Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) (7 page)

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?”

I probably looked stupid. “I've no idea about UPS,” I replied, realizing that Lila didn't know Bill was dining with Tanya at Le Gourmand. “As for Bill's schedule, all of the deputies are on a set rotation.”

Somehow, by the grace of God or Charles Goren, we got through the first table without any more awkward episodes. Shortly before ten, we were on the last round. I was partnered with Janet, facing off against Linda Grant and Lila Blatt. By this time, almost everybody was semi-blitzed, except me. And maybe Lila. Unlike me, she seemed to keep up with the rest of the crowd, but her rigid demeanor didn't change.

“Good Lord,” Janet gasped, “I'm free of Char and Dar and their giggle fits! If they wet their pants on my upholstered Amish chairs, I'll strangle them with some of our bondage ropes.”

“Where
is
Al?” I asked, hoping to distract my hostess.

“He's in bed,” Janet replied, taking a sip of white wine. “He went to the hospital first.” She hiccuped and bid a spade.

“Is he sick?” I asked after our opponents passed and I'd responded with two hearts.

Linda passed again. Janet said four spades to make game. “No,” she said to me while I laid down my cards. “He got a call from an out-of-town woman who's in the hospital and insisted he come to see her. Maybe she's dying and wanted to make arrangements. Who knows? We can use the money. I didn't get a chance to talk to him when he came in the back way a little after eight. Okay, we've got this one in the bag. Not the body bag, of course…” She began to play out the hand.

The final half hour passed without incident except for Linda Grant making a crack about how
wise
it was of Milo and me to spend so much time getting to
know
each other before
finally
getting married, and Lila looking as if she never wanted to see any of us again. I wanted to ask Janet more about the hospital patient, but she seemed on the verge of passing out. Being first out the door was my priority, lest some of the other players crash into me in a drunken stupor.

When I pulled into the garage, I was surprised to see Milo's Yukon already parked there. I was also alarmed, wondering if something was wrong. I hurried inside, finding him in the easy chair watching baseball wrap-ups on ESPN.

“Why are you home before midnight?” I asked, sitting on the easy chair's arm.

Milo kissed me lightly and chuckled. “Blatt showed up in uniform around ten. His old lady thought he was on duty. She'd gone somewhere for the earlier part of the evening, so he took his work clothes with him when he went to dinner with Tanya.”

I laughed. “Lila was at bridge club. She mentioned Bill was working tonight. I wondered what was going on. How did their dinner go?”

“Hey,” my husband said, “I told you I don't interrogate my staff about their off-duty time. He looked happy, though.”

“Bill's mother is demanding,” I remarked. “Any on-the-job news?”

He shrugged. “A couple of fender-benders in town. Doe Jamison made quick work of those. I only had to make one call.”

“That sounds like a…” I frowned at him. “I thought you were working the front desk. Why'd you have to go out on a call?”

Did I detect hesitation on Milo's part? “It was from Jeannie Hobbs,” he said. “There was some guy hanging out by her house. Her husband's out of town, so she asked for a male officer to come by. I was it.”

I slid off the chair's arm. “Really? How
is
your former girlfriend?” I asked in a voice I tried to make lighthearted.

“Loosen up,” my husband said, obviously not fooled. “Jeannie Clay's been married to Dale Hobbs for three years. The only time I see her is when I get my teeth cleaned every six months.”

Luckily, the sheriff had good teeth.
Great
teeth, actually. “I know. I'm not jealous. I never was. Your romance with her didn't last long.”

Milo laughed, revealing his amazing teeth. “You were jealous as hell. It was a rebound fling after you dumped me. It pissed you off because she was so much younger. I couldn't figure it out. By then, you were panting for Cavanaugh to pop the question.”

I flopped onto the sofa. “You know why. Then I got snarky
about your affair with the Irish widow. That was even weirder, because Tom and I were engaged. I always felt you were
mine
. I didn't want to share.”

“You got that right.” He stood up and stretched. “Since you're home safe from the local sots and pervs, I'm heading for bed.”

“Was there a pervert at Jeannie's house?” I asked as Milo mussed my hair on the way out of the living room.

He paused in the hall doorway. “The flowers were trampled by a bedroom window. I told Jeannie not to mess with it. I'll have a deputy check for footprints tomorrow. It might be kids. She didn't get a good look except seeing a male run through the yard.” His hazel eyes sparked. “Maybe I'll drop in tomorrow after work to find out if she remembers more details.” My husband disappeared into the hall.

