Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481)

by Daheim, Mary

  “All that California sun.” Vida made a face. “Impossible to tell what kind of complexion people from there really have. Imagine living every day with heat and no rain.”

  My expression was sardonic. “I don’t have to imagine it right now.”

  Vida bridled. “You know what I mean. This weather won’t last.”

  It was pointless to argue. “Did Ren say anything else of interest?”

  “Only that she knew her mother was murdered,” Vida responded. “I pressed her as to why she was so sure, but she had nothing to support her suspicions. She simply felt it. Whatever that means.” Vida ruefully shook her head, the gray curls bobbing under the sponges.

  I stood up. “I forgot to ask—did you see Amanda and Walt’s baby?”

  “Yes, but she was asleep in the nursery,” Vida replied. “Still a bit red in the face, spiky dark hair, very difficult to tell much about features. Like most new parents, Amanda insists she and Walt can discern resemblances going back three generations on both sides. Ridiculous.”

  I smiled and went back to my office. Maybe Milo had returned from the dump site. It dawned on me that Vida hadn’t asked where I’d gone. The omission was unlike her. On the other hand, if she’d just gotten back from her hospital tour, she wouldn’t know I’d ever left. I was on my way to update her, but she was on the phone.

  “Yes, yes,” she practically shouted, “I’ll be right there.” Replacing the receiver, she stood up. “My sister-in-law, Ella, has fallen. A neighbor found her. I must rush over to Parc Pines. Why am I the only one who has to deal with my family’s problems?” Not expecting—or needing—an answer, she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the newsroom.

  Edna Mae hadn’t called me back, so I dialed her number. Naturally, she apologized for being remiss. “I’ve been so caught up with our summer reading program,” she explained. “With people going on vacation, we can only choose four books. Why would some of our readers prefer The Da Vinci Code to The Plot Against America?”

  I gathered she expected an answer. “Because it’s more popular?”

  “But it wasn’t one of the Top Ten Best Books,” Edna Mae responded. “I like to keep up the library’s standards.”

  “That’s commendable,” I said, then cut to the chase. “Is Mary Jane Bourgette going to substitute for her daughter?”

  “No, they have to babysit grandchildren tonight. Oh dear, I should’ve let you know sooner. I’m so sorry. It’s at the Driggerses’ house.”

  I tried to sound pleasant. “Okay. I’ll see you there. Bye, Edna Mae.” I hung up.

  The afternoon was ebbing away. Rosemary had never called back so I could grill her about the date. Maybe she was in a dither at the prospect of finding an eligible man in Alpine. In any case, I didn’t intend to run the story about him—if there was a story—until next week. But it was going on five and no word from Milo. I was on the verge of calling him when I decided that should be Mitch’s job. He was at his desk, so I told him to rattle the sheriff’s cage.

  My reporter looked puzzled. “I already did. I got back from his office just as Vida roared off in her Buick. Dodge didn’t have much more to say than what he knew at the dump site. I sent the story to you five minutes ago.”

  I held my head. Mitch had a knack for making me feel inept. “I’m sorry. I’ll check it right now.”

  Mitch was right. The sheriff merely elaborated—wrong word to use, but he was my husband, so I’d give him the benefit of a doubt: an adult male, approximately thirty-five to fifty years of age, probably Caucasian due to light hair color, no ID, cause of death unknown, investigation under way. Kip, who is in charge of our website, had already posted the bare bones. I grimaced again. Either the skeleton or the heat was getting to me. I couldn’t seem to think about this story in any way that wasn’t grisly. But the possibility of death by homicide was worse.

  SIX

  Vida called five minutes later to tell me she’d had the medics check out Ella, who might have broken some ribs. “Tony Lynch took her to the ER, so I’m here now waiting to see what happens next. I hope they keep her overnight. I wonder if she’s had another small stroke. She insists she didn’t, but kept babbling about being frightened. Such a ninny. I have all my copy in, by the way. I must dash.”

  I wished Vida luck. Before I spoke with her again, she’d find out what had happened at the dump site and be very angry with me. My excuse that there’d been no opportunity to tell her would go for naught.

