The Alpine Xanadu (20 page)

“I don’t know,” I said, adding dressing to my salad. “It might be the one test Roger could pass. How come you’re stuck with the job?”

“Esther Brant’s a control freak. She likes to remind us little people how much clout she has. An officer of the court should do this, but we don’t have enough staff. When there’s a custody battle, we turn it over to the state. I’m hoping it won’t come to that. This could get ugly, though.”

I paused before taking a bite of roll. “What do you mean?”

Rosemary leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You know that Holly Gross is a piece of work. More to the point, if the Hibberts and Vida are trying to keep her from getting her hands on Diddy—especially if Roger has no proof that he’s the father—they
could be subject to criminal charges. You wouldn’t want to see Vida in jail, would you?”

Driving back to the
Advocate
office, I wondered what next could happen to my staff. I had visions of Amanda giving premature birth in the office, Kip becoming so absorbed in his high-tech world that he became catatonic, and Leo draining a fifth of Scotch before my very eyes.

But all seemed calm when I returned. Both men were sane and sober, while Amanda was quite chipper and still pregnant. I did ask if there was any word from Vida. There wasn’t, but Amanda told me that Mitch had gone to see Dr. Farrell at RestHaven. “He’s so gloomy,” she said. “It’s his wife, isn’t it? I heard him on the phone when I put a couple of engagement announcements on your desk. They were in Vida’s mail.”

I made short work of the engagements, which involved two couples I’d never heard of, though both would-be grooms attended Skykomish Community College. My phone rang just after I sent them to Kip.

“Why,” my own fiancé groaned, “didn’t I become a game warden like I wanted to do as a kid?”

“I never knew you had a yen for that,” I said. “Are you considering a midlife career change?”

“I’m too damned old. Laskey’s not in, so I’ll give you the latest pain in the ass. Jack Blackwell just reported Tiffany Eriks Rafferty as missing. She’s been gone since Sunday.”

I was nonplussed. “Where’s her kid?”

“Not with Jack or Cookie, so I guess the kid’s with her. She took all her clothes and some of the kid’s stuff, along with Jack’s Range Rover. Cookie’s hysterical. I can’t get a coherent sentence out of her.”

“Good grief! Is Jack upset or mad?”

“Except for threatening to run me out of town if I don’t find her by sunset, he’s being his usual asshole self. Do you want to send Mitch to get the APB or should I have Lori drop it off?”

I paused. “I’ll send Mitch, but I warn you, he’s not in a good mood.”

“Who is?” On that sour note, the sheriff rang off.

For the next hour I scrambled around, checking with Kip to make sure we had Vida’s page ready, taking a last look at my editorial, and proofing the cut lines in the special section. I finally read the brief Lord-Dodge engagement announcement. It was the last of four, which perhaps was due to Vida’s current opinion of Milo and me. At least she didn’t refer to us as ninnies.

By three, Mitch had handed in the rest of his items, including Tiffany’s APB and Wayne’s obit. “I didn’t know he had a son who died.”

“The Eriks family has had their share of tragedies. Most people do before it’s time to write their obits.”

Mitch looked chastened. “He must’ve been young. How did he die?”

“A rafting accident on the Snake River. He was with two other teens who survived.”

“Not foul play?”

The question surprised me, even if I’d thought of it myself. “I guess not. I didn’t know about it until after I moved here.”

Mitch shook his head. “I covered boating accidents not only on the lakes, but on the Detroit River. It’s actually a strait. For years it was so polluted that you expected to see almost anything floating in it, including a body. A few were dead before they hit the water. Talk about filth.”

The reference to filth reminded me of the follow-up on Edna Mae’s rumor. “Did you ask Karl Freeman about porn at the high school?”

Mitch looked pained. “He fobbed me off, saying it was a matter of student privacy. Given that the majority of kids aren’t yet eighteen, he couldn’t discuss it.”

“So there
is
a problem,” I said.

“That’s my guess. Have you got any spies on the faculty?”

I shook my head. “I play bridge with Molly Freeman, Coach Ridley’s wife, Dixie, and Linda Grant, but they’ve never joined my fan club.”

“When do you play bridge again?”

“Not for a couple of weeks.” An idea landed on my brain. “I have one ally in the group, Janet Driggers. Maybe I’ll get her to broach the subject. She’s a gamer with a bawdy mouth.”

