The Alpine Uproar (7 page)

“Amanda Hanson,” Stella responded. “She plans to work for the post office again when the holiday rush starts, so the timing’s right. Shall I mention it to her?”

I hesitated. “Is she reliable?”

“As far as I know. She’s done some other part-time work and I don’t recall any complaints. You know I’d hear if there were any in this town. Shoot, you’d hear, too.”

I nodded. It was a mistake. Stella’s scissors slipped, cutting off an extra half-inch. “Sorry,” I apologized, reverting to meek Emma, Hair Care Dunce.

“Never mind,” Stella said. “I might as well even it up. Knowing you, it’ll be another three weeks before you get a real cut. Say, wasn’t Amanda at the tavern the other night?”

“Yes,” I said. “She and Walt were among the bystanders.”

Stella’s mirror image grinned. “Aha! My appointment with her should be interesting. An eyewitness report.”

I grimaced. “I hope it’s better than the one we got from Marlowe Whipp this morning.”

“Marlowe!” Stella chuckled. “He’s an odd duck, always bragging about women flirting with him, including Amanda when she worked at the post office. When he brought our mail Friday,” she continued, surveying her handiwork, “he insisted Janie Engelman was always giving him the eye.”

“Janie Engelman?” I said. “You mean Janie Borg?”

Stella mussed up my bangs to get a better perspective. “Oh,
right. I keep forgetting that she remarried after the divorce from Fred. In any event, it seemed unlikely that Janie made a play for Marlowe.” She snipped off a few stray strands. “So Monday I asked him if the tavern disaster put a damper on Janie’s ardor. He acted as if he didn’t know what I was talking about.”

I watched myself frown. “Why? What did the brawl have to do with Marlowe and Janie?”

Stella shrugged. “As I said, Marlowe’s an odd duck. I figure his fantasies were dashed by grim reality. Sometimes people actually believe their own make-believe. And then the real world wakes them up.” She undid the smock and whisked me off with a soft brush. “There. You can now see, though the rest of it still looks pretty scary.”

As I rose from the chair, I saw Amanda Hanson coming through the door. “Maybe,” I said, lowering my voice, “you could ask Ms. Hanson if she’d be interested in working for us. I’m kind of desperate.”

Stella tossed the smock into a bin. “Do you want to ask her?”

I hesitated. “I suppose I should. She’d think it odd if I left without saying anything and then you asked if she wanted to work for me.”

“Go for it,” Stella said. She turned around to greet Amanda.

Even though the bangs trim was free, I took a ten-dollar bill out of my purse and joined Stella by the front desk. “Say,” she said to Amanda, as if the idea was spontaneous, “do you know Emma Lord?”

Amanda’s brown eyes studied me briefly as I put the ten in the tip jar. “The newspaper, right?” Amanda said.

Stella nodded. “Emma has a question for you. I’ll go get a smock.”

Amanda suddenly looked on her guard. “What?” she asked.

“Our office manager, Ginny Erlandson, is having a baby,” I said. “She wasn’t due until next week, and I’ve put off hiring a temp. I understand you plan on going back to the post office for the holiday rush. Would you be interested in helping us during the interim?”

“Maybe.” Amanda seemed relieved. Maybe she thought I intended to grill her about the ICT tragedy. “How long is Ginny going to be gone?”

“Six weeks,” I replied. “I hope the timing would work for you.”

“What’s the salary?”

“Sixteen fifty an hour.”

“Benefits?”

“SkyCo medical and Washington State dental, half paid by the paper, half by the employee. A 401(k) plan that I also match. However,” I went on quickly, “I wouldn’t be able to do any of that on a temporary basis. I assume you have coverage through your husband’s job with the department of fisheries.”

“True.” Amanda’s gaze moved away from me and toward Stella who, I assumed, was tactfully taking extra time to set up. “I’ll think about it. Today’s Thursday. I’ll try to get back to you tomorrow.”

“Good. Thanks.” I waved at Stella and left. Sensing a lack of interest on Amanda’s part, I wondered if she’d even bother to call to turn down my offer.

I was wrong. Less than twenty minutes after I got back to the office, Amanda phoned to say she was ready to go to work immediately. I was surprised, but told her I’d see her at eight the following morning. I assumed she needed the money.

I was wrong about that, too. What Amanda wanted was something I could never give her.