  At five, I went to the back shop to make sure everything was going smoothly. Kip assured me it was. I shut down my computer and left to pick up Milo’s dinner requests at the Grocery Basket. He’d be unhappy when I told him about the bridge game, so I bought the biggest T-bone I could find. The bill for my smaller steak, two baked potatoes, and three ears of corn came to forty-one dollars and change. It was a good thing my husband was paying our monthly bills or I couldn’t afford to feed him.

  When I got home, the temperature inside was over eighty, but the evergreen trees would provide shade on the new patio. I opened all three doors and the kitchen window, which looked out into the garage instead of my old carport. Frankly, I missed seeing the greenery that used to be part of the view.

  Milo arrived five minutes later, obviously out of sorts. I summoned up my courage to tell him about the bridge date, but he spoke first. “I have to fill in for Bill Blatt tonight,” he said, removing his hat and hooking an arm around my neck before he kissed me. “I won’t have time to start the grill. Can you broil the steaks?”

  “Yes,” I assured him as he let go of me. “It works better for me, because I have to play bridge. The seven-thirty start would be cutting it close. Rosemary Bourgette has found a man.”

  “Shit,” Milo muttered. “I hate young love. Tanya invited Bill to dinner at Le Gourmand so they could talk.”

  I laughed. “The four people you refer to aren’t really that young.”

  Milo got out glasses and the liquor. “They seem that young. At least Bill and Tanya do. If Lila Blatt kept her mouth shut and hadn’t made Bill move back home with her, there might not be a problem.”

  “I don’t think the Blatt women can keep their mouths shut,” I said. “Ella had a fall today and Vida went with her to the ER.”

  “So that’s what the late-afternoon scanner call was. Let’s sit outside. How long for you to make dinner? I should be back at the office by six forty-five. Tanya didn’t know Bill had the evening shift and didn’t think to ask him about his schedule.”

  “Relax,” I urged, running my hand up and down his arm. “It takes fifteen minutes to fix dinner. Less, if you’d eat your meat rare like I do.”

  Milo put his big hand over my much smaller one. “Stop petting me, woman. Or do you want to skip the food?”

  Fool that I am, I hesitated. “No,” I finally said. “I won’t go to bridge club on an empty stomach. But I’ve always liked your arms. They’re starting to tan and they’re so strong and—”

  “Quit while we’re still upright,” he growled and led the way outside.

  The patio was small, only a third of what level ground I’d had before. The rear of my property sloped up the face of Tonga Ridge. Milo’s new workroom occupied the rest of the flat area. My first question after we settled into my old steel outdoor chairs was if the Eversons knew a body that wasn’t Myrtle had been dug up at the dump site.

  “Yeah,” Milo replied after lighting a cigarette. “Gould stayed after Mullins and I left. Bebe showed up to ask what the cruiser was doing by the site. He told her in his less than tactful way. She burst into tears and then entered the state of denial. She’s probably still there.”

  “Roy will really pitch a fit,” I said, batting at a mosquito. “So will the rest of the family. I’ll bet they’ll want to see the skeleton. Are you sending it to the Snohomish County lab for a full autopsy?”

  “Maybe.” Milo’s gaze followed a Steller’s jay’s flight into a tall hemlock. “Doc ruled out a blow to the head or s
trangulation. Skull, ribs, and neck bones undamaged. Assuming—got that?—it was foul play, it was probably a gun, knife, or poison.”

  I waved off two more mosquitoes. “Damnit, I’m being attacked. Why don’t they bite those big, brawny arms of yours?”

  “Because I’m smoking,” Milo asserted. “You want one?” He proffered the pack of Marlboro Lights.

  “Yes!” I leaned over to snatch a cigarette. “Light me up, Dodge.”

  The sheriff’s hazel eyes twinkled as he clicked his lighter. “I thought you gave up trying to seduce me.”

  “I did,” I said after taking the first puff. “Now I’m starving. I also think one of those damned bugs bit me.” To prove it, I scratched my ankle. “The deerflies will be early in this heat. They’re worse than the mosquitoes. Maybe,” I went on, hitting on a better way of discussing the skeleton, “Mr. X was chewed to death by our flying wildlife.”

  “Who buried him?” Milo asked. “Carpenter ants?”

  “It wasn’t Al Driggers,” I shot back. “Which, by the way, is where the bridge club meets tonight. If you never ID Mr. X, will Al get the job of burying him at county expense?”

