Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) (22 page)

“I'll wait for Dodge to get things sorted out.” He nodded at Vida's vacant desk. “The Duchess hasn't come back since she left earlier this morning. She must be making up for lost time.”

“Probably,” I murmured. “It
is
deadline day.”

Mitch returned to his desk. I headed for the rest room. When I came out, Vida was entering the front office. “Emma!” she called. “We must have lunch. Let's leave early to get a window seat at the Venison Inn. A quarter of?”

I joined her and Alison at the front desk. “Sure. How's Amy?”

“Doc sent her home,” Vida informed me, adjusting the bathtub on her head. “Nerves, worrying about me. Ella's mind has deteriorated since her fall. She'd forgotten I was visiting Faith. No wonder Amy was upset. I must finish all those advice letters. Dear me!”

I smiled at Alison as Vida tromped off to her desk. She'd described her visit as “inspiring.” Maybe the minister's widow had miraculous powers. The Spokane trip seemed to have cured our House & Home editor of her irascible mood. It was too bad Faith's influence couldn't sail across the state and over the Cascade Mountains to stop some of our bellicose Alpiners from declaring war on each other.

I was still smiling when I heard the phone ringing in my office.

“Emma?” Milo said.

“Hey—I am not going to Pie-in—”

“Glenn McElroy's body was found this morning near Grotto. He'd been shot. I'll get more details later.”

I
'd shoved Glenn McElroy to the back of my memory. Of course he was the federal marshal looking for Aaron Conley, but only Milo and I knew that. Maybe I should cover this latest blast of bad news. Peeking into the newsroom where Mitch was hunched over his keyboard, I realized I'd have to alert him if he was going to see the sheriff after lunch.

I stuck to the bare bones, however. Milo wouldn't want me blabbing about McElroy's reasons for being in SkyCo. The marshal's search for Conley had never been made official. Mitch would have to handle the story on a need-to-know basis. I didn't tell him that the murdered man was a U.S. Marshal.

But of course my reporter was curious. “Another out-of-towner gets whacked?” he said in surprise. “That's not good for the tourist trade.”

“It helps fill up the front page,” I said.

Mitch nodded. “In Detroit, it'd take up about an inch. I'll call on the sheriff after I have lunch with Brenda.”

I returned to the conundrum of my editorial.
Violence
. That was always a solid topic. I could weave in criminal and domestic violence. I considered tying in the Fourth of July by leading off with how our country had been conceived in a violent revolution. But tossing a bunch of overtaxed tea into Boston Harbor didn't suit the modern era. I cut to the chase, trying to
avoid clichés. By eleven-forty, I'd finished a rough draft. Very rough. I winced as I hit
SAVE
.

“You may not believe this,” Vida said. standing in my doorway, “but after Spokane, it feels quite cool in Alpine. It was over ninety there! Faith has window fans, but they can only do so much. Are you coming? I didn't take time for breakfast and I'm famished.”

I grabbed my purse and followed Vida like a good little stooge. “I'm so glad you're back,” I said as she led the way out the door and to the Venison Inn. “I was worried, too.”

“Ridiculous!” Vida exclaimed, her gray eyes darting every which way as if to absorb each nook and cranny of her beloved hometown. I wondered if she'd gone through withdrawal in Spokane. “If only Ella had a brain.” She paused at the restaurant entrance, sniffing the air. “So fragrant. So refreshing after the smell of a city.”

By the time we'd made the usual Runkel Royal Progress through the VI's front section, we settled into a window booth that looked out onto Front Street. Nicole, a dark-haired member of the Gustavson branch of Vida's family, hurried to greet us.

“Aunt Vida!” she cried. “We thought you'd run away from home!”

Vida put a hand to her imposing bust. “Oh, good heavens! Such a fuss! I was only gone two full days. Spokane seems like another world, but it
is
in the same state. Now tell me what the special is. I haven't eaten since last night. My old friend Faith is frugal when it comes to preparing meals. A Presbyterian virtue, of course.”

“Meat loaf,” Nicole replied. “Very hearty, with a side of mashed potatoes and a small salad.”

I tried not to blanch. The special didn't strike me as warm-weather fare. Vida, however, was undaunted.

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “With gravy?” She saw her niece nod. “Good. But a
small
salad? That's doesn't sound right for a hearty entrée. Could you bring a regular salad portion? And the bigger boat of ranch dressing. Tea, of course. Oh—a roll with an extra pat or two of butter?”

Nicole promised to fulfill her aunt's requests. She started to hurry off, apparently forgetting my existence. Obviously embarrassed, she backtracked and apologized.

