The Alpine Uproar (30 page)

I went out to pour my coffee and snatch one of the Italian slippers before they all disappeared. Mitch was making chattering-teeth noises and holding on to himself as if to keep warm. “There’s a cold front around here this morning,” he said quietly.

Kip grabbed a doughnut and shook his head. “Weird.”

“Unacceptable,” Vida murmured.

“Maybe she needs a friend,” Leo said softly. “I’ll volunteer.”

I gave him a quizzical look. “You sure?”

He shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

I nodded. “Then do it. I thought anything would be an improvement over Ginny’s constant complaints, but the current atmosphere around here is throwing me off-balance.”

“You’re not alone,” Mitch said in a low voice. “Ginny’s gripes were legit and we could laugh about them.” He gestured toward the front office. “That one’s getting disruptive.”

“Agreed,” I said before taking my mug and pastry into the cubbyhole.

I dialed Marisa’s number. Judi Hinshaw put me through. Compared with my still-befogged state, Marisa sounded aggravatingly fresh and alert. “An advice column.” She laughed. “Frankly, I marvel that Vida didn’t do one years ago. I’ve never
known anyone to hand out advice so freely, even when it’s unasked for. Of course I haven’t experienced it much firsthand, but Judi has talked about her aunt’s … readiness to counsel anyone, solicited or otherwise.”

“So how do we keep from getting sued?”

“That’s not a problem,” she assured me. “If people write in asking for advice, they accept responsibility for getting it. As long as Vida doesn’t overstep the bounds of anonymity or suggest something illegal, you’re off the hook. Of course people will talk, guess, surmise, and wonder, but that can’t be helped. The person seeking help must realize that in a sense, they’re already violating their own privacy, whether or not they sign their real names. I’m anxious to see how this turns out.”

“I’m just anxious,” I admitted. “Okay, I can green-light her, right?”

Marisa laughed again. “How can you stop her? I mean, you
could
, but you’d probably need some counseling yourself after Vida reacted.”

“Too true.” I paused, forcing myself to keep from mentioning the Hansons’ row. Marisa was too sharp not to realize that I was trying to get her to unload on me about Amanda, her alleged client. I thanked her and rang off. A moment later I got a call from Marje Blatt.

“Doc wants to know how you’re feeling,” she said in her brisk tone.

“Better,” I replied, “though I didn’t sleep well. I’m still hurting.”

“Do you need to continue the Demerol for another day?”

“Yes. It’s our deadline, so I have to muster all my strength.”

“I’ll let Doc know,” Marje said. “His first patient just arrived.”

“He’s off to an early start,” I remarked.

“This visit isn’t on the regular schedule. I’ll call you later.”

Two minutes after I’d disconnected the call, Vida stomped into my cubbyhole. “We still don’t have a more recent picture of Mike O’Toole. I just called Betsy at the Grocery Basket—I didn’t want to bother Buzzy and Laura—and I talked to Jake. Naturally, being a man, he had no idea where to find a photo of Mike. I’ll have to wait until Betsy gets back from her doctor’s appointment.”

“Betsy?” I stared at Vida, trying not to become distracted by her big black hat with its cluster of white and gray pigeons circling the crown. “That’s odd. I wonder if she’s Doc’s unscheduled patient.”

Vida leaned on my desk. I half expected the pigeons to fly off her hat and attack me. “What do you mean?”

I explained about Marje’s call. “Of all the O’Tooles, Betsy is the last one I’d expect to fall apart.”

“You don’t know that she did,” Vida pointed out. “She may have hurt herself or she’s coming down with something and doesn’t want it to get out of hand before the funeral Thursday.”

“That could be,” I allowed grudgingly.

Vida sensed I was troubled. “Well?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Something’s not right about … I’m not even sure
what
it’s about. I don’t suppose Marje would know why Betsy showed up on the clinic doorstep this morning?”

Vida put a finger to her cheek. “She would if it was strictly a medical problem. Marje isn’t supposed to divulge information, but …”

“But her aunt is so gracious about visiting hospitalized friends and sending get-well cards and mentioning their names in ‘Scene.’”

“Alpiners’ health is a concern for everyone.” Vida looked
almost as if she believed what she was saying. To be fair, she was right. “I suppose,” she added in a musing tone, “I could ask Marje about Betsy so that I’d be able to allude to the O’Toole tragedy in ‘Scene’ in a tasteful way that would rally support for their loss. It’d actually be doing the family a favor, wouldn’t it? Such a sad time for the O’Tooles.”

