The Alpine Kindred (21 page)

Put in an aggressive mood by Milo's silent rebuff, I edged between Scott and Cynthia. It wouldn't do any good to rush off to the Sheriff's office; nobody would talk until Ron was booked and interrogated. “Maybe I should discuss this with you two,” I said. “Were you going to have something to eat here at the mall?”

“We were going to get some Mexican food,” Cynthia replied. “The RUB's still not open because they weren't able to put the final touches on the kitchen until Sheriff Dodge was finished.”

“Mexican's fine with me,” I said.

We headed for Dos Senores, one of whom happened to be a Swede, and the other, a German. The tiny restaurant is mainly for takeout, but can accommodate about twenty people on the premises. Cynthia grabbed the last table, and told Scott to order for her. I joined him at the counter, where we all ended up with soft chicken tacos. Instead of a side of refried beans, there was a scoop of red cabbage. Food will be integrated before people in Alpine.

“Poor Ron,” Scott said as we sat down. “I suppose I should call Deirdre.”

“Why bother?” Cynthia said with a faint sneer. “She won't care who gets arrested, as long as it's not her.”

“Cynthia …” Scott was pained. “Deirdre wants to see justice done. Don't be so hard on her.”

“I barely know the woman,” Cynthia said, then looked at me. “Sorry, Emma. You must think I'm awful. But I have this sisterly thing about Scott, and what little I've seen of Deirdre hasn't made me sympathetic. She's the kind who's always leaving for a party that's going to be better than the one she's already at.”

“Cynthia …” Scott repeated, this time in a peevish tone.

But Cynthia wasn't easily silenced. “I don't want to see you hurt, Scott. I know it's not easy for minorities like us to find romance in a town like Alpine. But you can do better than Deirdre.”

Scott didn't look as if he agreed. However, the conversation wasn't going in the direction I'd hoped, and I couldn't afford to waste too much time with my lunchmates.

“Speaking of romance,” I said, “have you heard any rumors involving Einar Rasmussen Jr.?”

“Sure,” Cynthia replied. “Einar and Maylene. Another odd couple, if you ask me.”

Scott, who seemed relieved that we'd changed the subject, waggled a plastic fork at Cynthia. “That's just gossip. You don't know for certain, and neither does anybody else.”

“Ha!” Cynthia laughed out loud. “I know Maylene, and she hasn't kept their affair a big secret. At least not from
some
of us. Why do you think Ron killed Einar?”

“Did he?” Scott gave Cynthia a baleful look.

“The Sheriff says he did.” Her tone was dogged. “Dodge doesn't strike me as the type who jumps to conclusions.”

“He's not,” I allowed. “He's a very cautious person.”

“If I had a vote,” Cynthia said with a smirk, “I'd put my money on that weird son of Einar's. Assuming, of course, that he really exists.”

Given the fact that nobody had seen Beau in a very long time, I thought it was a fair assumption. Maybe Beau was a phantom, like George and Martha's son in
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

But this script wasn't being written by Edward Albee, and the scene was going nowhere. I finished my taco and excused myself. Five minutes later I was at the Sheriff's office. Vida was already ensconced, standing behind the curving counter and badgering Bill Blatt.

“Admit it, Billy,” she commanded. “The fingerprints on the knife belonged to Ron. The motive is Einar's affair with Maylene. It was her lipstick that was found on his shirt. Really, it's all quite simple. Why not say so?”

“Because we've got a trial ahead of us,” Bill replied, his fair complexion turning red. “We can't give out information like that, Aunt Vida. You know better.”

“Better?” Vida glared at her nephew as Toni Andreas cowered at her desk. “I always know better. That's why I'm here.” She turned slightly, acknowledging my presence for the first time. “I really can't imagine why I had to find out about Ron's arrest from Leo Walsh”—the glare now included me—”but this isn't the only matter that this so-called law-enforcement agency is holding back on. Now tell me about the warehouse site, Billy, or I'm going to have to speak to your mother.”

“Vida,” I began, “I was going to tell you as soon as I could, but—”

“Not soon enough,” she interrupted. “Ron was arrested half an hour ago.”

“It's not your story.” I made a feeble gesture with my hands.

“It's an orphan of a story,” Vida declared. “You knew Ron was arrested? Or were you shopping at the mall instead of tending to business?”

There are limits to what I will take from Vida. She had overstepped her bounds by mouthing off in front of other people. “That's it,” I said grimly. “I'm covering this story, and you know it. I was following another angle at the mall, which we won't discuss now. Please come around to this side of the counter and stop berating your nephew, who is simply following instructions as well as legalities.”

