The Alpine Traitor

by Mary Daheim

“Yes,” I said, “I would think so. Leo has gotten to know them quite well because Jake’s Grocery Basket is a big advertiser for us. I take it you didn’t see any of the other members of the Cavanaugh party in the bar after Sophia took off?”

  “You mean Mr. and Mrs. Platte?” Brianna shook her head. “No. Not tonight. I mean, not until much later, after Mr. Walsh was shot. They all found out about it when they came to the lobby to leave for dinner. I guess they had a late reservation. People from California seem to eat later than the rest of us.”

  “Sometimes,” I murmured. My mind had gone back to Leo, lying helpless in the parking lot. Shock and fear were being displaced by anger.

  My mood must have been contagious. Brianna suddenly clenched her plump fists and looked as if she might cry. “Oh, Ms. Lord, who’d do such an awful thing to Mr. Walsh? He’s such a really nice man.”

  “That,” I said slowly, “is what I want to find out.”

  FIFTEEN

  VIDA MARCHED THROUGH THE LOBBY JUST AS I WAS coming out of the bar. “Good grief,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice, “I just saw where it happened.” She shuddered in an exaggerated manner. “So gruesome, and right here in Alpine! A terrible day, and still no word on Leo. He’s not out of surgery yet.”

  The handful of people in the lobby—including Heather and Carlos behind the desk—were trying not to stare at Vida. At least, I thought, nobody had started to scream or run off in a panic.

  I steered Vida over to the luggage room door and I hoped out of earshot. “Did you get a picture?”

  “Yes, several,” she replied, “but they aren’t very dramatic. No sign of Leo’s car. No people to include.”

  “Cal Vickers towed Leo’s Toyota away,” I said. Briefly, I recounted what the lodge employees had told me. “We have a solid idea of the time line. It doesn’t seem that any of the Cavanaugh bunch has an alibi.”

  Vida nodded. “They’ll provide alibis for each other, of course, but that won’t hold any water.” She sighed. “Poor Leo. Why was he shot?”

  “Maybe,” I said hopefully, “he can tell us.”

  “He knows something,” Vida declared. “Something he may not realize, that makes these awful people afraid of him. Generally, I find conspiracy theories to be so much hokum, but perhaps this is an exception. They seem like a tight little circle.”

  “They are family, remember,” I noted dryly.

  “Yes, yes,” Vida responded, “but Californians aren’t always the wholesome variety from my point of view. The trick, I think, would be to cut one from the herd.”

  I regarded Vida with interest. “You’re right. I nominate Kelsey. She strikes me as very vulnerable.”

  “Then do it,” Vida said. “You’ve met her. You could have been her stepmother. But of course you must be careful. She may be unhinged like her mother. She may even be dangerous.”

  “I realize that.” I paused, trying to figure out an angle to get Kelsey alone. “I have some photos that Tom took when he was here. A couple of them are in Leavenworth when we went over there to do the Bavarian village setting. I’ll say I want to give her some copies.” I paused again, considering my options. “Breakfast tomorrow at the diner. I have to find the pictures first. I couldn’t bear to look at them for a long time, so I put them away…I’m not sure where. Adam’s old room, maybe.”

  “The diner is a good choice.” Vida nodded several times. “Much safer to meet in public. You must insist she come alone.”

  I went to the front desk. “Heather, could you please ring Mrs. Platte’s room? I’d like to talk to her or give her a message.”

  Heather rang Kelsey’s suite. “No answer,” she said, hanging up. “I think Mrs. Platte is with the others in the Valhalla Room waiting to speak to Sheriff Dodge.”

  “Oh. Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I’ll leave a note,” I said. “Tell her it’s important and I’d appreciate a call this evening. I’ll be up until at least eleven.”

  Vida was pacing the lobby. “Well?” she asked as I approached her.

  I explained how I’d had to leave a message for Kelsey. “I’m not sure I can do much more here, and I have to find those pictures,” I went on. “Do you want to stay and see if there’s any information we can use? That is, if Milo can tell you.”

