The Alpine Legacy (30 page)

Figuring this would be a fairly long story, I sat down on the sofa. “And?” I waved at Tom as he went outside to the carport, presumably to get more wood.

“Janet is so forthcoming, “Vida declared. “I can almost forgive her rough tongue. In any event, she told me that the urn had been turned over to Melody and Thad. They intended to spread the ashes in the river, which may or may not be legal.”

“You can dump them at sea,” I pointed out. “Why not a river, especially this time of year, when it's running high and fast?”

“Exactly,” Vida agreed. “And who needs to know? It put my mind at rest.”

“Why the delay?” I said.

“Precisely my question,” Vida responded. “Janet and Al didn't know, so I just happened to run into April and Mel in the Safeway parking lot. They stumbled and stuttered through their explanation—really, such a dim couple, so like Mel's parents, who could barely get out a simple sentence. Must that sort propagate dimness? Of course one wouldn't want them marrying someone too bright. The other spouse would go mad.” Vida stopped. “Where was I?”

“Talking to Mel and April, who couldn't get out a
simple sentence,” I said dryly. “I think I got lost somewhere at the ‘dim couple' detour.”

Vida ignored the remark. “Yes. It seems they delayed picking up the urn because they weren't sure what Crystal would have wanted. An excuse, of course, for not carrying out their duty. Then yesterday someone called their house to ask what was being done about Crystal's remains. April answered, and she was embarrassed to tell this person that so far nothing had been done. She hastened to add—because she was shamefaced, I imagine—that they were picking up the ashes that afternoon. Which Thad and Melody did.”

“Who called to inquire?” I asked, wondering what was taking Tom so long to fill the wood bucket.

“Ooooh!” Vida sounded agonized, and I assumed she had whipped off her glasses and was punishing her eyes in a fit of frustration. “So vexing. April didn't know who it was. You'd think she'd have the sense to ask. She told me she got rattled. All she knew was that it was a woman.”

“A woman?” I echoed as Tom came back inside. “Who could that be? Somebody who knew Crystal in Oregon?”

“Possibly,” Vida said. “She must have had friends there. Al Driggers no doubt sent the obituary to the Oregon papers as he always does with people who've lived out of state.”

Tom was putting the wood into the bucket on the hearth. I started to smile at him, then noticed the grim expression on his face. “I'd better go, Vida,” I said hurriedly. “I'll see you in the morning.”

I turned to Tom, who was standing by the sofa.” What's wrong?” I asked as alarm rose up inside me.

Tom grimaced. “You're not going to like this.” He paused, then reached down to take my hand. “Somebody took a sledgehammer to your Jag. It's a mess.”

The freezing weather didn't bother me. I was too upset at the sight of my precious car. The roof was dented, the windows and headlights were broken, and the tires were slashed. There was other damage as well, but the rage in my soul prevented me from taking in the details.

I stomped back into the house and picked up the phone. “That does it! I'm calling Milo!”

I dialed the sheriff's home in Icicle Creek. He answered on the third ring. When I told him what had happened, he said he'd be right over.

“Do you think it's totaled?” I asked Tom after hanging up.

Tom shrugged. “I don't know. The hood—or bonnet, as you British car owners would say—is jammed. I can't look inside.”

“The body looks bad,” I mumbled, then flipped through my Rolodex to find the home phone number for Brendan Shaw, my insurance guru.

Fortunately, he was home. After commiserating with me, he expressed guarded optimism. “You'll have to get an estimate from Bert,” he said, referring to Bert Anderson, owner of the local body-and-chop shop. “Get it towed out there now before it starts snowing again. Gosh, Emma, I'm sorry. You've had some lousy luck lately. We missed you this morning at Mass.”

“I was in Leavenworth,” I said rather vaguely. As I knew it would, as I feared it would, the over-the-pass idyll now seemed as distant as last spring. Or did it? I had the memory, which made a difference. Which maybe, in some small way, reaffirmed me as a woman.

“Leavenworth, huh?” I could hear the smile in Brendan's voice. “Nice town, especially this time of year.” He paused, then became more businesslike. “The problem with the Jag, Emma, is that it's not exactly new. Ten, twelve years old?”

“Thirteen,” I said.

“Okay. Then we're talking about
Blue Book
value, which might not be enough to get it fixed. But talk to Bert, see what he has to say. And take it easy, will you? You've got your fans out here.”

I thanked Brendan with more warmth than I thought I could muster. As soon as I hung up, Milo arrived. He looked upset.

So was I. “Where was your deputy?” I asked, trying not to sound completely outraged.“I thought you were going to watch this place.”

“I was. I did.” Milo glared at me, then turned to Tom. “Come on, Cavanaugh, let's have a look.”

“Wait a minute,” I snapped. “It's
my
car. Where was your damned deputy?”

“On the job,” Milo snapped back. “Your little cabin isn't the only hot spot in the county.” He started for the back door, then turned to look at me again. “Where were you?”

“Leavenworth.” I bit off the word.

Milo didn't respond, but led the way outside. Doggedly, I followed the men, feeling like some woman in a third-world country bringing up the rear behind the tribal chieftains.

The wind was blowing from the south, whipping its way through the carport. I wished I'd grabbed a jacket. With my arms folded across my chest and my hands tucked up the sleeves of my sweater, I watched the two self-appointed experts study the Jag.

“It was done by something like a sledgehammer, all right,” Milo said after several minutes of silent scrutiny. “Maybe during the night. Some of the snow has blown into the dents. Even if my guys had driven past the house, they wouldn't have seen anything out of kilter unless
they'd caught whoever did it in the act. You didn't hear anything?”