Vida was aghast. “Are you giving me orders?”

“Yes. I'm the boss.” My stern expression felt a little shaky.

Vida stared at me. Then, with one last, dark look for Bill Blatt, she tromped through the swinging half-door in her splayfooted manner and exited the office.

“Whew!” cried Bill, wiping his brow.

“Gosh,” breathed Toni, leaning back in her chair.

“Damn,” I muttered, then offered them both a pitiful smile. “Vida will get over it. So will I. But we still need some answers here. What's going on with Ron and the Sheriff?”

Bill's face was returning to its normal pinkish hue. “Ron's being interrogated by Dodge and Jack Mullins.”

“Ron hasn't admitted he killed Einar?” I asked, leaning on the counter.

Bill shook his head. “He insisted he wasn't guilty on the ride from the mall. Is it true that Mr. Rasmussen and Mrs. Bjornson were having an affair?”

I blinked at Bill. “Didn't Milo tell you that?”

“No.” Bill bit his lip. “Sheriff Dodge doesn't always tell us everything. He's really been kind of tight-lipped these last few months.”

“Great.” Was I to blame for that, too? “What about the crime-scene tape at the warehouse, Bill? Has it got something to do with the bones the Bourgettes dug up?”

Bill looked miserable; his glance flitted from the interrogation room off to his right and back to me. “I honestly don't think I should say anything about that. Maybe Dodge will let you know.”

“Maybe.” I bit off the word. “If not,
The Advocate
is going to be rife with speculation this week. In fact, I'm thinking of doing a second editorial, on the lack of cooperation from this office.”

Bill looked helpless. “That won't make Dodge very happy.”

“I'm not very happy.” It dawned on me that I hadn't
been happy for quite a while. Even before I'd heard about Sandra Cavanaugh's death.

Milo came out of the interrogation room. “Ron's in the holding cell,” he said, then noticed my presence. “Yes, he's being charged with first-degree homicide. He's pleading innocent. Maybe bail will be too high for him to post. We'll find that out tomorrow at the courthouse.”

The sheriff's flow of information didn't really surprise me; he was bound to make such facts public. But since he'd volunteered, I decided to meet him halfway. Maybe it was impossible for me to be angry with Milo and Vida at the same time; they had been my two closest friends in Alpine.

“Thanks, Milo,” I said, trying to sound pleasant. “How did you come to the conclusion that it was Ron?”

Milo ran a hand through his graying sandy hair. “The usual. Motive, opportunity, et cetera. Although there'd been an attempt to wipe the weapon clean, we found a partial print. Ron had gaps in his schedule that night. In fact, he let Einar into the building. My guess is he followed Einar inside, and they got into it. The charge may drop to second degree, but we'll see about that once Ron admits he's guilty.”

“The motive,” I said as Dwight Gould and Dustin Fong entered the office from the rear, “being the alleged affair between Einar and Maylene Bjornson.”

Milo nodded at his deputies, then turned to face me over the counter. I noticed how tired he looked, especially around the eyes. His face seemed to sag, making it even longer and more melancholy than usual. It was as if he had grown old overnight, while I wasn't looking.

“I can't talk about that,” he said, passing a hand over his forehead.

Jack Mullins came out of the interrogation room, presumably having secured Ron in the holding cell. “Who'da
thunk it?” Jack mused. “I hated to lock him up. Ron's a good ol' boy if there ever was one. We were in high school together, we played football for the Buckers.”

Milo didn't comment. “Are we through here?” he asked me.

“One more thing.” I held up my index finger. “What's going on at the warehouse site? Don't blow me off. I know it has something to do with that bunch of bones the Bourgettes dug up.”

Milo sighed and reached for his cigarettes, despite the “No Smoking” sign posted on the counter. “Tomorrow's your deadline, right?”

“We haven't changed it,” I deadpanned.

“I'll let you know then,” he said, turning his back and lighting up.

I wasn't going to get any more out of the Sheriff. The morning clouds had cleared and the sun was shining when I got back outside. The afternoon's brightness seemed to mock my mood, as did the generally cheerful attitude of passersby, presumably buoyed by the holiday.

Leo was on the phone when I returned, Carla was just leaving to drop her film off at Buddy Bayard's, and Vida had her head bent over her ancient typewriter. I hesitated to see if she'd look up, but she didn't, so I went into my office. Ten minutes later, when I went out to check the wire service, Vida was the only one in the newsroom. She still didn't look up.

