The Alpine Xanadu (23 page)

“That doesn’t speak well for me.”

“You’re hardly ever around, you jerk. But Tanya can’t live with us. It’d be too crowded while we’re doing the remodel.”

“She can’t stay at Dodge’s house alone?”

“She tried to kill herself rather than leave him. That’s a bad sign.”

“Attention getter, maybe. I thought she worked for the Mariners.”

“It’s the Seahawks.”

“Working for either of those teams might bring on deep depression. Anybody tried to jump off the roof of Safeco or Qwest Fields?”

“You have to buy a ticket to do that. There’s a waiting list for
distraught fans. I suppose she’s still on leave. It’s not as if there are a lot of jobs around here for somebody with a college degree.”

“Dodge bitches he’s short-handed. Why not put her to work?”

That wasn’t Ben’s dumbest idea. “She still has to live someplace.”

“Work it out. I’ve got a dozen people to herd back to the mission church outside of Pascagoula. Some of them don’t have homes, either.”

Ben did have a way of putting things in perspective.

By the time I’d finished a phone call from Fuzzy Baugh thanking me for my “discreet yet provocative” editorial about changing public opinion, Vida was ready for lunch. “We’ll find a cozy booth to chat,” she said, leading the way into a mere drizzle. “I was peckish the other day—so much to do in the house and garden this time of year.”

I didn’t believe her, but murmured agreement as we covered the short distance to the Venison Inn. Vida’s idea of a cozy booth was a street view so she could watch the passing parade. We’d arrived early enough that the restaurant was only a quarter full. Predictably, her opening query was about Tricia.

“So sad,” she declared when I finished my recital. “She was quite good-looking when she married Milo. Leggy, with a decent figure and nice skin. But living in suburbs like Bellevue, you can’t walk anywhere—you must drive. And all those traffic fumes—that would ruin anyone’s looks. Not to mention your disposition. No wonder Tricia’s marriages failed.”

“She was still in Alpine when she left Milo,” I pointed out.

“But she never belonged here, being from Sultan. It’s not the same. Oh!” Vida leaned to her right. “Here comes my niece Nicole. How nice.”

“Hi, Aunt Vida,” Nicole said, beaming. “I haven’t seen you lately.” She realized I was also present. “Hi, Ms. Lord. Have you two decided?”

Vida grimaced. “We haven’t seen the menu. What’s the special?”

“Pork sandwich with mashed potatoes, gravy, and herb stuffing.” Nicole’s dark eyes twinkled. “Not exactly seasonable, but it’s hearty.”

“Hearty …” Vida mulled briefly. “Yes, I skimped on breakfast. Now I can do the same with dinner. Does it come with a salad?”

“It can,” Nicole said.

“Fine, dear. That’s what I’ll have. Oh—a glass of ice water, please.”

“Got it.” Nicole turned to me. “The same?”

“No. I’ll have the clam chowder, a small salad with Roquefort dressing, and a Pepsi.”

Nicole departed. “Such a nice girl,” Vida murmured. “She’s taking morning classes at the college. She wants to be a journalist, like her aunt. Isn’t that flattering?”

“With Carla the Typo Queen as her advisor?” I said, referring to my former reporter.

“Of course,” Vida said. “Carla
is
the student newspaper advisor.”

“True.” I recalled the last edition I’d seen with a headline I wanted to forget: “Coach Loses Balls in Gym Food.” It had taken three paragraphs to explain that there had been a leak in the sports complex’s pipes. I changed the subject. “What did you do yesterday?”

“Amy and I drove up to Bellingham to visit Meg. We hadn’t seen her since Christmas. She’s suffering from empty-nest syndrome with their children temporarily off on their own. Charles is so busy with his city job in human resources. Too many evening meetings.”

“Has Meg ever worked?”

“Off and on,” Vida said, “but she volunteers quite a bit.”

Nicole delivered our beverages. “Mr. Walsh and Mr. Laskey just came in,” she said. “Are they joining you?”

“No,” I said a bit too quickly. “I mean, they’re discussing business.”

She looked down the aisle. “I guess they’re discussing it in the bar. There they go.”

“It’s quieter in there,” I murmured.

“What’s that all about?” Vida asked after Nicole went on her way.

I didn’t answer directly. “Are you still mad at Milo?”

Vida frowned. “What has that got to do with Mitch and Leo?”

“Mitch doesn’t like Milo. It goes back to when Troy escaped.”

“Oh, yes. The pneumonia episode. Very unreasonable of Mitch. Of course you’d expect that from someone who lived in Detroit.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” I said.