“Sorry, Ms. Lord,” she said. “I haven't worked the lunch shift since I enrolled in night classes at the college during summer quarter.”

“No problem,” I responded. “I'll have the prawns and chips with the small salad. Roquefort dressing. And a Pepsi, please.”

Nicole dashed away. Vida watched her go, smiling fondly. “I do hope she carries through with her journalism major, though I don't understand why she wants to blog. Whatever is the purpose?”

“It's sort of a cross between a journal and an op-ed piece,” I ventured. “People have a chance to air their views on life.”

Vida looked skeptical. “Most people have very little to say that's worth knowing. That is, in terms of their life philosophy. If anyone should blog, it's Faith. Of course her view is that of a sincere Christian woman. She certainly opened my eyes this weekend.” Vida paused, looking a trifle sheepish. “I've been rather cross lately. With Amy, especially, fretting about Roger being away for a while. But it's a good lesson for him to learn about associating with wicked people. Youngsters can be very naive.”

I realized that was how Vida was coping with Roger's jail term: the innocent lamb had been led astray. Why not, if it made his grandmother feel better? He still had to serve his sentence. Maybe it'd help him grow up.

“Or,” Vida continued, “perhaps it's the unseasonable weather. But after the heat of Spokane and the wisdom of Faith, I feel quite rejuvenated. I hope I convinced her she must move here. I also hope you'll dismiss my silly ramblings of last week.”

“Of course,” I asserted, smiling. “I've been off my feed, too. I assume Amy feels better now that you're home?”

“My, yes! My daughters tend to overreact.” Vida paused as Nicole showed up with our salads and beverages. “Oh dear—I was hoping there'd be hard-boiled eggs in the salad. So slimming, you know. Do you think you could find some in the kitchen?”

“I'll try,” Nicole said, no longer smiling so brightly. Maybe she'd have to dash out to the Overholt farm and find a couple of eggs to boil.

Vida, however, hadn't seemed to notice her niece's change of expression. She leaned toward me. “Now do catch me up on the news.”

“We've got a dead body,” I said. “Milo called about a half-hour ago to report an apparent homicide.”

Vida almost dropped the three sugar packets she was dumping into her tea. “No! Who is it?”

“Someone from out of town,” I replied.

“Oh.” Her interest level plummeted. “A vagrant, perhaps.”

I didn't elaborate. Instead, I asked if Miriam and Bob Lambrecht were coming to town today. If so, we'd need a photo and a brief article.

“No, alas,” Vida replied. “They won't arrive until the weekend. They have so much to do winding up things in Seattle. You can imagine how difficult it is to deal with business and personal matters in the city.”

I thought back to my leave-taking from Portland sixteen years ago. The worst part had been wresting Adam away from
his current girlfriend, Coco Crawley. They'd only gone together for six weeks, but Coco had insisted she couldn't live without him. I'd been afraid she might follow my son to Alpine, but instead, she'd eloped with her yoga instructor a month later. To my relief, Adam had forgotten about her by the time he heard the news. In fact, only then did he reveal that her name wasn't Coco, but Cordelia…or Cornelia. He wasn't sure which.

As soon as Vida and I returned to the office, I got a phone message from Mitch saying he was going directly from his lunch at home to see the sheriff. Even without the Lambrecht coverage, the front page was filling up. I conferred with Kip about the color fireworks photo. It was, he assured me, really eye-catching since we'd hired Buddy Bayard to take it. We hadn't had much choice with Mitch and Vida gone for the weekend.

My reporter didn't get back until going on two. “Dodge took a late lunch,” he told me, putting a foot on one of my visitor chairs. “I didn't want to bother him at the Burger Barn.”

I didn't comment. Instead, I asked what he'd learned about the murdered man.

“Glenn McElroy, forty-nine, from Puyallup.” Mitch paused. “Did I say the town's name right?”

“Close enough,” I replied.

“Some of the local place-names are tongue twisters. Anyway, he was shot through the head and neck at fairly close range. McElroy was found by his car just off Highway 2 in Grotto. A local resident called it in. Guy wouldn't give his name. It sounds as if he was pretty badly shaken. Body to SnoCo for a full autopsy, but Dr. Sung did a prelim, so that much is official. I suspect the final results won't get back to Dodge until the end of the week, especially after a holiday.”

“Right. Has next of kin been notified?”

“Fong was working on that,” Mitch said. “Apparently the vic was some kind of civil servant.”

I told Mitch to write up what he knew, subject to change by press time. He grinned at me. “With stories like this, you're close to the source during the off-hours.”

I gave him a dark look. “Guess again. That's when the sheriff takes the phone out to the garage and shuts the door.”