  “He’d better,” Vida said in a steely voice. “Yes, you run along. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  I was a block from home when my cell phone rang, so I let it ring twice more while I pulled into my driveway. Elvis Sung’s voice came through loud, clear, and encouraging. “Leo’s out of surgery and in the ICU. His chances look good. He lost a great deal of blood and he’s very weak, but Doc Dewey and Dr. Weinberg are optimistic.”

  “Thank God,” I said. “And thanks for letting me know. I’ll spread the word so you can get back to your patients.”

  I called Kip as soon as I went inside. He, too, was vastly relieved and ready to insert another couple of lines into the front-page bulletin. “That was worth waiting for,” he said. “I may get out of here before midnight.”

  I wished him well and phoned Vida. She was elated, saying she’d pass on the news to Milo. “I wonder how soon Leo will be able to talk.”

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” I said. “Anything going on at the lodge since I left?”

  “Hardly,” Vida replied. “You’ve only been gone ten minutes, though I just saw Dylan Platte go into the Tonga Room.”

  “Who came out?”

  “One of the female guests I didn’t recognize,” Vida informed me. “I assume she’s the last of the witnesses, though what she may have seen or heard, I certainly don’t know. The employees have all been interviewed. Milo must have saved the Cavanaugh group for last. Making them squirm, I hope.”

  “Not to mention hungry,” I noted. “They were supposed to have dinner at Le Gourmand this evening.”

  “It serves them right for missing it. Starving them into submission might be an excellent idea.”

  I didn’t argue. After hanging up, I went into Adam’s old room, which had, over the years, become something of a storage area. Having only a carport and no basement, I lacked space for items I wanted to get out of the way but still save on the vague premise that someday I might need them. Although it was after ten o’clock, I was wide awake and knew I wouldn’t go to sleep for a long time. The nightmare of Leo’s shooting had made me feel wired and edgy. I decided I might as well use the time to find the photos of Tom, and also try to cull out some of the useless junk. Armed with a couple of big garbage bags, I went to work.

  The first to go were Adam’s old skis. He’d bought new ones before his assignment in Alaska. Out also were two pairs of well-worn tennis shoes, a bunch of unmatched socks, my old hair dryer, my portable typewriter, and three World Almanacs dating back to the nineties. Half an hour later I found the pictures in a Nordstrom gift box with some other photos that had been taken during the last decade.

  It was painful to sort through the disorganized pictures, and not just because of seeing Tom’s smiling face and twinkling blue eyes. There was Adam, a carefree college student, veering from campus to campus and major to major. Ben, ten years younger, a few pounds lighter, back in the days when he was stationed in Tuba City, Arizona. And me, arm in arm with Tom, strolling the streets of Leavenworth with all the ersatz Bavarian shopfronts in the background. I looked so happy. So did he. Oh my God, I thought, what a blessing that we can’t see into the future. Life hadn’t treated us kindly. But then it seldom does.

  I decided on three shots of Tom, none of them including me. Two were from Leavenworth, and one was from the picnic area by Deception Falls. I had the negatives, so I could make copies for myself.

  Suddenly I was overcome with fatigue. I made a slapdash attempt at putting everything back into order. I returned the rest of the photos to the Nordstrom box. As I was shoving it onto a closet shelf, I dislodged a letter-size envelope that fell at my feet. Picking it up, I saw Tom’s typed name and the address of the condo
he’d bought after Sandra’s death.

  I remembered that it was a list of all the numbers I might need to know in case of an emergency. Tom had given it to me a year or so before he died. When he’d been killed, I was in such a state of collapse that I didn’t remember getting it from him, let alone where I’d stashed it. Leo and Milo had handled the initial calls to the family while I languished in the hospital overnight. I set the envelope aside and hurriedly finished putting things away and hauling the garbage out to the carport.

  It was going on eleven when I sat down on the sofa, staring dumbly at the envelope. Reluctantly, I opened it. Except for Tom’s note at the top, the rest was typed.

  “Emma,” he’d scrawled in his large, almost illegible handwriting. “Just in case—this is a copy of the info I’ve given to Graham and Kelsey. Hope you never need it.”