“What question? Oh—here comes Nicole.” Vida paused as her niece delivered our orders. “My, that looks lovely, dear. But they skimped a bit on the gravy, don’t you think? Of course I am trying to lose a few pounds. My Valentine chocolates were just too tempting.”

Nicole smiled conspiratorially. “From the colonel?”

“Well, yes. He’s a very thoughtful gentleman. Is there some extra dressing for the salad?”

“I’ll get more, and extra gravy, too,” Nicole replied. “Be right back.”

“Such a sweet girl,” Vida said. “Is there any news about Wayne’s death? There was no funeral date given in the obit. Who wrote it?”

“Mitch, via Cookie,” I said. “We were pushed for time. Milo asked SnoCo for a second autopsy. The services are private and graveside.”

Vida looked askance. “That’s very peculiar. Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know private services are rare in Alpine,” Vida declared. “In our close-knit community, grief should be shared. What’s wrong with Cookie? Did she finally collapse?”

“Yes, but she made the decision before Tiffany disappeared.”

Vida munched on salad. “Billy went to the ski lodge after Tiffany had been seen there.”

Nicole showed up with two small boats—one of gravy, the other of ranch salad dressing. “Is that okay?” she asked.

Vida studied the items. “Yes, quite ample. Thank you.” As Nicole departed, her aunt slathered her plate with most of the gravy. “Tiffany’s antics have upset the Parkers. I never understood why Cookie is so spineless. Her older sister is the opposite. Cookie was the baby. Maybe they spoiled …” Vida stopped, staring at her plate. “Oh, I see—there’s more stuffing between the pork layers. I wondered.”

I sensed that what she really saw was an image of Roger. “I wish you weren’t mad at Milo,” I said after tasting my chowder and finding it a bit watery. “You make it very awkward for me.”

“Why? You weren’t part of how he handled the trailer park case.”

“Milo did what he had to do. If he hadn’t considered your feelings, he might not have let Roger off so easily. Your grandson could be in jail.”

Vida glared at me. “Nonsense! Roger had valuable knowledge about the drug ring. In a way, it’s almost as if he’d been working under cover.”

I know when to hold and when to fold. Vida might believe Roger
had
been working under cover. But the only cover he’d been under was on Holly Gross’s bed. “Want to do a piece on Clarence Munn?”

I seemed to have surprised Vida. She relaxed and speared a slice of pork before answering. “I plan to visit him, even if he’s a bit gaga.”

“He recalls the past clearly. You know the history—and Clarence.”

“Yes.” Vida briefly stared into space. “He and Marius were
close. Clarence was young enough to be his son, but the Vandeventers were childless. I suppose Clarence was like a son to him.”

“Is Marius still alive?”

Vida shook her head. “He died in March of ’01. He was in his nineties. His wife had passed away the previous year.”

We were back on safe ground. Talking about the former
Advocate
owner couldn’t cause any friction between us.

As it turned out, the ground beneath us was already shaking.

V
IDA AND
I
RETURNED FROM LUNCH AHEAD OF
L
EO AND
Mitch.

“I do hope those two aren’t drinking their lunch,” Vida said, removing her hat and scrutinizing the damp roses. “You never can tell with someone like Leo, who’s had a problem with alcohol. For all we know, Mitch is a secret drinker. They’re the worst.”

“Leo’s attempting to straighten Mitch out on how small towns operate,” I said, flipping through the not-so-urgent phone messages Amanda had left for me. “Mitch is still adapting.”

“It’s a pity Brenda couldn’t have managed to do that. Imagine being in Pittsburgh with all those steel mills.”

“I don’t think they have them anymore,” I said, and retreated into my office, wondering if Milo had gotten back from Everett. I’d been at my desk for only five minutes when Vida rushed into my office.

“My niece Marje called to tell me Patti Marsh is in the ER. She claims to have fallen down her front steps. I don’t believe it. Do you?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” I admitted. “It seems that half the town is accident-prone lately. You think Patti was shoved by Blackwell?”

Vida sank into a visitor’s chair, removed her glasses, and began rubbing her eyes in that gesture of frustration that made me wince.
“Ooooh … I’d say so,” she said, at last mercifully folding her hands, “but Jack’s been on his best behavior since being named a county commissioner.”

“You believe the so-called attempts on his life are real?”

Vida put her glasses back on. “I don’t know. You must admit that Milo will doubt his word.”

“Neither Jack nor Milo has any proof.”

“Is Milo waiting to find Jack’s corpse on his doorstep?”

