The Alpine Uproar (17 page)

Rolf ignored the comment. “You have a valid passport from your trip to Rome with your priestly brother a few years ago. I hate to tell you this, but Paris and France have survived about a trillion tragic love stories. Yours would fit right in. And you might actually like it here.”

“No, thanks.” I noticed that Vida still seemed caught up in the orange flyer. “You may not believe this, but it’s true. I’m breaking in a new reporter and covering yet another homicide.”

Rolf sighed heavily. “That’s what you were doing three, four months ago. You’re in a rut. Get out of it.”

“Please. Don’t badger me.”

“Okay. But promise you’ll think about it.”

“I … Oh, damn, I won’t be able not to. But that doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind. What,” I began hurriedly to prevent Rolf’s ongoing argument, “are you going to do while you’re in France?”

“I’m going to write a book.”

“What about?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. But what am I supposed to do while your literary juices are flowing freely?”

“Pose for the nude illustrations I’m considering?”

“Stop being a jackass.”

“Start thinking about Paris.
Au revoir.”

Rolf ended the call.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was too much on my plate already—a homicide case, a sense of unease hovering over my staff, the conversion to an online edition, and two expensive Dungeness crabs in the fridge. I didn’t need or want any further distractions.

So of course I thought about Paris.

V
IDA, OF COURSE, GAVE ME NO OPPORTUNITY TO TRY TO
forget about Paris—or Rolf. “What,” she asked entering my office some five minutes later, “was that all about? I couldn’t help overhearing, but you seemed upset. Surely it’s not connected to the Icicle Creek Tavern disaster? Or was it Milo who disturbed you?”

“Milo’s the one who’s disturbed,” I replied. Vida was all ears when I related Tricia’s imminent arrival in Alpine and Tanya’s wedding plans.

“I hope Milo’s daughter has made a good choice,” Vida said skeptically. She’d sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs and was frowning. “Goodness, I haven’t seen his children in ages! I might not even recognize them. Do you suppose we’ll be invited to the wedding?”

“You might be,” I said. “I won’t. I never met those kids or Tricia.”

“That’s so. They left Alpine before you arrived.” Vida looked at me with her owlish expression. “Then you’re not upset?”

I figured I might as well give in, since Vida never backed off in her quest for knowledge. “It was Rolf Fisher, calling from
Paris.” I made short work of that recital. “I’m not going. I think I’ve gotten Rolf out of my system.”

Vida nodded. “That’s probably wise. I’m told that France has its charm,” she continued, picking up steam, “but so many people from Alpine who’ve visited there complain that the French are snobbish and refuse to speak English even when it’s obvious that they know the language. Jean and Lloyd Campbell enjoyed their tour of the chateau country last year, but they certainly wouldn’t want to live there. And such gruesome stories they heard about some of those places! Jean could barely talk about the poisonings and murders and other kinds of violence. It’s very expensive, too, especially in Paris. I remember how Darla Puckett was utterly put off when she spent two weeks in France a few years ago. Everything was so
old
, and much of it needed repair.”

I kept a straight face. “I think the French do a pretty good job of maintaining their historical sites. The country
is
much older than ours.”

Vida bristled slightly. “We’ve kept the original mill in excellent condition as our history museum. Oh, I’ll admit, most of the houses built for the workers and their families had to be replaced or renovated, but you can’t say we’ve let things go around here.”

It was unwise to make further comparisons between Alpine and Paris. “Do you want to eat crab for dinner?”

“Crab? But isn’t … oh, Milo can’t come. No, but thank you.” Her gaze darted around my cubbyhole. “Buck and I have plans.”

As she spoke, Leo had come into the newsroom and was tiptoeing toward us, a finger of warning at his lips. He was about to pounce on Vida when she whirled around in the chair. “Leo! What are you doing?”

“My God,” he exclaimed, grinning. “You really do have eyes in the back of your head!”

“Certainly not. What a ridiculous idea. However, I
do
have
very keen hearing,” she continued as Leo leaned against the empty chair. “I could hear you breathing. All those filthy cigarettes make you wheeze.”

Leo feigned indignation. “They do not. I have allergies. Ms. Hanson is wearing a very heady perfume.”

“Yes,” Vida agreed. “It’s not cheap, either. Jasmine-based, perhaps.”

