The Alpine Decoy (16 page)

“Ivory—too hard to keep clean,” she remarked, stomping past a table full of cotton and rayon sweaters. “Pants with a pleat!
Eeeek!”
“Silk dupioni? It sounds like an Italian dessert.” “Oh, good heavens! Platform shoes! I thought they went out with FDR!”

But I persevered. A long striped skirt with a side slit, a short-sleeved taupe sweater, a gauzy wrap-around white blouse, black leggings, a caramel trench dress in viscose rayon, and—yes—platform brown mock-crocodile sandals.

Vida was still exclaiming over my extravagance when we reached the turnoff for Stevens Pass. “Honestly! Not one item on sale! Emma, do you realize you spent almost a thousand dollars?”

I didn’t, of course. On the rare occasions that I splurge, I don’t keep track of what I spend. That takes all the fun out of it. And since I refurbish my wardrobe only about every two years, I try not to feel guilty. Still, I couldn’t help but gulp.

“A thousand dollars? Really?” I not only felt guilty, I felt sunk. In my head, I began to tot up the articles I’d purchased. Vida was right. I drove slowly through Monroe, noting the rooftops of the reformatory, and wondering how soon I’d join Wesley Charles there—as a bankrupt. Then I remembered that women aren’t sent to Monroe; they’re put
away at Purdy, on the Kitsap Peninsula. Growing more gloomy, I tried to calculate how close I’d come to maxing out my bank cards.

“Do you see this skirt?” Vida inquired, pointing to her pleats. “It’s twenty years old, Penney’s. It cost fifteen dollars.” She thrust out her floral-clad bust from under the boxy gray jacket. “The blouse was nine ninety-nine at the Everett Mall. The jacket came from my sister-in-law, Geraldine. It didn’t look right on her, and she was too lazy to return it to Sears.”

We were going through Sultan, past the sporting goods store, the Hoot Owl Mini Mart, the Sportsman Inn, and the Dutch Cup Motel and Restaurant. “Besides,” Vida went on, “he won’t even notice.”

I took my eyes off the road just long enough to give Vida an exasperated glare. There was no point in feigning innocence with Vida. “That’s not true. Tom notices things. He always liked me to look … nice.” I felt a faint flush come over my cheeks as I gunned the Jag past Startup.

“Perhaps.” Vida was looking very prim, her eyes directed at the jagged peaks that rose above the highway. “Women are very silly, you know. They spend oodles of money on clothes and cosmetics to make themselves attractive for a man. But if the man truly loves a woman, he doesn’t care if she’s wearing a grocery bag. It’s only appropriate to get all gussied up and act foolish in the very beginning, to be noticed. After that, you might as well save your money and wear housecoats.”

“But it makes me feel better about myself to know I look good,” I argued. “It gives me confidence.”

“Oh, pooh, it gives you piles of bills! Really, Emma,” Vida went on, very serious, “at your age, you should have plenty of confidence. Now if it were Carla, chasing after Dr. Flake, that’d be different. She’s only twenty-four.”

We were beginning to climb up into the mountains. Crossing the South Fork of the Skykomish River, we approached the entrance to the Snoqualmie National Forest. The river would weave back and forth across the highway almost as far as Alpine.

I reflected on Carla and Dr. Flake; I thought about Tom and me. Peyton Flake was single; Tom wasn’t. If Carla
wanted to chase Peyts from Mount Baldy to Beckler Peak, no one should criticize her for it. But I had just spent a grand on seducing a married man. I was profligate in more ways than one.

I was also lonely. At the two-thousand-foot level, the river narrowed, tumbling among huge boulders. I had a vision of myself in the gauzy white wrap-around blouse with the deep neckline and the clinging black leggings and my hair cut in a new gamine style and my makeup applied just right. And Tom, standing in the middle of a hotel lobby I could only imagine, cocking his head to one side and giving me his big grin.

“So I won’t take a trip this year,” I said in a defiant voice. “I didn’t want to go anywhere anyway.”

Vida turned to gaze at me. She chuckled very softly. “Except to Chelan.”

We drove through stands of western hemlock, cottonwoods, and cedar. Tall foxgloves waved in the wind and glossy-leafed salal grew in big green clumps. There were ferns everywhere, and cattails, slim and straight.

I didn’t reply to Vida. I didn’t have to.

It was almost six-thirty when I dropped Vida off at her house. On a whim, I turned left instead of right on Spruce Street. Marlow Whipp’s small store was still open, as I had hoped.