I thought that would probably suit the sheriff just fine, but ignored the remark. “How badly was Patti hurt?”

“I don’t know yet. Doc was having X-rays taken. She might’ve broken some ribs. Marje will let me know.”

“Maybe Patti was drunk,” I said. “She likes her liquor. Speaking of which, here come Leo and Mitch. They look sober to me.”

“You can’t tell by looking,” Vida murmured. “I’ll see for myself.”

I watched Vida approach Leo, who was going to his desk. Mitch had already sat down. My phone rang, distracting me from whatever was about to happen in the newsroom.

At first I couldn’t hear the caller except that it was a female voice. “I’m sorry,” I said, “can you speak up? We may have a poor connection.”

A pause followed. If I hadn’t heard voices in the background, I would’ve thought the person had hung up.

“It’s me,” Lori Cobb said, still hushed but audible. “Mrs. Sellers is here. She tried to take Tanya to Sheriff Dodge’s house, but she doesn’t have a key. Could Mrs. Sellers drop Tanya off at your house? She has to get back to Bellevue.”

I hesitated. “No,” I finally said. “I can’t take the responsibility. Mrs. Sellers and her daughter have friends here. Why can’t Tanya stay with one of them until the sheriff gets back from Everett?”

“I guess I’ll ask her. Sorry to bother you.” Lori hung up.

I felt like an evil stepmother—a role it seemed like I was assuming.
I hardly knew Tanya. When I’d hosted her for dinner, she’d been pleasant, if quiet. It was the first time I’d seen her in years. But my real concern was that I didn’t want Tanya alone at my house. If anything happened, I’d be responsible, and I couldn’t leave work to hold her hand. Surely Tricia could leave Tanya with a friend or wait to go back to Bellevue.

Leo and Mitch passed muster. Vida finished her advice letters and announced she’d call on Clarence Munn while she had some spare time. Still feeling guilty about Tanya, I called Lori to ask if Milo had returned.

“No,” she virtually whispered. “Mrs. Sellers asked Bill Blatt for a master key to get into the house, but Bill couldn’t do that without the boss’s permission. They’re going to try getting in through a window.”

“Oh, swell,” I groaned. “Let me know when the sheriff gets back.”

Lori promised she would and rang off. Maybe it wasn’t the last thing I needed, but it was the next thing that happened when Holly Gross stormed into the newsroom. She went straight to Leo, maybe because he’d shown her kindness earlier. If I’d had any sense, I would have closed the door and pretended I didn’t know what was happening. But instead I ventured into the newsroom.

“Come on, Walsh, you know frigging well where that old hag is,” Holly screeched. “I can tell when a guy’s lying to me. I’ll find her if I have to tear this town apart!”

Leo offered Holly a cigarette. She hesitated, but finally snatched the whole pack from him. “Well?” she said. “Gimme a light.”

He leaned across his desk and lighted the cigarette. “I told you, she’s on an assignment. Why do you want to see Mrs. Runkel?”

Holly exhaled. “You know damned well why I want to see her.” She swerved around to look at me. “So do you.” She darted a glance at Mitch for good measure. “You all do. I want my kid.”

“I’ve never seen your kid,” I said. “Why don’t you ask Roger?”

Holly deliberately blew smoke in my direction. “Because I can’t find the fat bastard, that’s why. I’ll bet he’s left town and taken Dippy with him. I went to the sheriff’s office yesterday and warned that squaw who works for him that if they didn’t find Dippy for me, I’d raise hell.”

“What squaw?” I asked.

Holly shot me a disgusted look. “The Indian who works for Dodge. Or does he call
you
his squaw?”

“Doe Jamison is part Muckleshoot. She’s not anybody’s squaw, she’s a deputy, and you better show her some respect. She’s your best ally right now. Leave Mrs. Runkel alone. You should be dealing with Roger. Unless,” I added, “you’re not sure if he
is
Dippy’s father.”

“Hey!” Holly yelled before taking the cigarette out of her mouth. It fell to the floor and bounced off one of her faux leather cowboy boots. “Watch it! You’re the one who’s shacked up with the sheriff!”

Leo stood up. I glimpsed Mitch out of the corner of my eye. He looked puzzled. I started to speak, but my ad manager beat me to it. “Take it easy, Holly. You’re all worked up. Come on, I’ll walk you to the sheriff’s office so you can talk to Deputy Jamison. You need to sort through this in a way that doesn’t involve pissing off a lot of blameless people. Unless,” he added, pausing as he started to put his jacket on, “you’d rather just raise hell and never see your kid again.”