I refrained from gnashing my teeth. I might damage one and have to go see Dr. Starr—and his assistant, Jeannie. I stopped acting like a jealous wife and checked in with Kip to make sure everything was going well at work. He assured me it was—except for a phone call he described as creepy.

“How creepy?” I asked.

“It was some guy asking for what I thought was the rent,” Kip replied. “I told him we didn't pay rent because the building had been included in the price of the newspaper. That seemed to confuse
him
. Finally, he explained he was looking for somebody named Ren or Rent who'd given him our number as the one to call in Alpine. I told him there must be a mistake.”

I realized Kip didn't know that Ren Rawlings had paid me a call. My back-shop wizard often enters his high-tech world and doesn't emerge for hours at a time. I filled him in.

“Dang,” he said under his breath. “Now the guy who called thinks I'm nuts. His number showed up only as out-of-area.”

“Don't worry about it,” I consoled him. “We may never see Ren again once she's let out of the hospital.”

“Right,” Kip agreed. “It all sounds pretty weird.”

On that note, we both rang off. Of course what sounded weird on Tuesday would feel downright sinister before the week was over.

V
ida had reverted to her more prickly self by Wednesday morning. “What's wrong with those RestHaven people?” she demanded, re-pinning a froth of white net covered with tiny green satin bows that passed for a hat. “This is the fourth time I've invited one of them to be on my radio program and they always refuse.”

I was pouring my first cup of coffee. “They must not realize that
Vida's Cupboard
is don't-miss-listening in SkyCo. Who is it this time?”

“Iain Farrell,” she replied before blowing on the hot water she drank every day at work. “First it was Jennifer Hood, the medical rehab nurse. Her excuse was the escaped patient and not wanting to draw attention to the facility. Then it was Dr. Reed, who claimed to be a grieving widow. I had words with Spencer about that. The grapevine has been rampant with talk of his affair with Rosalie, dead husband or not.” She stopped speaking as Alison arrived with the Upper Crust pastries.

“My second day on the job,” our fill-in receptionist said, opening the lavender box. “I'd forgotten how much fun it is to pick out the morning goodies. The cinnamon rolls are still warm from the oven.”

Mitch, who was already working at his computer, practically vaulted over to the table. Leo hadn't yet arrived, but Kip
must have caught the baked goods' aroma. He'd already informed me that this week's
Advocate
was ready for delivery. I kept my distance from the men. Mitch's lanky frame never showed any signs of the damage he could do to pastry. Sometimes I wondered if Brenda wasn't a very good cook.

Vida was keeping her gimlet eye on the pastry tray as Mitch and Kip moved away. “So fat-making,” she murmured, looking as if she were arguing with herself. “I was particularly annoyed with Kay Burns. Not only is she their PR person, but a native Alpiner who's returned to her roots. That's the subject I wanted to discuss with her. I didn't intend to ask about her failed marriages to Dwight Gould and Jack Blackwell before she left town thirty years ago. That's old news.”

I kept a straight face. “Yes, I'm sure you could've had an interesting segment about why former residents like Kay and Sid Almquist come back to Alpine. I forget. What was her excuse?”

Vida sighed. “Kay claimed that being PR for RestHaven, she'd be taking away from the facility by discussing personal reflections. Twaddle, of course.” She suddenly lurched forward in her chair and stared at me. “Did you say Sid Almquist? What do you mean?”

“He's the full-time security person at RestHaven as of June first,” I replied calmly. “Milo told me last night.” Seeing Vida's gray eyes shoot daggers at me, I hastily added that he'd only found out by accident.

“You see?” she shrieked. “That should've come from Kay! That's her job. What's wrong with those people?”

“It's all about patient privacy,” I said. “You know how touchy they've been from the start. That's probably why Farrell declined.”

Vida fell back in her chair. “It's absurd,” she murmured, looking not unlike a big red, white, and blue burst balloon in
her striped summer dress. “They may be in Alpine, but they're not
part
of Alpine.”

“They provide jobs,” I pointed out. “Jennifer Hood helps at the clinic when they're shorthanded and even Iain Farrell pitched in when Elvis Sung visited family in Hawaii over Memorial Day weekend.”

She sniffed. “My niece Marje told me Farrell only saw two patients.”

“But he was available,” I said, noting that Mitch had discreetly left the newsroom. No doubt he didn't want to get caught up in Vida's maelstrom.

“I think I'll grab a cinnamon roll before they're all gone,” I mumbled. “I need a coffee refill anyway.”