Marlow, however, gave a start when I entered. He peered at me as if I were a stranger, and in a sense, I was. I had never been in the store until now, and though I might have seen Marlow around town, my first real look at him had come on the night of Kelvin Greene’s murder.

“How can I help you?” Marlow asked, moving a bit uneasily behind the counter.

The store was very small, with a minimal stock of just about everything. He had cans of soup, toothpaste, butter, ice cream, toilet paper, macaroni, pet food, pantyhose, eggs, beer, tuna, candy, gum, and cigarettes. He even had three small tins of pâté, though I guessed they had been on the shelf since the Reagan era. The only concession to modern marketing was a gleaming brass espresso machine that I guessed was newly installed. I hadn’t noticed a sign advertising
Marlow’s innovation, though I assumed it could improve business. I made a mental note to mention it to Ed Bronsky.

I introduced myself, reminding him that we had encountered, if not met, the previous Friday. Marlow put a hand to his faded brown hair.

“Oh! That was terrible! Can you imagine? A guy like
that
comes in here and dies?”

I put on my most innocent air. “A guy like … what?”

Marlow swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down above the undershirt that showed beneath his plaid flannel. “Well … a black guy, a stranger, a person who wouldn’t normally come here.” He waved his hands in a helpless gesture.

“Did you think he was going to rob you?” I heard the wry note in my voice, but Marlow didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t know what to think.” Marlow shook his head. “I didn’t have much time to think at all. He walked in and sort of staggered.” Marlow pointed to an old-fashioned barrel near the door where he kept his hard candy. “He fell against that, and then came forward. He tried to say something, but he never got it out. Then
kerplunk
—he landed facedown right where you’re standing!”

I glanced at the worn floorboards. If Milo had made an outline of the body, it was now gone. “Why do you think he came here?” I inquired.

Marlow looked genuinely mystified by the question. “Why? Well, why not? I mean, where else would he go that time of night?”

“A house?” I suggested. “There’s a house next door, there are houses all over the place, at least on this side of Spruce. And wasn’t there activity at the high school field across the street? If the man wanted help, why not go there?”

It appeared that the thought had never occurred to Marlow Whipp. But instead of considering it, he leaned one elbow on the counter and his blue eyes grew wary. “So what are you trying to say, Mrs. Lord?”

I wasn’t sure. I suppose I’d been trying to flesh out the scenario. It appeared that Kelvin Greene had been shot at the cemetery, right by Axel Swensen’s newly dug grave. If
that was true, then Kelvin might have stumbled from the cemetery, up the service road to Spruce, crossed Seventh Street, and seen the sign for the grocery store. Would a dying black man be sufficiently rational to realize that he might not receive help from a private residence in a small town like Alpine? Was that why Kelvin Greene had sought sanctuary in a more public place? Maybe he had merely wanted to be sure that someone was on hand to give him aid. I tried to summarize my thoughts for Marlow Whipp.

Marlow, however, wasn’t in a speculative mood. “Who said he got shot at the cemetery? It didn’t say so in your newspaper. I figure somebody plugged him up in the woods. Hell, it could have been an accident. You know how it is with some of those guys and their guns. They’ll shoot at anything that moves. A black guy like that probably looked like a bear.”

I didn’t bother to keep from rolling my eyes. Marlow slapped his hand on a post that was decorated with cans of chewing tobacco. “Hell, Mrs. Lord, what are you getting at? The only thing I know for sure is that I didn’t shoot the son of a bitch, and I never saw him before in my life. I told Dodge that, and he believes me. Now why don’t you all go away and leave me alone?” Marlow’s voice was somewhere between a rasp and a whine.

Giving Marlow a flinty smile, I nodded at the espresso machine. “I wouldn’t mind taking a cup home with me. Can you do a mocha?”

Marlow stared at the big brass vat as if he’d never seen it before. “A mocha? I don’t know…. I’m just learning how to run that rig. The principal at the high school talked me into it. He swears the teachers—and some of the kids—will go nuts for it.”

“They will,” I assured him. “It should perk up your business. So to speak.” I kept a straight face, certain Marlow would miss the unintended pun.

He did. “Yeah, maybe. I do all right. You’d be surprised how much candy and gum those kids buy.”

“And beer and cigarettes?” I added, now giving him a conspiratorial smile.