“That’s very kind,” I said with a straight face. I wondered if the pigeons might start to weep. “By the way, Marisa says you can go ahead and do an advice column. If you want to mention it tomorrow on your program that’s fine, but let’s get something in the
Advocate
first. Have you talked to Spencer Fleet-wood about it?”

“No,” Vida replied, her face brightening. “I won’t until just before airtime. The paper will have been out for several hours by then.”

“Good.”

Vida returned to her desk. I leaned to one side, wondering if she’d picked up the phone to quiz Marje. Instead, she was facing her computer and pounding away on the keys. She’d probably wait until after Betsy left to make the call.

I took a last look at my editorial on the perils of Highway 2 and the state’s wishy-washy efforts to stop the carnage. While I rarely concerned myself with how much space my copy took up, the piece was only two columns by five inches. I had room for a second, though related, two hundred words on why we needed more doctors in SkyCo.

An hour later, I’d finished proofing Mitch’s copy on De Muth’s murder, Mike’s fatal crash with quotes from Milo about Highway 2’s lethal record, and a summary of issues facing the next county commissioners’ meeting Thursday night. Mitch’s articles didn’t need much editing. It was a relief to have a pro as our general reporter. He had tried and failed to get a
description of the young man Harvey Adcock had seen with De Muth at the hardware store. Harvey might know all about nuts and bolts, but when it came to people, he was vague. The sketch I’d considered running wasn’t doable.

A little after ten, Vida came back into my office. “I haven’t heard back from Betsy yet, and I have to see Donna Wickstrom to take pictures of her art gallery renovation. She’s having an open house Friday night. If Betsy calls, would you ask her if someone could drop Mike’s photo off here or call the gallery so I can pick it up on my way back to the office?”

I promised I would. “Can you,” I inquired, bracing myself for what I presumed would be a small outrage from Vida, “let Amanda know that if Betsy phones, she should let me take the call?”

Vida pursed her lips. “Oh … very well,” she murmured, “if I must, I must.” She and her pigeons flew out of my cubbyhole.

When my phone rang twenty minutes later, it was Betsy. Apparently Amanda had acquiesced to Vida’s request. “Emma,” Betsy said, sounding frazzled, “I’m so sorry it took so long to get back to you and Vida. I forgot to bring Mike’s photo to work. It’s been just an awful morning, between funeral arrangements, trying to get Buzzy to focus on the job, comforting Laura, and … never mind. If I get it to you this afternoon, is that soon enough? Kenny can drop it off.”

“That sounds fine,” I assured her. “As long as we have it no later than three or four o’clock. How recent is it?”

“It was taken last Christmas,” Betsy replied. “Mike was our Erica’s date for the high school winter ball. Her boyfriend got mumps and had to cancel, so Mike filled in.” She laughed softly. “He told Erica that if she weren’t his cousin, he’d be glad to be her escort anytime. We all thought that was … so … sweet.” Her voice caught on the last few words.

I grimaced. “Hang in there, Betsy. You’re tough. You’re strong. The rest of the family really needs you.”

“Ohh …” I heard her take a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m the one who holds up the tent pole. Today started out on a horrific … skip it, here’s the fish guy. He can’t find Jake.” She rang off.

Wishing I could help Betsy, I put the phone down. I was taking my coffee mug out into the newsroom to get a refill when Ginny cruised in pushing a baby stroller. “Where is everybody?” she asked as I came out to greet her. “I wanted to show off Brandon, but my fill-in didn’t seem interested. Isn’t that Amanda Hanson?”

“It is.” I bent down to look at the sleeping infant. “Oh, he’s cute!” Vida’s unflattering description had led me to believe otherwise, but of course she’d seen the baby only hours after he was born.

“You think so?” Ginny smiled faintly. “I never think they’re all that cute at first. Maybe girl babies are cuter. I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re keeping him anyway?” I said, admiring the little pink face, the swath of fair hair under the yellow knit cap, and the tiny fingers.

“Oh, yes!” Her smile widened. “He’s actually a good baby. Is Kip in the back shop?”

“He usually is. Everybody else is out just now. They’ll be sorry to have missed you. Especially Vida.”

“She’s offered to bring us a casserole for dinner tonight, but I told her to wait until later in the week,” Ginny said. “Her cooking isn’t very appealing.” She grimaced. “It was kind of her though. I’d better catch Kip before he disappears, too.” She pushed the stroller toward the back shop. “Thanks so much for the outfits. They’re really nice.”

