The Alpine Xanadu

by Mary Daheim

  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.

  THIRTEEN

  VIDA AND I RETURNED FROM LUNCH AHEAD OF LEO 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.”

  As was her way, Holly lost steam in the face of rational behavior. “Okay, Walsh,” she said, retrieving the cigarette before it burned a hole in the floor. “I almost forgot you’re one of the good guys. There are damned few around here. Let’s hit it.”

  Mitch and I watched as they exited the newsroom. I didn’t hear anything out of Amanda and guessed she’d retreated to the back shop with Kip. My reporter spoke first. “Is she nuts or just messed up?”

  I sat down by Mitch’s desk. “Both. Leo’s right. We don’t know anything about Holly’s kid. Roger’s the only one who can sort this out.”

  “I’ve never met him,” Mitch said. “I remember the trailer park mess, though. Roger was lucky to get off so cheap. Troy didn’t.”

  “The situations were different. Roger provided solid information about the drug dealers and the trucker connection. From what you told me, Troy was operating on his own.”

  Mitch nodded faintly. “Holly shouldn’t spread rumors about you and Dodge. That’s bad for your reputation. I saw way too much of that hand-in-glove back-door stuff between the press and law enforcement in Detroit. I never went for that. It violated my ethics.”

  Mitch had a copy of the Advocate on his desk. I picked it up and turned to page three. “Read this,” I said, pointing to the engagements.

  “Good God!” Mitch stared at me. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  I made a helpless gesture. “Milo and I’ve been close since I moved here. He wanted to marry me ten years ago. I said no because of Tom Cavanaugh. You know that sad story. Except for a fling with Rolf Fisher from the AP, there never has been any other man in my life except Milo. We’ve always loved each other. I was just slow figuring it all out.”

  Mitch hung his head. “You must hate me.”

  “No. I did wonder why you never realized we were a couple. We got engaged just after Christmas, while you were gone. I had Vida hold back the announcement until all the snoops stopped pestering us. Milo and I both needed time to recover.”

  Mitch was staring into space. “I should’ve guessed. No wonder Leo told me I should pull back on investigating Dodge. I thought maybe he and the sheriff were fishing buddies or something.”

  “Leo doesn’t fish,” I said. “In fact, it took him a long time to realize that Milo is very good at what he does. The sheriff prefers that people don’t notice how he works. He’s very closemouthed when he’s investigating a homicide case. I had to learn that the hard way, too.”

  Amanda appeared in the doorway. “Thank goodness Holly is gone. Did you throw her out?”

  “Leo escorted her,” I said.

  “Dodge is on hold for you,” she informed me.

  “Okay,” I told her, then patted Mitch’s shoulder. “Don’t be upset. I’m glad you finally know I am shacked up with the sheriff.” I hurried to my phone.

  “Where the hell were you?” Milo asked. “In the can?”

  “Never mind. Has Holly arrived?”

  “Yeah, with Leo. I’m barricaded in my office. Never mind that. Doe can handle it. I got the autopsy report. It’s what I thought. Pay attention and write this down. It’s s-u-x-a-m-e-t-h-o-n-i-u-m. Call it ‘sux’ for short. It’s a relatively new poison that can be missed if you’re not looking for it.”

  “Wayne was poisoned?”

  “You got it. Keep it to yourself for now. The full report won’t be in until tomorrow. I’m telling you because if I don’t spell it a few times, I won’t be able to say it out loud. Besides, you’re cuter than Fleetwood.”

  “How in the world did you get on to that?”

  “Because the electrocution thing didn’t make sense. You know I don’t like things that don’t fit. I’d seen something on TV about this stuff and it made me wonder. It’s administered where it can’t be noticed—like a mole. Eriks had one on his left shoulder. Now think about that and come up with one of your weird ideas about whodunit.”

  “What’s going on with Tanya?”

  I heard Milo sigh. “I don’t know what the hell to do, but I’ve got to do it now. I can’t abandon her. We’ll talk later.” He hung up.

  I couldn’t pass the poisoning news on to Mitch until it was official. I hoped that would be by the time he checked the Thursday log. I asked him to call the clinic to see if Patti Marsh had been hospitalized.

  “Who exactly is she?” my reporter asked.

  I sighed. “Blackwell’s longtime squeeze. I suspect he beat her up just for the hell of it. Tiffany’s not around to take his abuse. If, in fact, he doled some out to her just to show he isn’t playing favorites.”

  Mitch frowned. “You don’t like Blackwell, either, do you?”