Marlow ducked his head. “Well … cigarettes, maybe. Some of them
are
eighteen. I don’t encourage them and I
don’t smoke myself. Never did. But I can’t turn them away if they’re of age.”

I let the lie pass. I also passed on waiting for Marlow to figure out how to make a mocha. But I did buy some gum and a pound of butter. The butter cost almost half again as much as I would have paid at the Grocery Basket or Safeway.

Still, I wondered how Marlow Whipp stayed in business. I also wondered if Milo Dodge wondered. And then I wondered why it mattered. I drove home, still wondering.

Vida was giving a dinner party. “Just us girls,” she announced Thursday morning while Ginny and Carla fussed with the coffeemaker. “We four, plus Libby Boyd, Marilynn Lewis, and Cyndi Campbell. Friday, seven-thirty.”

I had misgivings about Libby and Marilynn at the same dinner table, but I couldn’t say why. So I kept my mouth shut. Carla, however, did not.

“I may be going in to Seattle Friday night,” she said, flipping her long black hair over her shoulders. “Peyts wants to have dinner at that new restaurant on the water. Palisades or something?”

Vida shrugged. “In that case, I won’t invite Libby. I was only doing that so she wouldn’t feel excluded. Did you say she had a beau? Where is he—Seattle?”

Carla was fiddling with a fingernail. “What? She doesn’t talk about him much. Libby’s private. She had a rough youth. I think she obsesses about being respectable. Don’t get her started on her parents, though. She says they were total potheads, always protesting something and being thrown in jail.” Getting an emery board out of her desk, she began filing away. “Of course, I don’t see her that much. She works weird hours.”

“Good,” Vida declared. “Then you won’t get sick of each other. It’s important for roommates to be independent.”

Ed arrived late, but filled with good intentions. “I got four inches instead of two out of the pet store this week. They’re introducing a new line of dog and cat food. Henry Bardeen up at the ski lodge has a summer promotion, including
a special for the restaurant. There’s a rumor Payless may be coming in. Shall I check it out?”

Overcome by Ed’s burst of energy, I practically reeled around the news office. “Gosh, Ed, why not? We should probably start in on the Fourth of July insert, too.”

“Right-o,” Ed agreed, wedging himself into his chair. He started humming. Dazed, I headed for my office, but was stopped by the sound of Todd Wilson’s voice. He had arrived in the company of Francine Wells, who had come to see Ed about yet another ad. Todd, however, was calling on Carla. The PUD was doing maintenance work the last week of May, and there would be some limited power outages. Todd wanted to make sure that their customers were forewarned.

I listened to hear if my address was included. It wasn’t, but Vida’s home was among those that would be without electricity for almost three hours on May twenty-eighth. Luckily, it was during the day when she’d be at work.

“I better not lose anything in my freezer,” she warned Todd.

“You shouldn’t,” Todd assured her, “except maybe ice cream. That’s why we warn people.” He gave her a big smile.

“Ice cream!” Vida exclaimed. “That’s Roger’s birthday! Now I’ll have to shop on my way home! Really, Todd, you could have picked a better day!”

Todd was still smiling. “It can’t be helped, Mrs. Runkel. If you want to file a complaint, wait until after June eleventh. I’ll be in Europe then.”

Vida stared at Todd over the rims of her glasses. “I thought it was your in-laws who were going to Europe,” she said.

“They are, later in the summer.” Todd looked very pleased with himself. “But Wendy and I decided we needed a getaway as soon as school was out. We’re heading for Greece and Italy for a month.” He glanced at his watch. “Hey—it’s almost nine. I’ve got a meeting. See you.”

Ed was still conferring with Francine Wells. Carla had resumed filing her nails. Ginny was checking the coffeemaker which seemed to have stalled on us. Vida was sitting
with her chin on her fists, staring at the door that had closed behind Todd Wilson.

“Greece and Italy for a
month?”
Vida rubbed furiously at her eyes. “Now that’s ridiculous! Todd only gets two weeks’ vacation. What’s he doing, taking a leave?”

Francine’s perfectly coiffed head raised from the dummy she had been studying with Ed. “I could have told you about their trip,” she said, obviously pleased to know something Vida didn’t. “Wendy was in the shop yesterday buying me out. She must be taking a steamer trunk.”

Vida’s gaze darted from Francine to me and back again. “Did she spend more than a thousand dollars?”

Francine feigned shock. “Vida—you know I can’t tell you how much a customer spends!” She winked in an exaggerated manner. “Let’s say you’re lowballing me by about a third.”