K
IP FOUND
G
INNY’S SPARE SHOES BEHIND THE WASTEBASKET
by the file cabinet. He volunteered to drop them off on his lunch hour. “Looking for her sneakers reminded me I was supposed to take Chili’s shoes to Amer Wasco for new soles,” he explained. His wife’s name wasn’t actually Chili, but she’d been called that since childhood. Kip was reluctant to say why, but I gathered it was a reference to some kind of embarrassing mishap involving an overdose of chili peppers. “I keep forgetting and have to put her off. The hospital’s only a block away so I might as well stop by the cobbler shop. Any news on Gin?”

“No.” It was a little after eleven. “We should hear soon, though.”

Kip returned to the back shop just as Mitch Laskey entered the newsroom. Vida looked up from her keyboard.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well what?” Mitch asked in his typical affable manner.

“What did you find out from the sheriff this morning?”

I was standing just outside my office. Mitch glanced at me.
“I believe Sheriff Dodge is hung over this morning. He wouldn’t come out of his office. Jack Mullins did some wink-wink stuff about his boss being under the weather.”

Vida, who had removed the bothersome hat with its dangling black balls, arched both eyebrows. “Really. That isn’t typical, Mitch, in case you were wondering.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, going to his desk, “I
was
wondering. Dodge strikes me as a guy who keeps a pretty tight rein on himself.”

“He is,” I said, feeling a need to defend Milo despite my surprise. I’d never seen the sheriff drunk. “Jack Mullins better keep his big mouth shut. We don’t need rumors about Milo getting blotto in the middle of a murder case or at any other time.”

Mitch looked sheepish. “Sorry. Don’t worry, I won’t tell any tales. I still have to adjust to small-town mentality.”

“You will,” Vida said, making it sound like a command. “Milo has his faults, but drinking to excess isn’t one of them. Emma knows that better than anyone.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that remark, but let it pass. Still, I wondered why the sheriff had apparently ended up with a hangover. Was he having such a wonderful time with Delphine? Or did he overindulge to put up with her company? Surely I wasn’t jealous. For years I’d hoped he’d find the right woman so I could stop feeling guilty when I rejected his sexual overtures.

Vida turned in my direction. “You did say that Delphine Corson wanted to speak privately with Milo, didn’t you?” She saw me nod. “It’s foolish for him to socialize with a witness in a murder investigation. If, in fact, that’s what he did.”

“Delphine was trying to bribe him with a free dinner,” I said as Leo Walsh entered the newsroom.

“Him who?” Leo asked, stopping in front of Vida’s desk.

“The sheriff,” Vida replied.

“Hunh.” Leo shook his head and chuckled. “She never tried to bribe me with much of anything during our brief whatever-you-want-to-call-it. I always had to pick up the tab.” He went over to his desk and sat down. “Hey, Emma, we’re going Dutch tonight. Understood?”

I smiled and nodded. “It’s a business expense.”

“Hold it!” Mitch said as he finished pouring himself more coffee. “Delphine Corson, local florist, romantically involved with … the Toyota guy?” He saw Vida nod confirmation. “What’s her problem?”

For once, I beat Vida to the answer. “She doesn’t want the public to know she set foot inside the ICT That’s despite the fact that everybody already knows because that’s how it is in a small town.”

Mitch nodded. “So there’s another reason for cozying up to Dodge.”

I hadn’t thought of that, having ascribed her motive to personal embarrassment that might temporarily harm her business. “Such as?”

“I don’t know,” Mitch admitted, sitting down at his desk. “Shall I talk to her? I can play the dim-witted-new-man-in-town card.”

“Yes,” I said. “How many witnesses have you talked to so far?”

“Among the customers, only the hulking Peabody brothers,” Mitch replied. “Neither of them had much to say.”

“What about the Canbys and Norene Anderson, the waitress?”

“Julie Canby heard the rumpus, but she was closing the kitchen,” Mitch said, checking the text he’d entered into his
computer. “She figured the noise was the usual Saturday-night rough stuff. Hannibal could’ve driven his elephants through the tavern, and she wouldn’t care unless they interfered with her bagging the evening’s glass breakage.”

I’d walked over to Mitch’s desk. “So she saw nothing?”

“Not until the place suddenly went quiet after De Muth hit the deck. That,” Mitch added with a wry little smile, “made her think something was wrong. Then there were some screams and shouts. She arrived on the scene just as everybody was wondering why De Muth wasn’t getting up. Julie realized he was dead.”

Vida was listening intently. Maybe Leo was, too, though he seemed engrossed in his computer screen. “What about Spike?” I asked.