Mitch nodded once and made his exit.

Shortly after four I called Vida, but she didn’t pick up. I dialed Amy’s number next—with the same futile result. I was about to bite the bullet and call Buck when I heard raised voices in the front office. I went through the empty newsroom to find Holly Gross shaking her fist at Amanda. To my office manager’s credit, she didn’t flinch. “Go ahead,” Amanda said. “I’m not lying. Ask the boss.”

Holly whirled around so fast that she knocked a paper cup off the counter. Luckily, it was empty. “You better come clean, Emma Lord. If you don’t, there’ll be all hell to pay for everybody who works here!”

I studied Holly with an appraising eye. If she’d acquired any prison pallor while being locked up, it didn’t show under the heavy layer of makeup. As I recalled, her skin was naturally pale. The dishwater-blond hair trailed over her narrow shoulders, and her pewter-gray eyes seemed sharper than when I’d seen her in October at the Icicle Creek Tavern.

“What do you want?” I asked calmly.

“That old bat of a Runkel woman. Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just tried to call her, but she isn’t home.”

“Bullshit,” Holly snapped. “If
you
don’t know, who does?”

“Good question,” I said, still calm. “Why don’t you call her daughter, Amy Hibbert?”

“I’ve already been there,” Holly replied, losing a bit of steam. “Nobody’s home. I can’t get Rog, either.”

I’d never heard anyone call Roger “Rog” before. At first I thought she said “Raj” and was referring to somebody from India. “He might be working at RestHaven,” I suggested.

Holly scowled. “What’s RestHaven?”

“The rehab facility on River Road. Don’t you remember that they were remodeling the Bronsky place before you went … out of town?”

“Who gives a shit?” Holly retorted. “I want my Dippy.”

“ ‘Dippy’?” I echoed. “I thought his name was Diddy.”

“It’s Dippy, for Leonardo DiCaprio. Get it?”

I shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to wait until the Hibberts or Mrs. Runkel gets home.”

Holly fumbled with the long silver chain that dangled over her tight black V-neck top. “They won’t get away with it,” she finally said. “I’m going to see the sheriff.”

Before I could say anything, she hurtled through the door.

“Wow,” Amanda murmured, “am I glad Walt and I didn’t do something rash and take in one of her kids.”

I picked up the paper cup and tossed it in the wastebasket. “I’d better warn Milo,” I said, heading back to my office.

The sheriff answered on the second ring. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, obviously having seen my number on the caller ID.

“Never mind. Holly Gross is on her way to see you. She can’t find any of the Runkel gang.”

“Shit!” Milo was silent for so long that I wondered if he’d gotten up and made for the rear exit. “Okay,” he finally said in a tired voice. “I take it you don’t know where Vida is?”

“She’s not answering either of her phones. No response at the Hibberts’ house. Ted’s in Olympia. Holly came here and pitched a five-star fit.”

“I’ll let Doe handle it. She’s good at that sort of thing. She can play good cop and bad cop all at once when she’s dealing with women.” He paused. “How about fried chicken? You haven’t made that for a while.”

“How about you picking some up at the Grocery Basket’s deli? I’ve got a paper to put out.” For once I hung up on the sheriff.

I followed through on my call to Buck Bardeen. “Well,” he said, chuckling, “if you’re asking about Vida’s whereabouts, I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He chuckled again, a deep, rich sound. “Now Emma, do you expect me to keep track of Vida’s every move? She’s always on the go. I can’t keep up with her sometimes. I suppose that’s part of her many charms.”

I wasn’t in the mood to contemplate any of Vida’s charms, but I suspected that the colonel was stonewalling me. “Okay, I guess I’ll just have to wait for her to show up.” I also figured that Buck either didn’t know her whereabouts or, being an honorable military man, didn’t want to know. “Thanks, Buck,” I said, and rang off.

It was going on five. I went into the back shop to check on Kip’s progress. So far everything was going smoothly.

“Are we expecting late-breaking news?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. Did you put Tiffany’s APB on our website?”

Kip nodded. “That’s really weird. If she’s taken off, she’ll miss her dad’s burial service. I mean, she showed up at old Mrs. Rafferty’s funeral but won’t be here for her own father’s?”

I hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe she’ll be back by then. Tiffany’s in your peer group. Do you know of any close friends she might be staying with?”

