The Alpine Traitor (7 page)

“No,” Ed shot back. “I told you that. You think I offed the guy?”

“Of course not,” I replied. “You’d be killing the goose that laid the golden egg.”

“You got that right,” he muttered. “In fact,” he continued, “I’m going to drop off Shirley and the kids and go see Mrs. Platte. She’s at the ski lodge.”

“That’s not a good idea,” I informed him. “She’s not receiving.”

“Receiving what?” Ed demanded.

“Never mind,” I said. It was useless to argue. “Good luck.”

Ed finally sat up. I saw Shirley take a deep breath and try to offer me a smile before the Mercedes headed east on Tyee Street. There was still no sign of Vida, so I went home. I called Henry Bardeen at the ski lodge and asked if Graham Cavanaugh had checked in yet.

“No,” Henry replied. “His sister wasn’t sure of his arrival time.”

“That figures,” I murmured. “She struck me as rather vague.”

“Understandable,” Henry said.

“Yes. By the way,” I added, “Ed Bronsky is coming to see her. Brace yourself.”

“Oh, my!” Henry exclaimed. “Why?”

“The Plattes were buying Ed’s villa,” I replied. “Ed, of course, is hatching plots to unload the place.”

“That puts me in a bind,” Henry said. “Very awkward, being caught in the middle.”

“I don’t envy you. Maybe Kelsey won’t let Ed in.”

“You know how he…Well,” Henry amended, “Ed can be very determined.”

Not when he sold advertising for me,
I thought. “Good luck. Say,” I said, “would you ask Kelsey if she has a picture of her husband? I just realized we don’t have any photos for the newspaper.”

“Can that wait until tomorrow?” Henry inquired. “Heather will be here then. It’s my day off, you know. Maybe a woman’s touch would be better.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we should run a picture, even if it’s just one she carries in her wallet.”

“I’ll make a note,” Henry promised. “Ah! Here comes Ed.”

I thanked Henry and hung up. Feeling at loose ends, I opened my laptop and checked to see if Adam had sent me a new message. He hadn’t. I felt vaguely resentful about the way he’d responded Friday night. He certainly understood how upset I must be, given the painful memories that recent events had resurrected. After all, Kelsey and Graham were his blood siblings. The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became.

Of course I was also irked at Rolf, who should have been more sympathetic. He was in the news business, too, and ought to understand the demands of a breaking story. I’d expected—hoped, actually—he might call to apologize. But by four o’clock the phone had remained silent. I was beginning to get mad at the entire world, at least the half occupied by men.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I couldn’t bother Ben. He’d be on his way back to his temporary parish in Cleveland, where he was filling in for a priest who’d gone on sabbatical. I didn’t want to pester Milo. I wasn’t the designated reporter on the murder investigation. I shouldn’t bother Curtis. If he’d been working on Sunday, which I doubted, he would’ve brought me up to speed on any new developments. Or would he? I’d wait to find out in the morning.

Monday brought a drizzling rain to the mountain slopes of Alpine. I arrived at the office before anyone else except Kip, who was already finalizing his report on the new software we needed for the back shop.

“It’s going to cost around four hundred dollars,” he informed me. “Is that okay?”

“It has to be if we need it,” I said. “Go ahead.”

The rest of the staff—Ginny, Vida, Leo, and Curtis—trickled in.

“Where are the bakery goods?” Leo asked, looking a bit forlorn after pouring out a mug of coffee.

Vida turned her gaze to Curtis. “I believe it’s your day to go to the Upper Crust,” she said in a reproachful tone. “Did you forget?”

Curtis made a face. “Darned if I didn’t. Who wants what?”

Vida wasn’t letting him off the hook easily. “You know how we do it,” she asserted. “This will be your third trip since you started here. It’s your responsibility to determine which products look best on any given day. And never get doughnuts on a Monday. It’s likely that they’re left over from Saturday. The Upper Crust is closed on Sunday.”

“Wow,” Curtis said under his breath. “I never guessed I’d have to take a course in pastry before I went to work for a newspaper.” He sauntered out of the newsroom.

“Much too cheeky,” Vida remarked. “What’s wrong with young people these days?”

“Spoiled rotten,” Leo said, sitting down at his desk.

“Definitely,” Vida agreed as Leo lighted a cigarette. “But at least Curtis doesn’t smoke.”

