Alpine Gamble (10 page)

“I still think the Melville party could go into 'Scene Around Town,' “ Vida asserted in a pettish voice. “At least the part about the broken window.”

“I told them we'd sit on it,” I said, losing track of how often I'd repeated myself.

“Maybe,” Vida murmured, “Rip Ridley will file charges.”

“Against who? Cal Vickers? Cal hit him by mistake. He was going for Scott Melville.” Now I was beginning to sound cross, too.

Carla looked up from her word processor. “It's too stupid. Why can't people in Alpine act civilized? I haven't heard anything so silly since I used to go to frat keggers at the UDub.”

Carla's reference to her days at the University of Washington always made me wince. I'd never yet figured out how she'd gotten away with a diploma. Maybe
she'd stolen it. Judging from some of her journalistic attempts, she sure as hell hadn't earned it.

Leo Walsh finished filling his coffee mug and poked Carla in the upper arm. “Hey, kid, lighten up. That was just a skirmish the other night. I hear some of the local preachers have got a bunch of bees up their butts. A couple of them came down pretty hard on the California contingent yesterday. What did your Presbyterian reverend have to say for himself, Duchess?”

As usual, Vida bridled at the nickname. “Pastor Purebeck doesn't indulge in smear tactics,” Vida huffed. “His sermon was on vanity.”

Leo raised his eyebrows. “It was? Why? I've seen some of your Presbyterians, and if there was ever a sin they didn't have any reason to commit, it's that one. How about self-delusion?”

Vida was close to an explosion. She stopped tapping her foot, made her hands into tight fists and glared at Leo. “Don't be so rude, Leo. What do you know about religion? You never go to church.”

“That's because thanks to a Jesuit education, I do know a lot about religion,” Leo retorted, grinning at Vida as he sat down behind his desk. “It taught me to think for myself. Spending an hour on my dead butt every week won't make me a better person. It's all show, not to mention hypocrisy. I'd rather do
The New York Times
crossword puzzle and stretch my brain.”

Vida threw Leo a haughty look. “You're a humbug. Don't talk to me anymore this morning. I might have to do something I'd regret.”

Puzzled, Leo turned away, sipping his coffee and studying a mock-up for Barton's Bootery. I sidled over to his desk.

“Did those preachers really speak out against the spa project?” I asked, knowing that lowering my voice wouldn't prevent Vida from hearing.

Leo nodded. “That's what Norm Carlson at Blue Sky Dairy told me. He's Lutheran, and his pastor—Nielsen, right?—wasn't one of them, but it seems that the fundamentalist guys got pretty worked up. Satan in our midst and all that.”

The last thing we needed in Alpine was for church leaders to incite their congregations. I wondered if there was another story brewing. Maybe it would be better to editorialize. Emma Lord, the Voice of Reason. I could already hear the cliches bouncing off the back of my brain.

I could also hear the phone ringing in my office. I ran in to catch it before it trunked back to Ginny. Skye Piersall's faintly reedy voice was on the other end.

“I'd like to come in this morning to give you CATE's official point of view,” she said. “I understand you have a Tuesday deadline.”

I told her that was so. We agreed on ten-thirty. Noting that it was now exactly nine-thirty, I took a chance that Sky Travel was open. Before I placed the call, I closed my office door. There was no need for my staff to hear about my weekend plans. Not yet.

Janet Driggers answered on the second ring. “Hey, sweetie, how about that Scott Melville? Wouldn't you like to take a two-week tour of his anatomy?”

I had to confess that Scott's body wasn't on my agenda. Trying not to sound like a prude, I told Janet what I wanted. The cost of the round-trip fare made me wish I'd taken Tom up on his offer to pay for it. My second bank card would just barely accommodate the total.

“Do you need lodging?” Janet asked. I could almost see the leer on her face.

“I'm staying with friends,” I replied a bit stiffly. “Newspaper types,” I added, feeling a need to amplify.

“Business, huh?” Janet sounded disappointed. “Too
bad. San Francisco is made for sin. You can feel it the minute you cross the Oakland Bay Bridge.”

“I'll be coming up from the airport,” I reminded her. “No bridges.”

“It's better with bridges,” she insisted. “But what the hey, maybe you'll have time to sneak off with some visiting foreign hunk. The only problem with San Francisco is that so many of the local guys are gay. What a waste! Don't they ever think about what we're missing?”