  The names and addresses included his family doctor, Charles Burke; the law firm that represented both his personal and business interests, Bowles, Vitani & Mercier; his financial adviser, Kenneth West; his four accounts at the California Avenue branch of Bank of America; his pastor at the Old Cathedral of St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception; and the names, addresses, and phone numbers for all of the newspapers he owned. If I’d ever studied the list, I didn’t recall anything about it. I certainly didn’t need it now. But just as I was about to put it in the trash, I stopped. It was a link to Tom, and I had damned few of those. I’d keep it, at least for now.

  By eleven o’clock, Kelsey hadn’t called and neither had Curtis. The younger generation seemed hell-bent on trying my patience. A quarter of an hour later I was about to crawl into bed when the phone rang. To my surprise, the caller was Dylan Platte.

  “Sorry to bother you so late,” he said in his grating voice, “but I understand you wanted to talk to my wife. She’s exhausted and has gone to bed.”

  “Is there any chance she could meet me for breakfast tomorrow around eight at the diner off of Alpine Way?”

  “I doubt it,” Dylan said. “She’s been through a terrible ordeal the past few days, and she needs to regain her strength. I expect her to sleep in. She should after all that’s happened.”

  He had a valid argument. Maybe lunch would work as well. “Could you please have her phone me tomorrow morning at the office? I have some things concerning her father that I think she might want.”

  “What things?” Dylan demanded sharply.

  “The sentimental variety,” I said, wondering what he expected. “Thanks for getting back to me. Good night.” I disconnected, not wanting to give Dylan an opportunity to probe further.

  The phone rang again almost immediately. “I’m home,” Vida announced. “You weren’t in bed, were you?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Anything new?”

  “Not anything startling,” she replied, sounding testy. “Milo finished up with the Cavanaughs shortly before ten-thirty. They’d insisted on having room service bring them their dinner in the Valhalla Room. Henry Bardeen was much put out but forced to do their bidding. I’m afraid Henry’s out of his depth with these people. I’d like to see them try to boss Buck around. That would be a far different kettle of fish.”

  “Buck’s military background would serve him well,” I remarked, wondering as I always did who bossed whom in Vida’s relationship with the retired air force colonel.

  “Having failed to elicit much from Milo, who can be so annoyingly tight-lipped,” Vida went on, “I left and stopped by the hospital. Leo is still in ICU, but they said his condition had been upgraded from grim to mediocre.”

  “I don’t believe that’s medical terminology,” I pointed out.

  “Of course not,” Vida huffed, “but it’s much more understandable. All this ‘serious,’ ‘unsatisfactory,’ ‘satisfactory,’ and ‘fair,’ is gibberish. I also peeked in on Ella. She was awake and watching television. That’s the worst thing for her. She should be up and doing, especially since she’s probably being discharged tomorrow. Really, people don’t use good sense. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t write an advice column, though most readers wouldn’t have sense enough to do what I suggest.”

  “Actually,” I said, “that’s not a bad idea. Are you serious?”

  Vida hesitated. “Well…it has occurred to me now and then. I’ll think about it. Now I’m going to bed.”

  Before she could hang up, I told her about Dylan’s call.

  “Typical,” Vida said. “No spunk, a younger version of Ella. Whoever got the ridiculous idea that human beings were evolving into a better species?”

  She hung up before I could deny ever having made such a statement.

  I didn’t get to sleep right away. I was still worried about Leo and upset over all the memories that had been stirred up during the past week. I finally dozed off around one a.m. and didn’t wake up until ten after eight. I’d forgotten to set the alarm. It was a good thing that Kelsey hadn’t been able to meet me for breakfast.

  I didn’t bother to eat or even make coffee but phoned the office while I was getting dressed to tell Ginny I’d be in by eight-thirty.

  “Who is this?” she demanded, almost in a whisper.

  I was puzzled. “It’s me, Emma. What’s wrong?”

  “Emma who?”

  The question exasperated me. “Emma Lord, your boss, the one who signs your paycheck.”

  “What’s the name of your son?”

  “Ginny!” I shouted. “It’s Adam, of course. Have you lost your mind?”

  “No,” she replied in a more normal tone. “But you can’t be too careful around here after what’s happened, especially to Leo. I’m screening all calls until the killer is caught.”

  “I see. Okay, fine, I’m on my way. Speaking of Leo, is there any news?”