“Oh, Duchess,” Leo lamented, “and just when I was beginning to think you liked me after all these years.”

Vida snorted before taking a sip of the hot water she drank at work instead of coffee.

I leaned against Curtis’s desk and told Vida and Leo about my Saturday visit to Kelsey Cavanaugh Platte. Leo was intrigued; Vida was outraged.

“You went without me?” she cried. “How could you?”

Leo ignored her comment. “Kelsey was still a teenager the last time I saw her. It was summertime. She and Graham were on a tour with their dad to visit his newspapers in Southern California. I wonder if she’d remember me. It’s a wonder I remember her—I was semidrunk at the time.”

“I assume she looks like her mother,” I said. “She does have her father’s blue eyes, but that’s it.”

“Graham doesn’t look much like Tom, either,” Leo noted. “In fact, Adam bears a closer resemblance to his father than Kelsey and Graham do.”

“Maybe,” I suggested, “you should be the one to talk to Graham. He was supposed to get here yesterday.”

“Wouldn’t that be stepping on Curtis’s toes?” Leo asked.

“I meant,” I said, trying to avoid Vida, who was now glaring at both Leo and me, “as an old friend of the family.”

“I was never that,” Leo pointed out. “I was an employee. I probably only saw the Cavanaugh kids two or three times in all the years I worked for Tom.”

“Still,” I began, “at least you have an entrée into—”

“Oh, bosh!” Vida exclaimed. “Either Curtis is covering this story or he isn’t. Of course it’s none of my business, but it makes good sense to give him his head, Emma.”

I looked at Vida. “Or enough rope to hang himself?”

She bristled. “Certainly not. You seem to have confidence in him, or you wouldn’t have assigned him the story in the first place.” Vida turned away, studying some photos she’d received from one of the food syndicates she used on her page.

Leo shot me a knowing glance. I shrugged and went into my cubbyhole. Half an hour later, when I went back into the newsroom to refill my coffee mug, I realized that Curtis hadn’t yet returned from his bakery run. Vida and Leo were both gone, off on their various rounds. I went into the front office to ask Ginny if she’d seen Curtis.

“Not since he left about eight-fifteen,” she answered in a doleful voice. She sat up straight in her chair and pressed a hand to her back. “I don’t remember hurting this much the other two times, at least not this early on.”

“Can you take anything for it?” I asked.

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You never know how pills can hurt the baby.”

I didn’t argue. A lot of things had changed in obstetrical practice since I’d had Adam, thirty-odd years earlier. I made no further comment on the subject. “Did Curtis say if he was going anywhere except to the bakery?”

“No.” Ginny shifted around in the chair and made some grunting noises. “Do you want him to see you when he gets back?”

“Yes. Please,” I added and went back to my office.

Kip had come into the newsroom from the back shop. “What happened to the bakery stuff?” he asked, sounding disappointed. “Is the Upper Crust closed today?”

“The runner du jour hasn’t run back with the goodies,” I replied. “Curtis forgot, and he hasn’t shown up since he went to the bakery. What do you make of him, Kip?”

“Too soon to tell,” Kip replied and grinned. “He makes me feel old, though.”

I smiled. Kip had started working for the paper in his early teens as a delivery boy. After he graduated from high school, he’d taken over the job of driving the weekly edition to the printer’s in Monroe. Later, when I finally decided to enter the late twentieth century, he’d had enough computer savvy to manage the whole operation on-site. Now in his thirties and married with two small children, Kip had proved himself a reliable and knowledgeable employee. Some time ago I’d told him that if I ever sold the paper, he’d be at the top of my list as a potential buyer. It suddenly dawned on me that he might have seen the Cavanaugh offer as a threat to his own future as well as to mine.

“I hope you didn’t spend the weekend worrying about the
Advocate
being sold,” I said. “As I told everybody last week, I’ve no intention of packing it in just yet. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Kip grew somber. “Thanks. But you know how it is these days,” he went on, stroking his neatly trimmed auburn goatee, a gesture that was a sign of anxiety. “These big whales swim around gobbling up all the little fish in the sea. They make offers that nobody can refuse.”

“I never even asked what the offer would be,” I assured him.

He nodded. “Maybe now it doesn’t matter. If this Dylan Platte was the main man, the rest of them may be scared off.”

I was slightly taken aback. “You think Dylan was murdered to prevent the acquisition of the paper?”