Resignedly, I went over to her desk. “Vida,” I began, “I'm sorry about what happened at the Sheriff's office earlier. But sometimes you sort of tend to take over, and it makes me feel…”

She finally met my gaze. To my astonishment, she'd been crying. “You humiliated me,” she declared. “In front of Billy.”

“Oh, Vida!” I sat down in her visitor's chair and put my
arm around her. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her cry. “I'm really, really sorry. Look, I've been in a bad mood myself lately. I've been crabby and snappish and impatient with everyone.”

“The change,” Vida said in an ominous voice.

I gasped. Menopause had never entered my mind. I was still in my forties, if not by much. But of course that's usually when it happens. Maybe Vida was right. Maybe it was a more realistic explanation than having Leo tell me I hadn't been laid recently. Maybe it was both.

“I'll make an appointment with Doc Dewey,” I said. “Hopefully, I can get in to see him before I'm too old to care.”

Vida dabbed at her eyes with a floral-print handkerchief. “How will I ever face Billy again?”

I hung my head. Keeping up appearances was so important to Vida. “You knew I was covering this story,” I said, keeping calm. “I felt as if you were trying to take over.”

“I thought you'd given it back to Carla.” Vida sniffed. “It seems that the college is her beat.”

“It usually is, but not this time.” I forced a smile. “She can't handle it, and you know it. Even if she weren't pregnant, I wouldn't let her cover a big story like this.”

“I was only trying to help.” A piteous note had crept into Vida's voice.

“I want you to,” I insisted. “I always want your help. But that's not the impression I got. Do you want me to explain all this to Billy?”

“It's too late,” Vida replied. “It happened. It can't be undone.”

I supposed that was true. There was only one way out of this mess, and I had to take it or risk losing Vida's friendship. “We'll cover it together. It's that big. We'll both write the stories.”

Vida's eyes grew wary. “That will be awkward.”

“No, it won't. I'll do the hard news, you do the sidebars.” I could probably edit the House & Home style out of them without too much trouble.

“Well …” She fingered her chin. “You'll let Billy and Milo and the rest of them know I'm assigned to the case, too?”

“Of course. In fact,” I said, so relieved to see Vida softening a bit that I went a step too far, “Milo is going to have some news for us tomorrow on those bones at the warehouse site. You handle that while I take care of the charges against Ron Bjornson.”

“That's another thing,” Vida said, receding back into gloom. “Ron's arrest upset me. Not merely the fact that I had to hear it from Leo, but that Milo thinks Ron killed Einar. It's not possible. Ron has his faults, but he's not a killer. Why, I've known him since the day he was born.”

I couldn't claim such knowledge of Ron Bjornson. From my chance encounters with him over the years, I'd gotten the impression that he was a decent sort, but embittered by the timber industry's decline. If, however, the latter adversity could turn a man into a murderer, then half of Alpine would be wiped out and the other half would be in jail.

“You know Milo,” I said. “He's very cautious. He wouldn't arrest Ron unless he had a good case.”

Vida didn't comment. She put her handkerchief back in her purse and squared her shoulders. “I shan't disappoint you,” she asserted.

“You never do, Vida,” I said, and reached over to give her a quick hug.

“Do you want to go with me tonight when I call on Marlys Rasmussen?” she asked.

I didn't, actually, but I dared not turn the invitation down. “Sure. What time?”

“Sevenish. I'll pick you up.”

“Great.” I smiled, much more brightly. “Are we still friends?”

Vida had to think about it for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I believe so. Friendships, like hearts, are hard to break.”

And even harder to mend
, I thought as I walked over to the wire service. Maybe it wasn't my uterus that was bothering me. Maybe it was my heart. It had hurt for a very long time.

I had to stop feeling sorry for myself. There were other stories besides Ron's arrest and the breaking news on the bones. As usual, timber legislation would take up at least fifteen inches on the front page, along with Carla's Memorial Day parade pictures. The photo that she'd taken of the state official at the RUB dedication was better than the one of President Cardenas, but Nat was local, and the other man was from Olympia. We'd go with Nat, and put the state official and George Engebretsen inside. I'd try to squeeze in an article concerning a rumor about the proposed Icicle Creek Bridge. After all the hassles and delays, the college was lobbying to move the span west of town, by the campus. Leo informed me that Deirdre Ras-mussen had called to say that apparently Marlys and the rest of the family were willing to pay to run the portrait of Einar Jr. She'd drop the photo off in the morning.