  “No, and it’s not because of Milo. I’ve always been wary of that guy. He may run a respectable mill, but he’s way too oily for my taste.”

  “Okay.” Mitch shrugged. “I’ll withhold judgment for now.”

  “That’s fine. But check on Patti. She’s kind of pathetic.”

  Half an hour later, Vida returned from RestHaven with Rosalie Reed in tow. “Dr. Reed and I have had a most pleasant visit,” she said as the two women stood in my office. “She’s on her way to a dental appointment with Dr. Starr and thought she’d come by to say hello.”

  I was on guard. The visit struck me as suspect. But I offered Dr. Reed a chair. Vida beamed at us before heading to her desk.

  Rosalie seemed composed, but her eyes darted this way and that before she spoke. “I hope I’m not intruding. Mrs. Runkel was so kind to offer to let me see how a small-town newspaper operates. I’m still adapting to life away from an urban environment. She insisted that Wednesdays are a downtime after your weekly publication.”

  “Kip MacDuff, my back-shop manager, can give you the tour,” I said. I couldn’t remember anyone except the sixth-grade class from Alpine Elementary coming to see what went on at the Advocate. Most of them had been bored and fidgety, except for a couple of boys who asked how Kip had gotten an autographed baseball from Ken Griffey Jr. “Was somebody in your family involved in newspaper work?”

  “My uncle was a reporter for the Spokesman-Review,” Rosalie replied. “He covered business and agriculture in the Spokane area.”

  “Oh. The Inland Empire beat,” I noted.

  “A very important beat on that side of the mountains,” Rosalie said. “It must be exciting … no, that’s a regrettable word.” She grimaced. “I should say a break in routine to have a puzzling death to write about. I haven’t had time to see today’s edition, but I had to answer some questions the sheriff posed. Fascinating, in a way.”

  “The questions? Or the answers?”

  She laughed—sort of. “It was like a film or TV. ‘Where were you …?’ ‘Droll’ describes it better. Not that I let any amusement show. The sheriff seems rather stern. I thought it prudent not to be flippant.”

  I nodded. “Dodge goes by the book.”

  “Yes. I found him rather interesting. Very macho, if you like that type. But not the sort of macho who flaunts it. Then again, it’s hard to categorize people at a first meeting.”

  I was wondering where this conversation was going. It had certainly strayed from putting out a weekly newspaper. “I’m sure you answered his questions satisfactorily,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Frankly, I couldn’t account for my time to the minute. There was the storm, a first for me in the mountains. I’ve lived in the Seattle area long enough to experience bad weather, but one feels more insulated in an urban setting. There’s something raw about storms in primitive surroundings. Our psych ward patients became quite agitated. Oh!” She suddenly clapped a hand to her cheek. “I just realized where I was—with a patient who was disoriented by the thunder. It reminded him of combat in the first Gulf War. How could I forget that? Should I tell the sheriff? I can’t reveal the patient’s name, but … Dodge, isn’t it?” She saw me nod. “He wouldn’t need to know that, would he?”

  “I can’t spe
ak for the sheriff, but if you had to identify the person, the sheriff wouldn’t have Spencer Fleetwood broadcast it over KSKY.”

  Rosalie’s pale face turned slightly pink. “No, of course not. That is, the sheriff wouldn’t do that.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, it’s going on three. I don’t want to be late for my dental appointment. Then I have to make rounds. How late is the sheriff’s office open?”

  “Dodge is usually there until at least five,” I said.

  Rosalie stood up. “I can’t believe how the afternoon has flown. Thanks so much for your time. I must take the tour another day. We should have dinner together soon.”

  I murmured an appropriate response but didn’t get up. Rosalie Reed might be a fine psychiatrist, but she was a lousy actress. Her role as a forgetful shrink hadn’t played well with me. It was the first thing I said when Vida entered my office a few minutes after my visitor had left.

  “I wondered,” Vida said, sitting down. “She accosted me as I was getting out of my car. It was as if she’d been lurking by the cleaners. She knew I’d been to see Clarence Munn.”

  “How was Clarence?” I asked.

  Vida frowned. “He rambled. Oh, he talked about his mill, but he mentioned so much else. Logging was still the mainstay in SkyCo then. I was in my teens when Clarence came here. He was young, mid-twenties, but his father owned a mill near Forks on the Olympic Peninsula and one by Port Townsend. Clarence wanted to strike out on his own. It was right after World War Two and Clarence had just gotten out of the Coast Guard.” She paused. “Dear me, I’m rattling along, just like Clarence.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Even after all these years, I don’t know as much as I should about Alpine’s history.”