“They know what we're missing,” I noted dryly. “That's why they prefer each other.”

Janet erupted into laughter. 'Too true, Emma! Oh, well, to each his—or her—own. Your tickets will be ready this afternoon.”

Thanking Janet, I rang off and quickly dialed Tom's number at his club. He wasn't in, but I left a message giving the arrival time of my Friday flight. Damping down my renewed giddiness, I put myself to work.

The front page was shaping up, with Windy Mountain again the lead story. I planned to give almost as much space to the latest news from the timber wars. The two items were linked, of course. There were also shorter articles on the sheriff's renovations, the inspirational speaker for the high school graduation ceremonies, and a traffic fatality on Highway 2 near Index. The victim was from eastern Washington, which earned him only two and a half inches of copy.

Since my door was still closed, Vida had to knock. She entered almost defiantly. “I thought you were in conference,” she said, knowing that I wasn't. “What's wrong?”

It was pointless to keep secrets from Vida. I indicated that she should close the door again. Then I leveled with her about Tom's dilemma and my proposed trip to San Francisco. No one in Alpine except Vida and Carla
knew about my relationship with Tom. As far as I knew, both had kept the secret. Milo had an inkling, but he never pried. And despite Tom's visit a couple of years earlier, he and I had not given cause for gossip. But if Tom—and Adam—were to spend more time in Alpine, somebody would notice the strong resemblance and put the pieces together. Maybe it would be Leo Walsh who'd first jump to conclusions. He'd worked for Tom in California, but he didn't know how well we knew each other.

Vida's reaction was magnanimous. “How very grand,” she declared after I'd revealed my plans. “You and Tommy deserve a getaway. It's quite remarkable how you've maintained such closeness after all these years apart.”

It was also quite remarkable that Vida, who could be so critical of more trivial trespasses, made no moral judgments when it came to Tom and me. She had that rare ability to cut through the excuses and deceptions that star-crossed lovers use to justify their actions. Under that prickly exterior, Vida had romance in her soul.

“Enduring love,” she had once said, “especially in the face of obstacles and separations, is very unusual. You can't make it happen and you can't make it go away. It simply is.”

Now, perhaps, it was Vida's turn. Ginny knocked timorously on the door. When I told her to come in, her shoulders were bowed with the weight of the morning mail. A quick glance at her left hand showed that the ring finger was still bare. Either Rick Erlandson hadn't yet popped the question, or Ginny had turned him down. The latter seemed unlikely.

“Here, Vida,” Ginny said in a breathless voice, “your stack is under Emma's. You might as well grab it now.”

Vida did. Without expression she sorted through the wedding announcements, bridal showers, end-of-school activities, and Father's Day items. Now unburdened, Ginny scooted back toward the front office. Vida reached the bottom of the pile, cradling a business-size envelope in her hands. “It's got the P.O. box for the return address. Who do you suppose it is?”

Naturally, I couldn't guess. But Vida was having trouble hiding her eagerness. “Open it and find out,” I urged.

She closed the door again. The rest of the staff must have been wondering what was going on. Vida took the single sheet of white stationery out of the envelope and scanned it with her practiced eye.

“This is typed, with no mistakes. He's keeping his anonymity,” she said in a voice that was both disappointed and intrigued. “Maybe that's wise. I admire caution.”

I leaned forward in my chair, which had developed an annoying creak. “What does he say?”

Vida cleared her throat. “'Dear Madame X.' I like that. It lends an air of mystery. He has imagination.” She paused, then continued reading. “'Your enthusiasm for books, culture, travel, and people shows that we have much in common. It also sounds as if you are relatively unencumbered by family responsibilities. For the most part, so am I. I, too, believe that grown children should stand on their own and lead independent lives. If you could tell me more about your background, I'd be grateful. Common life experiences are often the best foundation for lasting friendships. I'm a Puget Sound native, and I truly believe that we live in God's country. Let me know if you share my philosophy. If so, perhaps we can meet soon for coffee or whatever beverage of your choice. Sincerely yours, Mr. Ree.'” Vida tried not
to smile too widely. “Mr. Ree! I think that's rather clever, don't you?”

I didn't, but I merely smiled back. “It's a well-composed letter. You know everybody in the area, Vida. Surely you must have some idea who he is. Especially if he's in your peer group.”

