The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

  Milo’s shrugged. “So where’s the kid?”

  “You mean Ashley Rafferty?”

  “Ashley?” Milo shrugged. “Yeah, that kid.” He was staring off into space. “Go away, Emma. I’m trying to think.”

  I started to stand up, but hesitated. “About what?”

  He still didn’t look at me. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  I left Milo to his thoughts. After I stopped at the bank to make a payment on my Visa card, Amanda greeted me with news of a visitor waiting in my office. “She says you’ll be surprised to see her.”

  I thought of Mavis. “Is she about my age or maybe a bit older?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said. “She got here just a few minutes ago. I gave her coffee. She mentioned having had quite a long drive.”

  Leo was the only staffer at his desk and he was on the phone. But as I went through the newsroom, I saw the back of the woman sitting in one of my visitor’s chairs and realized it wasn’t Mavis. In fact, I didn’t recognize the dark blond middle-aged woman when she turned around.

  “Emma Lord,” she said, remaining seated. “You look befuddled. I think I’ve caught you off guard.”

  Somehow I managed to sit down without falling over my own feet. “You did,” I said. “Have we met? I’m not very good at remembering faces.”

  “No.” My guest’s faintly ruddy face looked smug. “I thought you might have seen pictures. I’m Tricia, the first Mrs. Dodge.”

  TWELVE

  “OH.” I COULDN’T KEEP FROM SLUMPING IN MY CHAIR. “I’M sorry. I mean, I’ve never seen a photo of you.”

  “Milo probably burned the ones I left behind.” Tricia licked rose-colored lips. “I would’ve thought you’d be curious enough to check out our wedding picture in the newspaper.”

  I shook my head. “No. I believed Milo when he said you used to be married. I have met your children a few times over the years.”

  Tricia nodded. I wondered if she was enjoying her advantage over me. I still felt knocked for a loop as I tried to see what this plump, blue-eyed, tinted-haired woman might have looked like thirty years ago. Her features were good, if somewhat coarsened by age. She was probably a few inches taller than my five-four, but most people are. I couldn’t judge much about the rest of her, which was covered by a Burberry raincoat. Aware that I was trembling, I kept my hands in my lap.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, looking pained. “I came here as one mother calling on another mother for help.”

  “For Tanya?” I said, beginning to get a grip on my nerves.

  She nodded again. “I’m at my wits’ end. She refuses to stay in Bellevue. Short of crawling back into my womb, Tanya insists she feels safe only here in Alpine, where she grew up. And with her father, who, I will admit, was a pillar during her recovery from the gunshot wound.”

  “Milo is a very strong person,” I said. “He was extremely disturbed when she took those pills. Frustrated, too.”

  “I was shocked. At first her spirits seemed improved in Hawaii.” Tricia licked her lips again. “We were there almost a week, but by the fourth day Tanya didn’t want to go to the beach. So many of the young men reminded her of Bruce.”

  I’d never heard her late fiancé’s real name. Milo only called him Buster. “That would be upsetting,” I conceded, trying to recall if the men in Rome had evoked Tom’s image when I went there with Ben to recover my own equilibrium. But I had not needed—or wanted—any look-alikes to bring back my fiancé’s image. It was always with me, like a bad habit.

  “It got worse when we came home,” Tricia went on. She shook her head. “Never mind the details. I’m here to ask you to be understanding about my—our—daughter. She needs her father now more than she needs me. Milo wasn’t with us when Bruce shot Tanya and then killed himself. I was.” She shuddered. “It was beyond horrible.”

  I fought the memory of Tom falling dead at my feet. Maybe Tricia had forgotten—or never knew—what I’d been through. That didn’t matter. “I do sympathize,” I said.

  Tricia smiled, though I didn’t sense much warmth. Maybe she didn’t have any to give. “I must go. Milo wasn’t in when we stopped at his office. I left Tanya with Aunt Thelma and Uncle Elmer at the retirement home. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  I recalled Ben urging me to make an ally of Tricia. Maybe this was a start. “I hope so,” I said, standing up. “Will you be in town long?”

  “No,” she said, also on her feet. “I’ll go back as soon as I get Tanya settled. I have an appointment tomorrow morning in Bellevue. By the way, do you have a key to Milo’s house?”

  “No. I never had one.”

  “Oh.” Tricia looked mildly surprised. “Then I’ll wait until he gets back from wherever he is. Typical—so often he wasn’t around when I needed him.” She shrugged and walked out through the newsroom.

  Leo appeared as soon as Tricia left the premises. “Was that Holly’s lawyer from Everett, by any chance?”

  “That,” I said wearily, “was the first Mrs. Dodge.”

  “No shit!” Leo exclaimed, sitting down. “Did she harangue you?”

  “She wanted my help with Tanya. I actually felt sorry for her.” I bit my lower lip. “Or maybe she’s trying to guilt-trip me.”

  He offered me a cigarette and I took it. “What are you supposed to do? Adopt her?”

  “Be sympathetic. I can do that, but it plays havoc with our private life. Milo can’t babysit Tanya. He doesn’t even know she’s back in town.”

  “Maybe he knew they were coming and fled the scene.”

  “Milo wouldn’t do that.”

  “Vida will be sorry she missed Tricia. Or did she like her?”

  “No. Tricia was from Sultan. That’s where they got married. Vida never got over the affront to Alpine. Where is Vida, by the way?”