  “Damn,” Milo said softly. “He was already buried. If we’d left him there we could’ve saved the county some money. Maybe Driggers Mortuary will give us half off because the stiff’s being reburied. You might ask Janet about that tonight. Do it before they all get tanked.”

  “I think I’ll avoid the topic.” I checked my watch. “It’s almost six. I’ll start dinner. Stay outside. The kitchen may get warmer. We’ll eat here.” I carried the rest of my drink and the half-smoked cigarette inside.

  I was only off four minutes in my estimate of prep time. As we ate—and I dueled with the bug life—I asked Milo who was filling in while he took time out for dinner.

  “Gould,” he responded. “He’ll get paid for it.”

  “Say,” I said, “you never told me what went down at RestHaven in the rehab wing. Did you send someone to straighten them out?”

  Milo shook his head. “The combatants had cooled off when my deputies got there. That’s what happened the first time around in May. Iain Farrell’s so damned uptight about patient privacy that he wouldn’t call us if the staff was being held hostage. But the psych ward’s maven, Rosalie Reed, convinced Woo they needed help. Maybe she’s running scared after her nutty husband escaped and ended up dead last winter. Anyway, Farrell’s not in charge of security since they hired a full-timer.”

  My eyes widened. “They did? Nobody told us about it. What’s wrong with Kay Burns? That’s her job as their PR person.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe she and Gould are still getting it on and she’s distracted. They were married. I don’t ask my staff about their personal lives, though I’d like to tell Mullins to shut up when he bad-mouths Nina. He knows she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

  I agreed, but I wanted to stay focused on RestHaven. “Who’s in charge of security? And why hasn’t Spence broadcast it since he’s sleeping with Dr. Reed?”

  “I don’t know,” Milo replied. “Maybe Woo put a lid on his staff. They’ve been operating like the CIA ever since they opened up. The only reason I know about it is because I ran into Sid Almquist this morning at Cal’s Chevron. He started at RestHaven June first. I was happy for the guy. He’s had a rough time.”

  The name rang only a vague bell. “Was he the one who was living with his wife and their new baby under the Icicle Creek Bridge when we were going together the first time around?”

  Milo nodded. “He’d been laid off at the old Cascade & Pacific Mill after that horse’s ass Jack Blackwell bought it out. He and Mary Jean moved to Snohomish, where he worked security for a regional group of banks. The Almquists always wanted to come back here, so he applied for the job and they hired him.”

  “How did that slip under Vida’s radar?” I asked, aghast. “Of course, she hasn’t been herself since Roger went to jail.”

  “At least she’s speaking to me again,” my husband said after devouring the last bite of his giant steak. “I guess that’s good news. I’d better go.” He stood up and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “Good luck with the card-playing winos.”

  I’d finished cleaning up from dinner when Vida called. “Honestly,” she said without preamble, “Ella is such a ninny! She fell in Parc Pines’ underground garage as she was about to go to Safeway. She shouldn’t be driving. Why doesn’t Milo pull her license?”

  I sat on the sofa. “He can’t. That decision has to be made by the Department of Motor Vehicles when her current license expires. Ella hasn’t had any accidents or violations, has she?”

  Vida harrumphed. “No. She rarely goes over ten miles an hour and is terrified to leave the residential area. She didn’t break anything, but Doc’s keeping her overnight because her blood pressure is very high. She might still be lying in the garage if Walt Hanson hadn’t pulled in after visiting his wife and baby.”

  “Does Ella know why she fell?” I asked, checking my watch. It was seven-ten, plenty of time to drive to the bridgeclub get-together.

  I heard Vida utter an exasperated sigh. “She insists she saw a pervert lurking by some of the other cars. Naturally, she refused to give details. Too shocking, she told me.”

  “It wasn’t Crazy Eights Neffel?” I asked, only half-teasing.

  “Ella’s used to Crazy Eights, even when he’s naked. I can hardly blame him in this weather. It was probably someone visiting another Parc Pines resident. Cupcake needs bathing. He’s starting to molt.”

  I left Vida to tend to her canary’s toilette. After applying lipstick and brushing my shrublike hair, I set out for the Driggerses’ home in The Pines, Alpine’s version of an upscale development. Janet and Al had downsized to a smaller, if newer, house after their grown children moved away.