“Spike’s upset, as you know from his tirade about the ad.” Mitch glanced at Leo. “You talked to Spike since?”

“Huh?” My ad manager looked up from his monitor. “No. Julie’s dreaming up some user-friendly words for the ad. Taking out more space won’t cost much, but maybe she’s figuring out how many people can read agate-size type and save the Canbys twenty bucks a week.”

Mitch nodded. “That sounds like Spike. Anyway, he insists he tried to break up the fight, but Bert and Norene Anderson were in his way and suddenly De Muth hit the deck. Apparently Norene had just served Delphine and Mr. Toyota—Gus, right?—and was talking to somebody before she went back to the bar.” Mitch grimaced. “I’ve covered plenty of brawl-related stories. They’re hard to sort out, especially when liquor’s involved, because it fogs up both the brain and the memory.”

I nodded. “Oh, yes. That’s why we have to be so careful about what we put in the paper.” I looked at Leo. “What was it Spike told you about Julie feeling sorry for De Muth?”

Leo frowned. “She has sympathy for loners like him, even though Spike thought De Muth was an ornery cuss.”

Vida turned back to Mitch. “Anyone else?”

“The Andersons.” He glanced at his screen. “Bert owns the body and chop shop, so he probably knew both Berentsen and De Muth pretty well since all of their own jobs are truck-related.”

“And?” Vida urged.

Mitch sighed. “Norene didn’t say much. Somebody said she’d been stung by a wasp or a bee. I figured her for the gabby type. What little she added was vague. She didn’t see the blow that struck De Muth.” He glanced from Vida to Leo to me. “Well?”

I shrugged. Leo nodded. Vida, naturally, spoke up: “I haven’t seen much of her recently, but she was a talkative child. My Meg was in school with her. Norene was a mediocre student, but very outgoing.”

Mitch smiled. “Waitresses and barmaids often are. People-oriented, if they’re any good at what they do.”

I thought of the surly Liz at the Burger Barn. Given Mitch’s criterion, she was in the wrong job. “What about Bert?” I asked.

“He seemed upset, too,” Mitch said. “He liked De Muth, though he allowed that he was moody and would provoke arguments sometimes just for the sake of arguing. Still, they were both regulars at the ICT and usually got along. They had business dealings, too. De Muth sometimes worked on trucks and other vehicles that needed bodywork or were beyond repair. He’d turn the wrecks over to Bert for demolition.”

Vida shuddered. “I’m so glad Bert finally put up that big fence around the wrecking yard on the other side of the railroad tracks. Until then, the property was a terrible eyesore.”

“Vida,” Mitch said in his droll manner, “do yourself a favor and don’t visit Detroit. If you want to ogle vehicle wreckage, including on the city streets, that’s your destination. I haven’t seen Bert’s pile of junk, but it has to look like the Garden of Eden by comparison.”

Vida sat up straight. “I’d never dream of going to Detroit. I’m not much of a traveler. If you’ve lived your entire life in Alpine as I have, there’s very little in the rest of the world to match its scenic beauty.”

“This is beautiful country, all right,” Mitch agreed. “My wife and I are anxious to see more of it.”

Leo couldn’t resist needling my House & Home editor. “Wait until the low-hanging gray rain clouds lift,” he said to Mitch. “It usually happens at least one more time in October before the long wait till May. Oh, and by the way, if you get homesick for Detroit, take a drive out on the Burl Creek Road. A lot of the folks who live there decorate their gardens with rusted-out DeSotos, F-Series Ford pickups circa 1958, and the much rarer remnants of a Model A chassis.”

Vida glared at Leo. “That is so unfair! Granted, some people don’t enjoy gardening and tend to be slothful by nature. But I would hardly compare Alpine to Detroit. Parts of your old stomping ground in Los Angeles might be a more apt analogy.”

“True enough, Duchess,” Leo admitted with his off-center grin. “On the other hand, Alpine doesn’t have Beverly Hills or Bel Air.”

Before Vida could respond, her phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring. “Vida Runkel here,” she said in her usual brisk manner. “Slow down, please,” she urged after a pause. “I can’t understand you.”

Leo, Mitch, and I remained silent, watching Vida, who was now holding up one finger to signal she was receiving news of
interest to the rest of us. “That’s wonderful, Rick,” she said at last. “Tell Ginny the main thing is that the baby is healthy. Besides, he’ll have hand-me-downs from his two brothers.”

“Another boy,” I murmured. “Let’s hope Ginny stops griping about that by the time she comes back to work.”