I couldn't tell my reporter that I intended to take the backdoor approach on McElroy. Obviously, Milo was opting for discretion until he touched based with the Feds. I'd give the sheriff another half-hour before I dropped in on him.

A few minutes later, Leo stopped in to see me. “Blackwell pulled his standing ad. What's up with that?”

I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised—but I was. “Does he want a refund for the month of July?”

“You bet.” Leo rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “I told him it was a bad idea to cancel the ad. It could start a rumor that he was closing the mill and his logging operations. He told me what I could do with my advice. But the ads will run. Jack signed off on them. Does this have something to do with his feud with Dodge?”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “He got pissed off with me over Fuzzy's government reorganization plan and today he got into some kind of dustup at RestHaven. Don't ask. I'm still waiting for clarification from Dodge.”

“Does hot weather really make everybody nuts around here?” My ad manager didn't wait for an answer. “At least the Duchess is acting more like herself. What happened?”

“She got religion,” I said. “I'll tell you about it later. She could be back any minute from wherever she went.”

Vida, in fact, came through the door almost as soon as Leo went to his desk. To my dismay, she was holding Dippy by the hand and heading my way. “Amy is so exhausted from her
distress over my so-called disappearance that I insisted on taking Dippy off her hands. Ted had to take the morning off to care for him while Amy was in the hospital. Such a tempest in a teapot! Is Ed's old clip-art file still around? I thought Dippy might like some of the pictures.”

“Ask Leo,” I advised as Dippy eyed me with suspicion. “Mitch could use your help with the Doukas family tree. I don't recall anything about Eeeny's dad finding gold.”

“Gold?” Dippy echoed, gazing up at Vida with his curious gray eyes. “You have gold teeth, Grams.”

“They're crowns, dearest,” Vida informed him, beaming. “Dr. Starr put them in for me. Some day you'll visit him. He's a very kind dentist.”

Dippy bared his own teeth. I was afraid he might try to bite me. “I'm off to…Parker's Pharmacy,” I announced. “I need shampoo.” I thought it best not to let Mitch know I was going to see the sheriff, since he might consider it a breach of his turf. “Your hair looks funny,” Dippy said as I sidled past him. “That's why I need shampoo,” I informed him with a half-baked smile. Maybe he'd suggest I needed toothpaste, too.

Stepping outside, it felt like mid-eighties. If Harvey Adcock hadn't gotten more fans, maybe Parker's had some. I really could use more shampoo, too. My husband seemed to wash his hair every time he showered. At least he still had his hair. I supposed I should be grateful for that.

Tara Wesley, who owned the pharmacy along with her husband, Garth, greeted me as I came in the door. “Your namesake was in here with Amanda about half an hour ago.”

“Have they run out of diapers already?” I asked.

“No, but she had to buy formula,” Tara replied. “Trying to nurse didn't work for her.”

“I flunked that, too,” I said. “Now I need fans. From giving birth to post-menopause. You got any?”

“Menopause? Been there and done that.” Tara laughed. “We've only got a couple of smaller fans left. Will they help?”

“Having you come to the office and blow on me would help,” I told her. “Yes. And let me browse. I didn't make a list.”

Tara nodded toward the next aisle and lowered her voice. “Dixie Ridley just told me they had a window peeper this morning. Rip chased him away, but he tripped over the hose and sprained his ankle.”

“Did they report it to the sheriff?”

Tara shook her head. “Rip was too embarrassed. Being a macho football coach, he didn't want to admit he fell flat on his face. But they got a fairly good look at the guy. He's not a kid, according to Dixie.”

“They should notify Milo,” I said. “The descriptions he's received are vague.”

Tara shrugged. “Tell your husband you heard it through the grapevine. Uh-oh. Here comes Ed Bronsky to pick up his prescriptions. I'm off to the pharmacy. Grab those fans on aisle two before somebody else does.”

I briefly mused on what meds Ed was taking. I couldn't think of anything that would cure him of self-absorption. Apparently, he hadn't seen me, which was good. With any luck, I could stay hidden in the Housewares aisle. Ed wouldn't dream of buying an item that smacked of chores.

Ten minutes later as I exited Parker's, I almost literally ran into Dennis Kelly. Not having lingered after Sunday Mass, I asked him about his trip. It had been enjoyable, he informed me, even if some of his relatives were politically unenlightened.

“How,” he remarked, “can my brother Pat—who was so outspoken on civil rights when it came to racial matters—not understand equality when it comes to gays? I finally told him I thought one of the Apostles was gay. He wanted to know
which one, and when I wouldn't answer, he decided it had to be Judas.” My pastor shook his head.