  “Vida says he had a decent night,” Ginny replied, then added darkly, “one of us could be next.”

  “Thanks for getting my day off to a happy start,” I retorted and hung up. It wasn’t until I was pulling out of the driveway that I realized Ginny might have a point. What if Leo had been shot because he had some knowledge that might identify the motel victim’s killer? What if the killer was some sort of maniac who thought the only way to get hold of the newspaper was to knock off the staff one by one? It seemed too farfetched, but I could almost understand Ginny’s fears.

  “Sorry, Ginny,” I said upon entering the front door. “No coffee yet. I thought I was still dreaming.”

  “A bad dream,” she said morosely. “Here’s a real one. Ed’s here.”

  “What?”

  She gestured toward the newsroom. “He got here just a couple of minutes ago. He’d heard about Leo and offered to fill in. We do need the help, of course. It’s just weird having him…”

  I didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence but burst through the door. Sure enough, Ed was at the coffee table, chomping on a cinnamon roll. Vida was glaring at him from behind her desk, and Curtis had his face hidden behind The Seattle Times.

  “G’monyema,” Ed greeted me with his mouthful. A trickle of butter ran off his chin. Or chins, to be precise.

  “Good morning,” I responded. “You’re here to…work?” I could hardly get the word out.

  Ed swallowed. “You bet. Seems like old times, doesn’t it?” He popped the last chunk of cinnamon roll in his mouth and chewed lustily.

  “Yes,” I said slowly, “it does.” Rational thought began creeping around in my foggy brain. Ed was better than nothing—and nothing was what we had with Leo in the hospital. “Well,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, “you know the drill. Wednesdays are always a good time to think ahead to the next issue and figure out if there are any new revenue sources. KSKY may be upping its power to broadcast as far west as Monroe. You should probably look into that market, since it’s fairly new territory and we have an understanding with Fleetwood about co-op ads.”

  Ed swallowed again and looked surprised. “We do?”

  “Yes. The Monroe Monitor comes out on Tuesdays, so we alr
eady have the most recent edition. Check with Ginny.” I forced a smile as I poured coffee and grabbed a cinnamon roll before Ed devoured all of them. Turning to Curtis, I spoke in a frosty voice. “Could you please come into my office?”

  He peeked out from behind the Times’s sports section. “Me?”

  “Yes. You.” I walked briskly to my cubbyhole, managing to splash a few drops of coffee on the floor. If Curtis slipped on it and broke his neck, it’d serve him right. Obviously, my day’s bad start was getting worse.

  I didn’t bother to have him close the door or even sit down. “Why didn’t you return my call last night?” I demanded.

  Curtis looked blank. “What call?”

  “About Leo,” I snapped. “About taking a picture up at the ski lodge.”

  “I knew about Leo,” he mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. “It blew me away. It’s way too scary around this town. What’s wrong with this crazy place?”

  Looking at Curtis’s suddenly pale face, I realized he was genuinely shaken. “How did you hear about the shooting?” I asked, softening a bit.

  “I…” He looked away, drumming his fingers on the back of one of my visitors’ chairs. “I was at the ski lodge.”

  I was startled by his response. “You were?”

  He nodded, glancing anxiously at me before looking away again. “I met a girl who works there.” He swallowed hard. “Brenda. She’s a waitress in the coffee shop. She gets off at eleven, but she takes a break around eight.”

  I had a vague idea of who Brenda was—a fairly pretty strawberry blonde with an earsplitting giggle. “When did you hear about Leo?”

  Now Curtis’s pale face showed some color. “In the break room. The storage room, really, but…sometimes Brenda goes there to…chill. The fry cook came looking for her and told her somebody’d been shot in the parking lot. She left after that, and I waited a couple of minutes and then took off out the back way. I didn’t want to go to my car in case the shooter was still there, so I just hung out by the exit for a while. Then I tried to go back in, but the door locks from the inside. I heard the sirens, so I figured the coast was clear, but I had to go around to the front. Somebody—I think it was one of the EMTs—said it was Leo who got shot. I got in my car and peeled out of the lot before anybody could stop me.” He hung his head. “I guess I lost my cell phone, maybe in back of the lodge. Or the storage room. Guess I’m not much of a hero, huh?”