“I should have a chat with her before we close up,” I said. “I’ve been neglectful.”

Leo shrugged. “According to Kip, Amanda seems to be doing okay. She doesn’t need a lot of direction.”

Vida twirled one of her plump gray curls. “Hmm. Initiative. I wouldn’t have thought that. I really can’t believe I misjudged her. I pictured her as flighty. Still, I resent her rather officious attitude.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, my! It’s almost four-thirty! I’m leaving a bit early. It might be wise to talk to Billy at the sheriff’s office.”

Leo and I watched Vida hurry out of my office. “Something’s up,” he murmured.

“Why do you say that?”

Leo waited while Vida turned off her computer, gathered up her belongings, and made her exit. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Vida can’t help horning in on a juicy story, but she’s usually coy about it. An accidental meeting with Bill Blatt or one of her ‘I-just-happened-to-run-into’ tales. I don’t play detective, but why do I think she was blatant about talking to her nephew? It’s got to be a cover-up for something else that’s going on under those goofy hats of hers.”

“You may be right,” I said. “Would she be paying a visit to Clive? She hardly knows him.”

Leo chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her. If he isn’t one of her bosom bodies, this is her big chance to get to know him better. He can’t escape from jail.”

“Let’s hope she hasn’t baked him a cake. The file inside would be easier to eat than the rest of it.”

Leo obligingly chuckled again before heading back to his desk. Five minutes later, I went out to the front office, wearing my empathetic boss’s face. It never fooled any of my regulars, but Amanda Hanson didn’t know me very well.

“How was your first day?” I asked, quickly adding, “I thought it best to let you ease into the job without me looking over your shoulder.”

Amanda put aside the classified ad form she’d been studying. “Thanks. It’s been fine. Much less pressure than the post office during the holiday rush.”

I caught a whiff of her perfume. It probably was a jasmine scent. “Did Kip tell you about the morning bakery run?”

“Yes.” Amanda smiled, a facile expression that matched my own ersatz empathy. “My first morning is Tuesday.”

I leaned on the counter. “Any problems or questions?”

She looked thoughtful. “Not offhand. I assume Monday will be busier than today was.”

“True. The closer we get to deadline, the more action. No crank calls, I take it?”

“No.”

“They usually come in Wednesdays after the paper hits the street and the boxes. Say,” I said, as though I’d just thought of it, “I meant to ask if you’d recovered from the incident at the ICT Saturday.”

Amanda wrinkled her pug nose. “Recovered?”

“Yes. It must’ve been traumatic.”

“It was stupid. Walt and I hardly ever go there. The tavern’s a dump.”

“It’s better now than it was before the Canbys bought it.”

“I never saw it back then. I’m glad I missed it.”

“How come you were there Saturday?”

Amanda yawned. Maybe I was putting her to sleep. “We’d gone to see
Closer
at the Whistling Marmot,” she said after twisting this way and that in her chair. “I guess it was okay, but we got out before nine-thirty and didn’t feel like going home. On a whim we decided to check out the Icicle Creek Tavern. That was a big mistake.”

“Because of the brawl?”

I saw a fleeting, almost mischievous expression on Amanda’s face before she shrugged. “The brawl, the other customers, the food, the whole sleazy mess.” She made a face. “Walt and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

I hesitated, recalling Marlowe Whipp’s different account of the Hansons’ behavior. He’d told us that not only had the couple played pool, but Amanda had been flirtatious and Walt had used strong-arm tactics to get her to leave. “How come you didn’t take off sooner? You might’ve avoided the rough stuff.”

“We were hungry.” Amanda’s face was impassive. “We’d skipped dinner and got some popcorn and Cokes before the movie started. As long as we were at the tavern, we figured we might as well eat. It took forever to get served. I think both the waitress and the cook spent half their time outside smoking.”

“Norene and Julie?”

Amanda frowned. “I guess that’s who they are. The cook’s married to Spike, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. The waitress, Norene, is Bert Anderson’s wife.”

“Slow as mold. And Julie’s not much of a cook.”

“She does a nice job with onion rings,” I remarked. “I’m sorry you had such a miserable time. Was the fight as bad as it sounded?”