  “Still off on her appointed rounds,” Leo said, after a glance into the newsroom. “She was going to see Dot Parker. Vida thought maybe Tiffany left her kid with Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “Good guess. Nothing about a Holly Gross encounter?”

  “Not a peep.” Leo stood up. “I’m taking Mitch to lunch to try to get his head straight about Dodge. Do you want me to mention your not-so-professional involvement with the sheriff?”

  I grimaced. “No. I’ll do it myself. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

  “Fine. Hey, babe, Tanya can’t hang around with Dodge forever. She’s, what? In her thirties? She’ll settle down and want a life of her own. Right now, maybe she’s just a pawn in some game of Tricia’s.”

  “I hope it’s not a game,” I said. “The timing stinks.”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy,” he said, flicking off his cigarette ash, “but you two never lived together when you were dating before?”

  “No. He wanted a more permanent arrangement. I didn’t.” I gave Leo a sheepish look. “I was still clinging to the Tom Cavanaugh dream.”

  “Well …” Leo’s expression was wry. “Tom was as screwed up as the rest of us. It was just less obvious. Ever think what might’ve happened if Dodge had to arrest him and turn him over to the feds for running guns to the wild Irishmen?”

  I extinguished my cigarette. “Yes. It took me a couple of years before I could think about Tom technically being a criminal.”

  “Tom didn’t see it that way. He thought he was being noble.”

  “I know. But the government wouldn’t have agreed. I wondered if, after he was killed, his role would’ve been made public.”

  “No point in doing that.” Leo took a last puff on his cigarette. “Too much paperwork involved.”

  “I’m glad for Adam’s sake. He was fond of his father, but he saw Tom through realistic eyes. In fact, Adam knew him better than I did.”

  “Maybe he heard Tom in confession.”

  I stared at Leo. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well!” The single word shot out of the newsroom as Vida practically flew across the floor. “If tha
t doesn’t beat all! I just ran into Tricia Dodge! I mean, Tricia … what is her last name now?”

  “It’s still Sellers,” I said, catching my breath. “Her second divorce won’t be final until this summer.”

  “Really,” Vida said, straightening her rose-covered hat, “she hasn’t improved with time. I saw her last fall when she met with Milo to discuss Tanya’s wedding to that idiot who killed himself. Tricia’s aged since then. Living in Bellevue will do that to you. So crowded, so busy. A close friend of Amy’s lives in Kirkland. She looks ten years older than my daughter.”

  “All this fresh mountain air,” Leo remarked before sauntering back to his desk. “Good for the complexion.”

  Vida frowned at me. “Is Leo being sarcastic?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “Well? Does Dot Parker have Tiffany’s daughter in her care?”

  “No.” Vida leaned both hands on my desk. “She claims to know nothing about Tiffany or her child.” She paused, scrutinizing me. “You look a bit peaked.” She wagged a finger at me. “Tricia was here!”

  “Yes.”

  Vida pursed her lips. “It’s almost eleven. We shall take an early lunch. I must hear all about it. The Venison Inn, of course.”

  “Fine. A quarter to twelve?”

  Vida nodded. “Now I must finish those letters. Such silly problems people have nowadays! Whatever happened to straying husbands and lazy adolescents? Now it’s Twitter and tweeting and Facebook dilemmas.” She made her indignant exit.

  I picked up the phone and called Milo. Maybe he was back from wherever he’d been when Tricia had first called on him.

  “Dodge went to Everett just after you left,” Lori said. “He’s seeing their lab people. Shall I have him call you when he gets back?”

  I hesitated. “Did he have another visitor earlier?” I suddenly remembered that Lori had met Tricia when she’d come to Alpine in October. “I mean his ex-wife,” I added hastily.

  “Yes, she just missed him. She seems kind of nice, doesn’t she?”

  “She does. Thanks, Lori.”

  Our next visitor arrived ten minutes later. Postmaster Roy Everson showed up in the newsroom, seemingly restored to sanity if not to reason. Vida was his victim, which was fine with me.

  “Really,” she was saying to Roy as I darted to the restroom, “you must accept the lab tests. Your mother in no way resembled a gopher.…”

  Maybe if I hid in the restroom or the back shop, Roy would be gone when I finally emerged. If all else failed, I could sneak out the back way. But when I peeked into the hall between the newsroom and the front office, I saw Spencer Fleetwood come through the front door.

  “Emma,” he called, “is Vida here?”

  I gestured at the newsroom. Spence nodded and disappeared.

  Roy Everson was leaving when I emerged from the restroom. Spence was talking to Vida. Scooting into my cubbyhole, I closed the door and called Ben.

  “I’m standing outside of Jefferson Davis’s home,” Ben said in his crackling voice. “It’s called Beauvoir, and in all the years I spent on the Delta, I’ve never seen it. It’s really not that much of a house. Nothing like Bronsky’s villa. Are you and Dodge married yet?”

  “No,” I said, and spilled out my conversation with Tricia.

  “Think how grateful Milo’s ex will be if you lavish kindness on Tanya,” Ben said when I finished. “Unless she’s playing a double game.”

  “I wonder,” I admitted. “Is she pissed because her ex is happy and she’s not? I do feel sorry for Tanya. She’s still a mess and probably does feel safe with her father. I’ve always felt safe with Milo, more than I ever did with anybody except our parents.”

  “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.”