I walked over to the table, noting that of the half-dozen rolls, only two remained. I changed my mind, taking a sugar cookie instead. “Alison got petit fours,” I informed Vida, knowing she had a weakness for them because they were, as she put it,
petite
.

“I'll see,” she murmured, staring at her computer screen.

Leo arrived five minutes later, looking pleased with himself. He sat down in my office holding on to his faux-leather ad case. “It only took me eleven years, but I finally got Jack Blackwell to take out something bigger than his standing two-by-two ad. Call me cunning.”

I grinned. “What did you do? Threaten to set fire to his mill?”

Leo's expression was roguish. “Before I paid my routine visit, I was thinking about the lack of rain and the threat of forest fires. That gave me an idea for a sales pitch. I told Black Jack that as the only mill owner in town, he should man up.” Leo paused to light a cigarette.

“You challenged his manhood and survived?” I said in surprise
as I got out the ashtray I kept in a drawer for smokers like Leo, Milo—and me, when I fell off the No Nicotine Wagon.

Lee nodded. “But I did it in a macho kind of way. You know, just between us aggressive, enterprising good ol' boys. He fell for it. I went on to say we need a timber-industry type to stand up for the forests. I suggested what amounted to a public service ad, warning locals, visitors, passers-through, and any other two-legged life form about the dangers of starting fires around here. I used the Fourth of July as the hook.”

I was still smiling. “You are a sly fox,” I said. “How big of an ad?”

“A full page,” Leo replied, his well-traveled face smug. “Will the sheriff cancel his subscription?”

“What subscription?” I shot back. “Like the mayor and the county commissioners, Milo gets a courtesy copy. Which, I might add, he rarely reads. The freebies go back to the days of my predecessor, Marius Vandeventer, and Milo's former boss, Eeeny Moroni.”

Leo shook his head. “I still can't get over how things that happen today in Alpine have roots from thirty, forty, even eighty years ago. How long have Dodge and Blackwell gone at it? I remember you telling me about Jack running against Milo when the sheriff's office was elected.”

“That was spite on Blackwell's part,” I said. “Their history goes way beyond that, to Jack's arrival from California when Milo was still a deputy. A basic personality clash, as my husband describes it.”

Leo chuckled. “In other words, Dodge didn't like Blackwell trying to push him around.”

“You got it. And Jack didn't like Milo pushing back.”

Leo put out his cigarette and stood up. “Your better half has to admit that Blackwell runs a decent mill.”

“Milo grants him that much,” I assured my ad manager. “It's Jack's personal life that's always been a shambles. You know Patti Marsh's sad story,” I added, referring to Blackwell's longtime main squeeze.

“Right,” Leo said. “She's never turned him in for beating the crap out of her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I'd better get a cinnamon roll before they're gone. Mitch just nabbed the next-to-last one.”

“Do that. And congratulations on the full-page ad. That's huge.”

Leo grinned. “Guess my job's safe from Ed Bronsky for another week.” He turned to head for the pastry tray.

I leaned back and contemplated next week's issue. We were already in good shape, especially with Leo's advertising coup. The holiday festivities would offer plenty of photo possibilities. It might be our lead story unless Milo came up with something new about the buried body. Given the circumstances, he should be so lucky. So should I.

Shortly after Alison brought the mail in around nine-thirty, Rosemary Bourgette called to ask if we could go to lunch at her brothers' 1950s-style diner, The Heartbreak Hotel. She sounded rushed but upbeat, so I assumed she wanted to tell me about her date. Naturally, I agreed to join her.

Just before ten, Kip dropped off our advance copies of the paper. “Looks good,” I said to him. “Any chance we can run color next week with the fireworks-show photos?”

He grimaced. “Maybe. It's your call. How's the budget?”

I told him about Leo's coup. “Let's think about it,” I said.

“Sure.” He grinned at me in his still-boyish manner before heading off to deliver the rest of the advance copies.

Two minutes later, Vida screamed. I leaped out of my chair and ran into the newsroom. Leo and Mitch were gone, but
Alison had rushed in from the front office. I stopped within six feet of my House & Home editor's desk. Except for looking a bit flushed, she seemed fine.

“What's wrong?” I asked, still shaken.

Vida held up the
Advocate
's front page. “This is what's wrong! Why didn't you tell me about the dead person at the dump site?” She tossed the paper aside, yanked off her glasses, and began rubbing her eyes in a familiar gesture of deep distress.