“If somebody ends up dead, I suppose it was.” Amanda seemed unmoved. “I didn’t see much of what was going on. Norene had finally brought our food. We ate as much of it as we could and were about to take off when that De Muth guy fell down.”

“So you didn’t see the fight?”

“Not really.”

“But you stayed on afterward.”

“Like we had a choice? Spike told everybody to stay put.” Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “Are you working for the sheriff? Walt and I already told him or one of the deputies what we saw—or didn’t see.”

I tried to look sympathetic. “One of the things that we’re responsible for at the
Advocate
is making sure we check the facts of any articles we run. This particular story is complicated. I’m having a hard time getting everything straight. And no, I don’t work for the sheriff—I work for our readers, who want to find out exactly what happened. That takes checking and rechecking.” I’d managed to keep my voice pleasant. “I’m confused because I understood you and Walt were playing pool when the fight occurred.”

Amanda’s gaze shifted to the front door. “Not really. We were just standing by the pool table. Here comes a visitor.” She put on her frozen smile.

To my chagrin, our former ad manager, Ed Bronsky, waddled in. “Aha!” he cried, beaming at me. “Caught you before closing time!” His grin faded as he saw Amanda. “Whoa! Where’s Ginny?”

“She had her baby yesterday,” I replied. “Do you know Amanda Hanson?”

Frowning, Ed approached the counter. “Yes.” He nodded, his triple chins jiggling as he held up a hand. “Let me think—
I never forget a face. You’re … something to do with Santa Claus …”

Amanda didn’t bother to hide her impatience. “Last December at the post office. You were sending back a too-small Santa suit the day after Christmas. You wanted a return receipt to make sure the item had been delivered so that you could get a refund because there was a big rip in the pants.”

Ed looked indignant. “There was. The suit was damaged goods.”

Amanda shrugged. “Maybe. But you refused to pay the first-class postage that’s required to get the return receipt. You got very angry with me. I had to ask my supervisor, Roy Ever-son, to take over.”

“Roy got it sorted out,” Ed murmured. “I didn’t understand all those rules and regulations. They’re pretty darned confusing.”

During this exchange, I tried to figure out how to escape from Ed, but his bulk blocked the exit to the front door. I knew he’d follow me if I went into my office to collect my belongings. I was stuck, so I bit the bullet, asking if he needed help.

“No,” Ed replied, turning away from Amanda’s obvious hostility. “In fact, I’m the one who can help you.”

I was skeptical. “How?”

“Let’s talk.” He grunted slightly as he made a little bow. “After you, Madam Editor and Publisher.”

I trudged back to my cubbyhole but didn’t sit down. Leo wasn’t at his desk so I assumed he was in the back shop with Kip. “It’s ten to five. What are we going to talk about?” I asked, turning off my computer.

Ed looked somewhat longingly at my visitors’ chairs, but remained standing. “I hear the paper’s going online. I can help you with that. It’s not as easy as Kip thinks.”

“Kip is very sharp,” I said. “He’s been one step ahead of everybody around here when it comes to computers. I have implicit faith in him.”

Ed chuckled. “Oh, sure, all the techno stuff is his ticket. I’m not talking about that. I mean input.”

“What kind of input?”

“Look.” Ed grabbed a yellow legal pad on my desk and turned it sideways so we both could see whatever he was about to put down. “You’re not talking once a week any more, this new deal is twenty-four seven, with updates almost every hour. Sure, it won’t attract a lot of local folks in the middle of the night, but what about subscribers living in other parts of the country or Europe, Asia, or Africa?”

“We don’t have any subscribers in Asia or Africa,” I pointed out. “We have two or three in Europe, but they spend only part of the year there. Even when they’re abroad they don’t seem to mind waiting to get the paper by mail.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ed murmured, writing some numbers on the pad. “Let’s say every two hours for updating. Breaking news, weather, sports scores from the college on down to Little League, even some of Vida’s gossipy stuff,” he jabbered on, drawing a circle—a
big
circle—that I assumed indicated himself. “I’d be the point man, tracking every possible angle and lead.” Ed added an arrow and a square—presumably the
Advocate
office. “All I’d have to do is sit at my computer and post every new development almost as it happens.”

Yes
, I thought,
Ed sitting
. He’d never have to move his double-wide butt from his double-wide mobile home. Why hadn’t I seen this coming?