The Alpine Legacy (36 page)

“So Paula was secretly in love with you?” Vida said as I handed her a mug of tea.

I slumped into my chair. “How'd you guess?”

“I'm just putting it all together,” she said in an amazingly matter-of-fact voice. “Why else would Paula try to set you up as the killer? Goodness, it's a wonder she wasn't after Marisa Foxx, too. But then we don't know about Marisa, do we?”

I had to admit that the thought had crossed my mind. Maybe Crystal had been attracted to Marisa. Maybe Marisa had rejected
her.
Hell, for all I knew, Marisa was in love with Milo. I've learned not to make hasty judgments about people, having been wrong so often.

“Anyway,” I went on, “here's how I figured it. Paula showed up at Crystal's around seven. She helped Crystal make the rum punch. That's when she slipped my sleeping pills into the mix. She came back later, to make sure Crystal was dead. As an afterthought, she slashed Crystal's wrists with a razor she'd found in her own house when she first moved in. She admitted that, and I realized that Victor had said nothing about seeing Crystal's wrists cut. Also, Paula had to remove the love letters she'd written to Crystal. She took a chance, but figured that no one would show up so late, unless it was Aaron, and he'd be stoned anyway.”

Vida was silent for a few moments. “I can't believe Paula actually confessed.”

“She was drunk,” I said, but was unwilling to admit that I was, too.

“Still…” Vida drew circles on my vinyl table covering. “I suppose it was rather brave of her. To be so honest, I mean. Though suicide is a cowardly act.”

“Paula couldn't face the humiliation, not to mention the ultimate rejection by the people, which translates as the law,” I said. “But she did have courage. It's one of the things I admired about her. She and Crystal had that much in common.”

“My, my.” Vida looked unusually thoughtful. “Love
is
strange, isn't it?”

“It crosses all boundaries,” I said, “and makes human beings do foolish things, regardless of race, religion, or sexual preference. We all operate from the same well-spring of human emotions. The heart is a very delicate thing.”

“Perhaps it does rule us,” Vida murmured. “After Ernest died, I used to think my head ruled me. But…” Her voice trailed off.

My eyes widened as I leaned across the table. “Vida, are you and Buck… serious?”

Vida reeled in the chair. “Goodness! You smell like a distillery! Have you been drinking, too?”

“A little,” I admitted. “Now tell me about—”

“There's nothing to tell. Yet.” She gave me her owlish expression.

I assumed that if Vida and Buck Bardeen, her companion of the past few years, had an announcement to make, I'd be the first to know. Thus, I let the subject drop.

“So Nat and Aaron and even Dean Ramsey and the Eriks clan were not involved,” she mused. “I wonder what Aaron will do now.”

“My guess is that he'll sell the cabin,” I said, pouring more tea. “The real-estate market's good right now, and it'd still make an excellent summer or winter vacation home.”

“Yes,” Vida agreed. “Though it would be nice to think that Aaron wouldn't fritter away the money on drugs and such.”

“Who knows?” I replied. “Aaron needs to get his head straightened out. Having his estranged wife get murdered might have done that, but so far, I don't see any signs of it happening.”

“Was it Paula who was at the cabin this morning?” Vida asked, adding ample amounts of sugar and milk to her tea.

“I don't think so,” I said. “She seemed genuinely surprised when I mentioned that Aaron had called the sheriff.”

“Hmm.” Again, Vida grew silent. “I wonder.”

“What?”

She gave herself a shake. “Nothing. It's late, I'm rather tired, and my mind is wandering.”

“Mine wandered in the right direction, for once,” I
said. “Looking back, there were so many hints about Crystal's state of mind, and Paula's, too. When I went to the glass exhibit at the college, Paula had a piece—a wonderful, luminous glass panel—that depicted Hera, queen of the Greek gods and goddesses. If I remember correctly from my college mythology class, Hera was famous for being jealous. She held a grudge and could be cruelly vindictive. In some vague way, I wondered why Paula was drawn to the subject. Now I think I know.”