“Well…no,” he finally said. “But what happened to him might change their minds, especially since…” He sighed. “Alpine can’t have good memories for the Cavanaugh kids.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” I agreed.

“Sorry.” Kip looked embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t want to bring up what must be rough on you, too.”

“My hide’s thicker than it used to be,” I said grimly. I needed no external stimuli to remember how Tom had died at my feet.

Kip looked as if he’d like to believe me. “It still seems like a bummer that those Cavanaughs wanted to buy the
Advocate.
Do you know if they own any other papers in Washington?”

“Platte told me Alpine was going to be their foothold in this part of the world.”

Kip shrugged. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know exactly. It just…strikes me as…wrong.” Kip gave me an uncertain smile. “Hard to understand people sometimes, isn’t it?”

I laughed ruefully and shook my head. “You bet it is.”

“I know I’m a small town boy,” Kip said, “so I guess I don’t understand people wanting to get richer and richer. How many fancy cars and big houses and expensive clothes and Swiss watches does anybody really need? You can only drive one car at a time and wear one shirt. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I suppose,” I replied thoughtfully, “that it depends on how big the hole is inside the person. Everybody has one, and we tend to stuff it with whatever we think will fill it up—cars, houses, jewelry, food, booze, drugs, whatever. Of course it never works, because it’s a spiritual void.”

Kip looked at me as if he thought I, too, might be a little peculiar. “Oh—yeah, right,” he said. Like Milo, Kip dealt only with what he could see and hear and touch.

An hour later, Curtis finally showed up, clutching a pink bakery bag. “Better late than never,” he announced in the breezy manner that was beginning to irritate me. “I got it all—glazed doughnuts, cinnamon rolls, three kinds of Danish.”

Vida was still gone, but Leo had returned and Ginny was making more coffee.

“No elephant ears?” Ginny said in a disappointed voice. “I don’t know why, but I’ve had a craving for elephant ears this whole pregnancy.”

Curtis cocked his head to one side. “Maybe your kid’s going to be the size of an elephant. Better watch it. Doc Louie might need a crane to deliver him.”

“His name is
Dewey,
” Ginny snapped. “If you must know, I’m very careful about my diet. But sometimes I have these natural cravings, which must mean I’m lacking something in my regular foods.” Ginny did a fairly good imitation of flouncing from the newsroom without bothering to check out the baked goods.

“Touchy, touchy,” Curtis murmured. “Remind me never to get married.”

Leo chuckled. “Getting married isn’t the problem. Staying married is the hard part.”

Curtis had left the bakery bag on the table without putting the items on the tray. I quickly did the task for him, handed Leo a blackberry Danish, and grabbed a glazed doughnut for myself. “Come into my office,” I said to my new reporter.

“Sure.” He followed me into the cubbyhole. “What’s up?”

“That’s my question,” I said, sitting down at my desk. “What took you so long? Were you working on the Platte story?”

Curtis sprawled in one of my visitors’ chairs. “I decided I might as well check the police log while I was out. Nothing big. The usual weekend traffic stuff and a couple of minor accidents.”

“What about the homicide?”

“The sheriff was in a meeting,” Curtis replied. “Guess he has a staff get-together on Mondays.”

“That’s news to me,” I said. “Milo hates meetings.” I leaned closer and fixed my eyes on Curtis. “What the hell were you doing for the past hour and a half?”

He winced. “How can I put it?” He paused and stared off into space. “I was getting my bearings. Finding my groove. You know—trying to get a feel for this place. It’s pretty weird, this small town atmosphere. I need some time to make it real.”

“It
is
real,” I retorted. “Get a grip, Curtis. You’ve got a murder story to cover, and we’ve got a deadline tomorrow afternoon. Forget acclimating and do the job.”

Curtis looked offended. “That’s what I’m saying. I can’t do the job unless I feel as if I’m part of this town. It’s like…culture shock. A time warp. You know what I mean, like how in old movies everything looks grainy and not quite in focus. I have to adjust.”

It was useless to argue the obvious with him. “Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as aggravated as I felt, “how’s the story shaping up?”

Curtis held up his hands as if he were measuring something. “A stranger comes to town. Wise in the ways of the big city’s mean streets. But he’s out of his element. The forest, the mountains, the rivers—to him they seem menacing. But he has a goal, a plan, an offer to make that can’t be refused. And then Fate steps—”