I hurried to sit in her visitor chair, noting that Alison had discreetly withdrawn to her post. “Vida,” I said, “I never got a chance—”

“Nonsense!” she interrupted, still pummeling her eyeballs. As always, I thought I could hear them grind and squeak. “You don't trust me anymore! I've fallen out of your esteem.” She eased off on the cornea assault. “I thought we were friends as well as colleagues.” Dropping her hands into her lap, she stared at me with reddened eyes. “Ever since you got married, you've relegated me to a second-class citizen.”

I held my head. “Oh my God,” I said under my breath. “I don't know what to say.”

“There's nothing
to
say,” Vida replied stiffly, putting her glasses back on. “Please leave so I can finish reading the dump-site story. I do not like to be uninformed.”

I hesitated. Of course I'd expected her to be angry, but I hadn't envisioned anything this drastic. I could only surmise that her wrath wasn't entirely spontaneous, but that resentment had been building for some time. It had never occurred to me that she'd be jealous of Milo's role in my life. Then I shrugged, stood up, and walked away.

Sitting down at my desk, I wondered if my wedded state really was the source of her outburst. The key remark was
about not trusting her. Vida and I had never discussed Roger's fate except for the facts that had to go public. Later, I'd been reluctant to bring up the subject, knowing how it embarrassed and upset her. I assumed there was guilt, too, for spoiling the jerk and turning a blind eye to his many faults. And while Vida might use every tactic short of electric shocks to elicit personal data from others, she turned mute when it came to her private life. She might say—even believe—my marriage had erected a barrier between us, but I suspected Roger was the cause of her current state of mind. It had always been that way with her grandson. I supposed it always would be. I picked up my copy of the newspaper and started scanning it for typos. They, like Roger, are always with us, no matter how carefully we try to avoid them.

—

Having managed to keep my distance from Vida for the rest of the morning, I started out of the office before noon to meet Rosemary. Alison stopped me at the front desk, but looked furtive. “Where's Mrs. Runkel?” she whispered.

“In the back shop, I think,” I replied. “Could you hear what she was saying earlier?”

Alison nodded, her pretty face troubled. “Is she having a breakdown or a meltdown?”

I kept my eye on the newsroom in case Vida returned to her desk. “Maybe neither. She's still in shock from Roger's arrest. I wish Buck Bardeen could provide more support for her. In fact, she hasn't mentioned him lately. Maybe they had a falling-out over Roger.”

Alison frowned. “I remember when I worked here in December that Vida's…friend thought Roger should join the marines. She hated Colonel Bardeen's idea. But it might've kept
her grandson out of prison.” She paused, glancing down the hall. “Mrs. R. just went into the rest room. I knew Roger when I was a little kid. We were in kindergarten together before my parents divorced and I moved to Everett. He used to do some really disgusting things, including make himself throw up.”

“Roger's idea of humor never matured much beyond that,” I said, heading for the door before Vida came out of the rest room. “I should be back by one o'clock.”

It took less than five minutes to drive to the diner, which was located east of Alpine Way between Railroad Avenue and River Road. As I turned into the parking lot, I glimpsed the old steel bridge over the Sky, where a sorry chapter in Roger's disgrace had unfolded in April. I shook my head as I got out of the car and walked into the diner.

Terri Bourgette, Rosemary's youngest sister, was greeting an older couple I recognized only by sight. Seeing me enter, she waved a handful of menus. “Be right back, Emma,” she said.

I waited, staring at the antique Wurlitzer jukebox. Cal Vickers tramped past me—and stopped. “Hi, Emma. You're due for an oil change. Or did Dodge already tell you?”

If Milo had mentioned it, I'd forgotten. “Right, Cal.”

He moved on in his grease-stained work clothes and beat-up Chevron cap. I assumed he was joining someone who was already seated.

A moment later, I felt a tap on my arm. “I'm late,” Rosemary said. “Is my bratty little sister ignoring you?”

“No,” I replied, smiling. “She's…here's Terri now.”

Terri handed us each a menu. “Let Rosie find a table for you,” she said. “She'll want one with complete privacy so she can dish about her hot new boyfriend.”

“You should be so lucky,” Rosemary shot back good-naturedly. “The last guy you went out with had horns.”

“That was hair gel,” Terri retorted, but put on a big smile for whoever was waiting behind us.

Rosemary led the way to the opposite end of the diner. She always moved briskly, whether in court or in chambers, as she likes to say mockingly of her small, cluttered office between the county auditor and the county clerk. She selected a booth across from a young couple who were so absorbed in each other that they wouldn't have noticed a pair of okapis sitting on the opposite side of the aisle.