“Stained glass,” Vida remarked. “Whatever is the point, except in churches? You can't really see through it, so why bother?”

I ignored the comment, and continued. “Then there were the men in Crystal's life. They spoke of her as if she'd cut them off in more ways than one. She hadn't bothered to divorce Aaron. I considered the friendship between Crystal and Paula as odd, it struck a false note.” After the funeral, it wasn't Victor whom Aaron was yelling at—it was Paula, who was next to him. In some weird way, Aaron may have blamed Paula for Crystal's anti-man stance. I grimaced. “I feel really awful about Paula. I liked her a lot. Maybe I've regained my reputation, but I've lost a friend.”

Vida had finished her tea and was standing up. She patted my shoulder.” You still have me. “She gave me another pat. “And I don't find you the least bit attractive.”

That weekend, the fourth and last Sunday in Advent, Ben called to say that he and Adam wouldn't arrive until Christmas Eve day. It seemed that my brother had talked to Tom, who had had to revise his schedule because of Kelsey's near miscarriage. He couldn't get together with Ben and Adam until the twenty-third.

I had cussed and ranted when Ben relayed the news.
“Though hundreds of miles away,” I raged, “Tom has still managed to screw up my holidays. This is about the worst Advent ever.”

“Hey,” my brother said, “at least you give a damn about the reason for the season. Hang in there, Adam and I are bringing a boxload of cheap gifts and some of the best tequila you ever poured down your throat through a funnel.”

“I hate tequila,” I retorted, then wished I'd kept my mouth shut. “Okay, okay,” I grumbled, “but you know you'll get to Alpine really late. Your flight will be delayed in San Francisco, the airport will be jammed in Seattle, you'll have to wait forever to get a rental car, and then we'll have another blizzard up here and they'll close Highway 2.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ben said in his most aggravatingly cheerful voice. “Got to go. It's seventy-eight degrees in Tuba City, and time for my dip in the pool.”

There was no pool at Ben's rectory, but I didn't doubt that it was seventy-eight degrees. I would have hated that. Heat and sun aren't my style, especially at Christmas.

Which reminded me, I was once again behind in putting up my Advent figures. I took the last two Wise Men out of the carton in the closet and set them up on the mantel. Then I tried to pray, but my thoughts kept straying to Paula. I prayed for her, for Crystal, too, but my heart was still heavy, my soul a wasteland.

I was right about my brother and son's trip from San Francisco. Adam called three times on the twenty-fourth, first to say that they were fogged in. Then he phoned from Sea-Tac, telling me that the baggage machinery had malfunctioned and they'd be late leaving the airport. The third and last call had come from Monroe at seven
P.M.
Ben and Adam were starving, so they'd stopped for something
to eat. They hoped to arrive by nine. Naturally, around eight o'clock, it started to snow.

Half an hour later I was covering the potato-roll dough, made from a recipe that had been passed down through four generations of Alpiners by the Clemans family. As I placed the bowl in the refrigerator, I heard someone at the door. Through the peephole, I could see a woman I didn't recognize. She had something in her arms.

Cautiously, I opened the door. “Yes?”

A girl in her twenties stood on the porch with a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. Her face, which was red from the cold, looked pinched, and snow-covered wisps of blonde hair stuck out through the crocheted scarf she had tied around her head.

“Are you Ms. Lord?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

“Yes,” I said. “I'm Emma Lord.”

“Could I come in, just for a minute?” She was shivering, and held the baby so close to her chest that I was afraid she might smother it.

“Sure,” I said, stepping aside. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“I didn't give it,” she replied, breathing heavily and examining the baby. “Poor Danny. He keeps throwing off his little mittens.”

“Sit down. Please.” I ushered her and the baby to the sofa. Concern as well as a sense of wariness overcame me. Was this some kind of scam?
While pitiful mother and tiny child distract homeowner, male accomplice steals everything not bolted down.
I could see the headlines in next week's
Advocate.
“Now tell me your name,” I said, sounding rather stern.