“You’re more than welcome.” I moved closer and lowered my voice. “We’ll be glad to have you back on the job.”

“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised. “I was kind of awful before Brandon came along.”

“Understandable,” I said, and gave her a quick hug.

I was about to pour more coffee when I heard someone yelling in the front office. The shrill sound came from a woman and sounded familiar, but it wasn’t Vida or Amanda. I set the mug down on Mitch’s desk and hurried to the reception area.

Patti Marsh leaned over the counter, screaming at Amanda, who was cowering behind her chair. Patti’s fingers were curled into claws as if she intended to go for the other woman’s throat.

“Hey!” I shouted, stretching out an arm to prevent Patti from trying to get at Amanda. “What’s all this?”

Patti stepped back a few paces, switching her angry eyes from Amanda to me. “I didn’t know you hired whores,” she screeched. “Look at her! She thinks she’s such a hottie, but she’s just another tramp.”

“You ought to know,” Amanda snarled, keeping her voice down. “You’re not just a tart, but an
old
tart. You’re pathetic.” With one last withering look, she came out from behind the counter and walked purposefully down the hall to the back shop.

“Go ahead,” Patti yelled, “you can run, but you can’t hide!”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, Patti, what’s going on with you two?”

Patti slumped against the counter. “Amanda’s a real nasty piece of work.” Her lower lip trembled as she struggled for composure. “I’m no angel, but …” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, what the hell—maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m not just an old tart, but an old fool.”

Despite my prickly relationship with Patti over the years, this wasn’t the first time I’d felt sorry for her. She’d had plenty of bumps in the road, too. Subtlety was pointless. “Is she carrying on with Jack?”

Taking a Kleenex out of her corduroy jacket, Patti nodded. “She wants to marry him. Can you beat that?”

“Ah—no.” I paused while Patti used the tissue to dab at her eyes. “Jack’s a bit …” I stopped, trying to be tactful. “He’s several years older,” I finally said, unable to come up with a more flattering word.

Patti nodded. “He’s sixty, she’s not yet forty. Or so she claims.” Her face looked unusually haggard. Maybe, I realized, it was because Patti’s only makeup was a haphazard smear of pink lipstick. “Why Jack? Why not some other woman’s man?”

It was a valid question, though I could understand his attraction for women. Age hadn’t erased all of his appeal. Jack was good looking in a dark, saturnine kind of way; he was shrewd, even smart, having steered his mill through precarious times; he had money; and he was single. With two failed marriages behind him, I figured Jack wouldn’t want to strike out with a third try. He preferred to go down swinging—and had found a patsy in Patti. The live-in arrangement suited him fine.

I asked the obvious, if touchy, question. “How does Jack feel about Amanda?”

Patti made a disgusted noise. “She’s fairly young, fairly good looking, and more than fairly easy. Last night I caught him with her at the house. Jack thought I wouldn’t get back from Snohomish until later in the evening, but I didn’t feel so good. Oh, shit!” She slammed her fist on the counter. “You can tell Amanda that if she wants Jack, she can have him. I’m outta here.”

I watched Patti stalk out through the front door. The phone on Amanda’s desk rang, so I took the call.

“Emma?”

“Janet?”

“Yes. Why are you answering the phone?” Janet Driggers asked.

“Our receptionist has stepped away. What’s up?”

“I was calling Vida,” Janet replied. “I’m working at the funeral home today instead of at the travel agency. Is Vida around?”

“No. Can I take a message?”

“Sure. Alvin De Muth has left the building. The SnoCo ME sent the final autopsy results late yesterday, and the body was claimed last night. De Muth’s on his way to … someplace. Where’d I put that form?”

“Whoa! Who claimed him?”

“Just a sec … Here it is.” Janet cleared her throat. “His wife. You know, it’s one thing to want a guy’s body while he’s still alive, but why bother when he’s dead? Unless, of course, you’re into that sort of—”

“Janet,” I all but shouted, “stop! Are you telling me that De Muth was married?”

She laughed in her throaty manner. “I guess I am. Apparently, they were estranged. Or maybe just strange. Her name is Lorna Irene De Muth and she’s from the Denver area. Al did the paperwork.
My
Al, that is. The other Al’s handwriting is worse. He’s a bit stiff these days.”