  It felt cooler when I got out of the car. The Pines had been known as Stump Hill thirty years ago before the property was converted into a residential area. Over time, homeowners had planted various types of flora, including a woebegone palm tree. Vida had told me that a couple from Santa Barbara tried to California-ize their property. They’d spent just two years in Alpine, apparently realizing they hated snow. I marveled at the palm’s will to survive, but it certainly didn’t thrive.

  Janet welcomed me at the door. “You’re early!” she cried. “We thought you’d still be entwined with your big stud. Come in, we’re almost all here.” She lowered her voice. “As usual, some of them aren’t all there.”

  I smiled at the five familiar faces in the tastefully decorated living room: Darlene Adcock, Charlene Vickers, Dixie Ridley, Linda Grant, and, of course, Edna Mae. They all smiled back, some more genuinely than others. Linda was the high school girls’ gym teacher and Dixie was married to the boys’ coach, Rip. Neither had ever been part of my rooting section. Linda was rumored to have had an affair with Milo after his divorce. I’d tried subtly to ask him if that was true, but he’d evaded the question. Or maybe he forgot. It happened before my arrival in Alpine.

  “Who’s missing?” I asked.

  “Lila Blatt,” Janet replied. “She usually plays with a spin-off group from the Burl Creek Thimble Club. Take a seat. It’s never too early to start drinking.” She picked up a large bottle of pink wine—maybe a rosé—and began filling glasses set on the two card tables. “Okay, ladies, let’s do the next best thing to screwing. Besides using your vibrators, of course.”

  No one looked shocked. We were all used to Janet’s ribald mouth. I figured it was her way of dealing with death at the funeral home. She also took the edge off of that grim business by working part-time at Sky Travel. As Janet put it, she was sending the locals somewhere at both places, but a few of them never came back.

  The doorbell chimed as Janet finished filling the last glass. I was standing not far from the door, so I volunteered to let in the newcomer.

  “Mrs. Dodge?” Lila Blatt said with a slight squint.

  I smile
d. “Yes, come in. I’m still Ms. Lord at work. Call me Emma.”

  She smiled back in a fixed sort of way, as if she were out of practice. I recognized Lila from sightings around town. She was the youngest of Vida’s Blatt in-laws, probably in her early sixties. An average-sized woman, she had short, steel-gray hair, piercing blue eyes, and chiseled features. If memory served—and it often didn’t with all the branches on Vida’s family tree—she’d married Rupert, the youngest of the Blatt brothers, who’d suffered a fatal aneurysm not long after he hit fifty.

  Apparently, Lila knew the others, especially Charlene and Darlene, her fellow Burl Creek Thimble Club members. We immediately addressed the evening’s agenda by drawing cards for partners. I ended up with Dixie; Edna Mae and Lila were our opponents. The coach’s wife had drawn the highest card among our foursome, so she was the first to deal.

  Dixie was also the first to take a dig at me. “We’re all anxious for you to host us at your remodeled log cabin,” she said, fingers snapping out the cards with the finesse of a Vegas pro. “Milo never lavished that kind of money on his home with Tricia.”

  “That’s because Milo and Tricia had three children,” I said in a pleasant voice. “After he stopped paying large sums for child support, he was able to save money and invest wisely.”

  Lila, who wore her half-glasses on a long gold chain, squinted at me with those piercing blue eyes. “I didn’t realize the sheriff made such a large salary. My son Billy certainly couldn’t support a family on what he makes. He can barely pay me room and board to help make ends meet.”

  I shrugged. “Tell that to the county commissioners. They set the salaries for the sheriff’s department. If Mayor Baugh’s plan goes through to eliminate his own job and the three commissioners, there might be more money to spend on law enforcement.”

  “If,” Dixie said archly. “I dealt and I pass.”

  As usual, it took Edna Mae some time and much scrutiny of her cards to make a bid. “One diamond,” she finally twittered.

  We’d played a few hands when Lila turned to me. “By the way, I wish your husband would stop making Billy work so many nights. I’d planned to have him install the new TV for my bedroom this evening. It wasn’t delivered by my nephew, Ronnie, until almost five-thirty. Why does UPS come so late?”