mollified. Burrowing into the hood of my duffel coat, I trudged through the rain to my Jag.

I was almost there when Vida called out: “Stop! No, no! Keep going—but stop at your car!”

Confused, I reached the driver’s side. Raindrops were rolling off my hood, impairing my vision. In the deepening twilight, Vida was a blur on her front porch. The next thing I noticed were headlights, pulling in behind the Jaguar. I didn’t recognize the car, but I knew Jane and Laurie Marshall as soon as they got out.

“Oh, my!” Vida cried, waving her arms in apparent agitation. “Everybody is here at once! Hello, Emma! Do come in, Jane, Laurie! Hurry now! It’s so very wet!”

I hid my smile. Vida’s ruse had fooled me; maybe it had also fooled the Marshall women. The three of us went inside, while Vida exclaimed about the fortuitousness of already having made tea.

Neither Jane nor Laurie accepted Vida’s offer,
however. After removing their raingear, they both sank onto the chintz-covered couch while I sat in a tufted club chair, and Vida enthroned herself in her late husband’s favorite dark green wing chair.