“She was a year ahead of me in high school,” Kip replied, looking thoughtful. “I can’t think of anybody. She was the kind of girl who was always with a group of kids. You know—at school, the mall, wherever. The only guy she went steady with was Tim, and that was after graduation. Wouldn’t her mom know?”

“Milo says Cookie’s reverted to type and is a mess.” I shrugged. “It’s not up to us to find her. We’ve got enough trouble tracking down Vida.”

I started to head out of the back shop, but Kip stopped me by asking what had caused the ruckus in the front office. I explained it was Holly Gross, trying to find Vida or any of the Hibberts.

Kip frowned. “I guess Holly was born to make trouble.”

I nodded. “She already has.” I didn’t need to add that I suspected there was more on the way.

S
HORTLY AFTER FIVE
, K
IP AND
I
WERE THE ONLY ONES LEFT IN
the office. He was still in the back shop, where he’d spend the evening finishing his part of the job. Unless he ran into problems or there was late-breaking news, my on-site responsibilities were complete. But I would stay by the phone until he put the paper to bed around eleven.

I was gathering up my belongings when Jennifer Hood stepped into the newsroom. “Ms. Lord?” she called, seeing me standing by my desk. “Have you got a minute?”

“Sure,” I said. “Come in. And please call me Emma.”

She gave me a tentative smile as I offered her a visitor’s chair. “I’m not sure I should be doing this,” she said. “I feel awkward, but I need your advice. I know we just met, but you seem very levelheaded.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to hide my surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Jennifer brushed at her curly auburn hair. “I had the radio on when I left work just now. The news on the local station mentioned that a woman from Alpine was reported missing. Tiffany something. I didn’t catch the full name. Do you know about this?”

I nodded. “Yes. She’s the daughter of the PUD man who was killed near RestHaven last week.”

Jennifer gasped. “No! Really?”

“I’m afraid so.” Briefly I explained Tiffany’s background, including Tim Rafferty’s tragic death. I kept my tone neutral, the same way I reported straight news in the
Advocate
.

“That poor woman must be half crazed,” Jennifer said. “No wonder she came to RestHaven this afternoon.”

I couldn’t conceal my shock. “You mean she asked for help?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer admitted. “She went to see Kay Burns. I assumed at the time that she had some sort of P.R. business. But I saw her go into Kay’s office and overheard just enough before the door was closed to know who she was. Of course she fit the description on the news except for the hair color, and Kay called her by name.”

My brain was going around in circles. Kay, who had been married to Jack Blackwell. Tiffany, who had moved in with him. Was that all they had in common? I certainly didn’t know. And why wasn’t Tiffany spotted in town? “What color was Tiffany’s hair?” I asked.

“Black.”

“Tiffany’s fair-haired,” I said. “She must be wearing a wig, or perhaps she dyed her hair. You have to report this to the sheriff. Shall I call for you?”

Jennifer seemed conflicted, fingering the edge of my desk as if she were playing the piano. “Will it get her in trouble?”

“She may be in trouble already.” I picked up the phone. “I have to do this, but if you want to remain anonymous, that’s fine.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t give my name,” she said. “It
is
a new job. I don’t want to jeopardize my position.”

To my relief, Milo answered. “Don’t nag,” he barked. “I’m going to the damned deli as soon as I finish up here.”

“Never mind that,” I said, hoping Jennifer couldn’t hear him. “I’ve got a Tiffany sighting from this afternoon at RestHaven.”

“No shit. This better not be Averill Fairbanks seeing her land a spaceship in the Italian garden. Is that where Ed ate spaghetti?”

“No,
Sheriff
,” I said, hoping he’d catch on that I wasn’t free to tell him to shut the hell up.

“Where and when?” Milo asked, now very much the lawman.

I scribbled “What time?” on a piece of paper and pushed it at my visitor, then said into the phone, “In one of the RestHaven offices.”

Jennifer wrote down “3:15.” I scrawled another note: “ID Kay?”

I gave Milo the time, but Jennifer was shaking her head. The sheriff didn’t like vague answers. “Whose office?” he asked sharply.

“I can’t say,” I said.

“You will,” Milo said, sounding more like his old laconic self. “I gather the person who reported this is with you now.”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a gun to your head?”

“No, of course not.”

“I’ll grill you at home. If I don’t see you in half an hour, I’ll put out an APB on
you
.” He hung up on me. Again.