But for once Vida appeared stumped. “He's originally from the Puget Sound vicinity,” she said, pushing the envelope across my desk. “That takes in a great deal of territory. The ads are available to anyone in Skykomish, Snohomish, and parts of King and Chelan counties. But the postmark is Everett. I certainly don't know everybody who lives there. It's grown so much in recent years. Of course he might have been passing through and mailed it from there.”

Everett is fifty miles away in Snohomish County, but as the nearest city of any size, it's a common destination for Alpine residents. Personally, I prefer to drive the extra thirty miles into my hometown of Seattle.

“You're going to reply?” I asked.

Vida ruffled her tangled curls. “I'm curious. It can't hurt to correspond, can it? Or have coffee. Though I'd prefer tea.”

Vida's effort at nonchalance didn't fool me, but I pretended otherwise. Briefly, we speculated on Ginny's lack of an engagement ring. Vida figured that Rick's Saturday birthday celebration might not have allowed him the appropriate moment to ask for Ginny's hand. I wondered if he'd been able to get the ring out of lay-away. Vida didn't know, but assured me she'd check with her niece, Lynette, at Tonga Gems.

After my House * Home editor left, I concentrated on the timber story. A great many numbers were involved, including board feet, cutback percentages, truckloads, and actual jobs. I've always been weak
when it comes to figures, so I had to cudgel my brain to make sense of the accumulated statistics. It was after eleven o'clock when I finished the rough draft. I realized that Skye Piersall was late for her appointment.

Taking a break from writing, I checked the mail. A dozen letters criticized the Windy Mountain project, while two progressive thinkers endorsed the idea. We'd need extra space on the editorial page to fit in the written responses.

Half an hour later I wondered if Skye Piersall had forgotten our meeting. She didn't seem like the careless type. It occurred to me that there was no way to check, because I didn't know where she was staying.

Shortly after noon I wandered out into the news office. Carla and Ginny had already left for lunch, Leo was attending the monthly Kiwanis meeting, and Vida was munching carrot sticks. Usually she could be persuaded to abandon her diet for a vat of grease at the Venison Inn or the Burger Barn. But not today: Vida regarded me as if I'd suggested a roll in the hay with the high school football team.

“Heavens! Don't even try to tempt me! I'm determined to lose ten pounds before & Independence Day.”

I turned away so that Vida couldn't see my smile. The goal, I guessed, was before she met Mr. Ree. “Okay,” I said, heading for the door. “I'll shanghai Milo.”

Stepping out under overcast skies, I started down Front Street for the sheriff's office. I got as far as the corner when one of the green and white Skykomish County vehicles whipped into traffic. The flashing lights went on and the siren screamed.

I couldn't see who was in the car, but it was headed out of town. Naturally, I kept walking. Emergency runs were always news, even if they involved only minor
traffic accidents or a suspected prowler. In Alpine, that was often the case. But not this time.

DEPUTY BILL BLATT, who was also Vida's nephew, was on duty behind the counter in the sheriff's reception area. So far, the preliminary remodeling work was taking place in the rear of the building. I made a mental note for Carla to get a picture for our current edition.

Bill was on the phone, anxiously trying to rid himself of a long-winded caller. At last he hung up and turned his boyish face in my direction. His blue eyes registered shock or excitement or both. “Ms. Lord! Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Behind the door that led to Milo's office, the evidence room, and the interrogation area, I could hear men shouting. “What's happened?”

“Mr. Levine—the tall, bald one—he's been shot!” Bill Blatt's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. After four years on the job, he still wasn't used to violence.

Neither was I. Clutching the counter, I reeled a bit. “Is he … dead?” I asked, vaguely aware that my tongue had grown thick.

In agitation, Bill waved his hands. “I don't know. Sheriff Dodge and Dustin Fong have gone up there to see what's going on.”

“Up where?”

“To the hot springs.” Nervously, Bill fidgeted with
some paperwork. “That's where it happened. Leonard Hollenberg found him. I think.”

I stared at Bill. “Leonard hiked up to the hot springs? He's too old!”

“He's tough, though,” Bill said, getting himself under control. The phone rang, but Bill made no move to answer it this time. “Toni can pick it up,” he explained. “Toni Andreas. She's been hired part-time.”