The young mother removed the heavy diaper bag from her shoulder. “I'm Amber Ramsey,” she said. “Does that mean anything to you?”

* * *

At first, it didn't. Then I thought of Dean Ramsey and Crystal and the daughter who had run away. “Good Lord,” I whispered.

“I thought my dad would be here,” she said, ignoring my shocked expression. “I mean, here in Alpine. But they told me at the sheriff's office that he'd gone back to Oregon to spend Christmas with his new family. I'd tried to get hold of him before, a week or so ago, after I heard my mom had been killed. Dad was out on a job, so I didn't see or talk to him, but I found out that my mom had lived in a cabin down the road. I went there and I saw my stepdad through the window. I didn't want anything to do with him. He's a creep.”

So that was who had been at Crystal's cabin the morning that Aaron had called the sheriff. “Is it because of Aaron that you ran away?” I asked, still shaken by Amber's arrival.

She nodded. “He kept coming on to me. I couldn't tell my mother. They were having problems even then. I was ashamed to go to my dad. He was doing real good with his new wife and kids. So I just kept going. That was six years ago.” Her shoulders sagged under the worn car coat, and her weary expression seemed to hold every mile and every day that she had been on the run.

“Are you married?” I asked as Rheims and Rouen padded into the living room and began sniffing Amber's boots.

Amber shook her head. “I got raped.” Her eyes avoided mine. “In Vegas.”

“I'm so sorry.” I put out a hand to touch her sleeve. “How old is the baby?”

“Danny?” She brightened, and I could see that she was probably pretty when she wasn't half-frozen and near exhaustion. “Five weeks. Isn't he precious?”

He was. Now that the hood of his bunting had slipped
off, I could see blond hair, soft as duck down. He yawned and made tiny fists.

“How come you came to see me?” I asked, discouraging Rheims and Rouen from jumping onto the sofa.

Again, Amber avoided my gaze. “My car broke down. Nobody can fix it until after Christmas. When I went to ask the sheriff's office about who had killed my mom and where my dad was, they told me to talk to you. I walked up here. I didn't realize these hills are so steep.”

“Let me get you something to eat,” I said. “Do you have formula for the baby, or are you nursing?”

“I'm nursing,” she responded. “It's cheaper.” Now she did look at me, and there was a faint spark of irony in her blue eyes.

I smiled. “What would you like? I have ham, cheese, cookies—tons of stuff.”

“Um…” She unzipped her car coat and started unbuttoning her flannel shirt. “Anything, I guess. I don't suppose I could stay here tonight? The motels are all full with visitors and skiers, and anyway, I'm kind of running out of money….”

My face fell. “Oh, Amber, I'm so sorry. My brother and my son are due any minute. I only have two bedrooms. I'm afraid we're full up, too.”

“Oh.” She turned away, then put the baby to her breast. “That's okay. We can sleep in the car.”

“But the car's all the way down Alpine Way, isn't it?” I'd stood up, on my way to the kitchen.

“It's at that Texaco station,” she said, her face fixed on little Danny.

I shifted from one foot to the other. Then my eyes drifted to the mantel. I made a face. In the rush to get the presents wrapped and the cookies baked and the house decorated, I'd neglected to add the last two figures to the Nativity scene. Mary and Baby Jesus.

I took a step toward Amber. “You can stay here,” I said, and was surprised to find that my voice was trembling with emotion. “Take my room. Please.”

Amber looked up. “Oh, no. I couldn't do that.”

“Yes, you could.” I glanced at the mantel again. “You have to. For me.”

“What?”

“Come on, say you'll stay. Please.”

Amber looked faintly bewildered, but she finally nodded. “Okay. But I hate to be a bother.”

I shook my head. “You're no bother. In fact,” I added with a wry little smile, “you might say you're my salvation.”

I gave the mantel a final look before heading for the kitchen.

My Nativity set was complete.