“I told you, I wasn't here,” I replied.

“It's pretty bad,” Milo said in a tone that sounded a trifle too cheerful. “The front doors and the trunk won't open, and we can't look under the hood. Have you thought about a nice American car?”

Trying to keep my teeth from chattering, I turned my back and stomped into the kitchen, with Milo and Tom trailing behind me. “Have you thought about who's doing all this? Have you any suspects? Evidence?
Police work?”

Tom, who avoided looking at me, closed the door behind Milo. The sheriff pulled off his heavy gloves. “How many names can you give me?” he asked in a reasonable tone. “You know damned well who your critics are in this town.”

“You think it's one person or several?” I shot back. “Are they acting separately or is it some sort of conspiracy? Anyway, that's not the point. I want it to stop before I end up dead.”

“You're safe.” Milo glanced at Tom. “You've got protection. Round-the-clock, right?”

Even though I understood Milo's attitude, it was galling. If his wounds had begun to heal before Tom's arrival, they'd been reopened. That didn't surprise me. It was the depth of Milo's hurt that was disturbing. Had he really cared that much or was his masculine pride greater than I realized?

“Protection's not the point,” I said, trying to calm my temper. “I've suffered from cranks before this. It's part of the newspaper business, especially in a small town. But this is different. It seems more dangerous.” I turned to Tom. “Don't you agree?”

Tom didn't answer right away. “Maybe,” he finally allowed.
“But then I've had a newspaper burned right out from under me.”

I was startled. “You have?”

He nodded. “It was a few years ago, over in San Bernardino County. A couple of rednecks took exception to my editor's stand on immigrants.”

“I didn't know,” I said in a low voice. “Were you there?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Milo, who had been gazing somewhat longingly, if futilely, at the liquor cupboard, started for the living room. “Come down and fill out a complaint.”

“Can I do it tomorrow? I want to get the car towed to Bert's Auto Shop.”

“No, you don't,” Milo said as Tom and I joined him by the front door. “You want it towed to the parking area behind my office. If you're getting serious about this, we have to go by the book.”

Of course. “Do you expect to find anything?” I asked.

Milo shrugged. “Who knows? Too bad they didn't carve their initials into the roof.”

The sheriff left. Tom, who hadn't yet lighted the fire, picked up the matchbox and then set it back down on the mantel.

“Let's eat out,” he said. “You choose.”

My gaze remained on the mantel. Once again, I hadn't put up a Nativity piece. I hadn't been here to do it the previous night. “Okay,” I said, “but wait.”

I went to the box in the coat closet and got out the last sheep. “There,” I said, positioning the small figure next to one of his brethren. “How about the ski lodge?”

Tom was still looking at the stable and its growing number of residents. “Don't you pray when you put up something?”

I felt embarrassed. “Yes, usually. Something short, anyway.”

“Then let's.” He took my hand and bowed his head.

So did I. But all I could pray for was that the scuzzy bastards who had wrecked my car would run off the road and go over Deception Falls.

That didn't seem to fit the spirit of Advent, either.

V
IDA ARRIVED BEFORE
I did the next morning, breathing enthusiasm. “I've been thinking,” she said, blowing on her steaming mug of hot water, “we must speak to Victor again. I sense that he holds a key to this whole business with Crystal.”

“If we go,” I said, “we'll have to take your car. Mine's wrecked.”

“What?” she shrieked, almost spilling some of the hot water. “You wrecked your car? Were you
drinking?”

“Of course not,” I replied, sitting down in the extra chair next to her desk. “Somebody did it for me.”

I proceeded to tell her what had happened while Tom and I were in Leavenworth. It took a while, since she kept interrupting to ask me several nonpertinent questions, including if we'd spent the night, where we stayed, what I bought, and did I see anyone from Alpine which would make an item for “Scene Around Town.”

“Vida,” I finally said in exasperation, “let me finish. Please. Or are you going to include my getaway with Tom as grist for your gossip mill?”

“Hardly,” she retorted, looking askance. “Since when did I ever include love nests in ‘Scene'?”

“Love nest” wasn't quite the way I would put it, but I let the subject drop and Vida allowed me to continue. Leo, Scott, Ginny, and Kip had arrived by the time I got
to the climax. When I announced in somber tones that my poor old Jag was probably a car of the past, they all offered their sympathy.

“That was one sweet automobile,” Kip said in a mournful voice. “I'll bet there aren't more than half a dozen Jags in Sky County.”

“I saw a new one the other day gassing up at Cal's,” Scott put in. “It was black, beautiful. Will you get another one, Emma?”

I made a face. “It's not dead yet. I have to wait for Bert Anderson to decide.”

“Bert's nice,” Ginny said. “Isn't it true he lost an eye up on Tonga Ridge? I went through school with his daughter, Cammy.”

“Is Christine Anderson Bert's wife?” Leo asked. “She's the one who puts the Amway ad in the paper.”

“That's Carolyn Anderson,” Vida said. “Carolyn is married to Bert's brother, Ken. Ken sorts packages for UPS in the warehouse. He suffered a punctured lung working for Blackwell Timber.”

Leo looked puzzled. “I thought Ken Anderson worked for Sears.”

Vida shook her head. “That's Kent Andersen. With an
e.
He has two missing fingers on his left hand. Another logging accident.”

Scott was looking dazed. “I'll never figure out who's who in this town. Not to mention how many of these guys have lost body parts. Wouldn't you think they'd be glad not to have to risk their necks cutting timber?”