The Alpine Journey (27 page)

“Valerie,” I said, lowering my voice after the man had left, “I can't save ten cents. Can you?”

Valerie erupted into a derisive laugh. “Are you kidding? I'm still putting a kid through college.”

“So am I. In a way,” I added almost in a whisper. There was no need to get sidetracked with Adam's change of career choice and what that might entail now that he had finally gotten his degree from Arizona State. Still, I felt a growing sense of kinship with Valerie Bryan. “So how did Audrey do it?”

Apparently, Valerie was feeling equally chummy. “Chicanery. But
nice
chicanery.” The bookstore owner leaned closer. “Audrey played Ms. Good Works, hauling oldsters
to doctor appointments and physical therapy and wherever else they needed a ride. She bestowed her charity on men only, and they were very grateful.”

I gave Valerie a knowing, conspiratorial look. “Men like Rupe Pickering and Victor Crenshaw?”

Valerie nodded slowly. “Among others. Rupe left her a fair-sized chunk of money in his will and I hear Dr. Crenshaw and his wife flat out gave her their condo in Portland. But there was more to it than just the old coots. I've heard that …” Straightening up, Valerie addressed the middle-aged couple.

The well-kept pair of seniors needed help selecting a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary gift. While gracious and polite, their manner conveyed that when they needed something, they expected to get it. Immediately. Valerie came out from behind the front desk.

I sensed that Valerie's customers might take up quite a bit of her time. Apparently, the store owner knew as much. In a businesslike tone, she turned back to me.

“You might want to check with the young man who's attending law school at Willamette University. His last name is Damon, I believe.” She gave me another brilliant smile before leading her charges into the gardening and landscape section.

I made up my mind to try Jesse Damon again as soon as I had breakfast. However, it was almost noon. I might as well have lunch. I approached the Lazy Susan Café with my stomach growling, but discovered that the restaurant was closed on Tuesdays. Luckily, the other eatery I'd selected from the chamber-of-commerce guidebook was virtually next door. I went into the Lemon Tree Inn and was seated in a small booth.

Vida arrived just before my BLT did. “Goodness,” she
exclaimed, slipping into the seat across from me, “I was shocked to find you'd left the motel. Thank heavens you told me where you were headed. However did you manage to walk so far?”

“It's only about five blocks,” I said dryly. “Short ones. Besides, I think the exercise loosened me up.”

“Foolish,” Vida remarked as the waitress brought my order and offered another menu. “No, no, I'll have only hot tea. And a green salad, with ranch dressing. Ah … what type of soup do you have today? No, not soup—a turkey sandwich. That sounds very nice. On white. Do skimp on the mayonnaise. I'm watching my figure.”

Vida always was, and it never changed, not one way or the other. “The lovers are reunited,” she announced after the waitress had gone back to the kitchen. “Though I may take credit for it, I'm not pleased.”

“Why is that?” I asked, biting into my BLT.

Vida sighed, then glanced around to make sure no one could hear. While the restaurant was filling up, the booths offered privacy. “I'm very upset with Dolores. She's not a suitable girl for Derek, and that has nothing to do with the fact that she's Hispanic. She could be a Finn, and I wouldn't approve. Dolores is a born troublemaker.”

I asked why. Vida told me. The quarrel had erupted with Gordon's return. Dolores resented his intrusion into what had become a settled, comparatively quiet routine. Gordon had tried to calm her, but Dolores refused to listen to reason. It wasn't an approach she was accustomed to when it came to family disputes.

“Then Gordon decided to keep out of it,” Vida explained, “but the argument between Derek and Dolores escalated in the usual manner. They each began to criticize whatever real or imagined faults the other possesses.
Finally, Dolores left, just as Derek told us. She did in fact walk the beach for a while, but then she began to consider retaliation. She was angry with Derek, with Gordon, with the entire family. So she went into town and to the police station to tell them about Martin's marijuana farm.” Vida now looked angry, too. “It was a terrible thing for her to do.”

I suppose I couldn't blame Vida for being mad at Dolores. After all, Marlin was Vida's nephew. But he was breaking the law, and I was somewhat surprised by my House & Home editor's attitude.

“How,” I inquired, after sifting through Vida's recital, “did Dolores know about the pot farm?”

“Because her parents got marijuana from Marlin. They not only drink, but they smoke that silly stuff as well.” Vida looked much put out. “In a sense, Dolores was getting back at her family, as well as Derek's.”

“But they've reconciled?”

“For the time being.” Vida's mouth turned down.

“And Gordon?”

“He's back home. The authorities questioned him until very late last night in Astoria, but released him.” Vida managed a smile for the waitress, who had brought the salad and hot tea. “I'm rather surprised.”

“Why?” I asked after the waitress had left. “He can't have had anything new to add since he was questioned a month ago.”

Vida lowered her eyes. “But he did. He admits to having been at the house that night.”

I stared. “My God! When?”

“Around midnight.” Vida had turned grim. “Before Audrey went swimming. He said he wanted to see her one last time before she went to Portland. He thought he might be able to talk her out of it. But he lost his nerve.
Or realized he couldn't change her mind. Gordon vacillates so much that it's hard to tell what he means, even after the fact.”

“No one saw him at the house?” I asked as food began to fuel my body. Maybe I could get through the day after all.

“Well… that depends.” Vida sprinkled extra salt and pepper on her salad. “Gordon saw someone, so maybe that someone saw him.”

“What?” I'd raised my voice, causing the young couple in the booth across from us to stare. Giving them a phony little smile, I turned back to Vida. “Who did he see?” I whispered. “Why didn't he tell the sheriff before now?”

“It was a man, but Gordon didn't recognize him,” Vida replied. “He was on the beach, just standing there, watching the waves. That's not unusual, so Gordon didn't think anything of it.”

“Until now. Why did he change his mind?”

“Because the man was there so long,” Vida answered, swishing a piece of lettuce in the ranch dressing. “It seems that Gordon dithered for quite a while, pacing around outside of the house, trying to make up his mind. When he finally did, and decided to leave, the man was still there. In retrospect, Gordon thought it odd.”

“Could Gordon describe him?”

“Average height and weight. Jacket and pants. Hair. Anywhere between twenty-five and sixty.” The turkey sandwich arrived, along with pickles. Vida took a big bite before continuing. “It's all very vague.”

I tried to think of anyone we knew of who might fit Gordon's sketchy description. Stuart Kane was too tall; Jesse Damon was too young; Rett Runkel and Walt Dobrinz were too old. Surely Gordon would recognize
his father-in-law and his mother-in-law's husband. He'd also know his brother-in-law, Marlin.

“Would a killer wait that long on the beach?” I mused. “If it was a stranger, how could he know that Audrey would go swimming in the middle of the night?”

“It's all very unsatisfactory,” Vida declared. “On a more precise note, I called on the Crenshaws. Yes, they gave Audrey their condo. So sweet, so kind, so helpful, blah-blah. They're childless, and why shouldn't such a lovely person have something in return for all her time and effort on their behalf? Really, I think they're a pair of ninnies.”

“I heard about the Crenshaws, too,” I said. And then I launched into my encounter with Valerie Bryan at the bookstore. Vida wasn't surprised about Rupe Pickering—she'd already guessed as much. But she wondered anew about Jesse Damon.

“We must drive over to Salem this afternoon,” she proclaimed, eating the last of her pickles. “It should be a nice outing.”

“Vida—” I began, then stopped. “You haven't heard about my visit from Stuart Kane.” I'd saved the best for last.

Vida was practically choking on her tea by the time I finished. “He told
you
Not me! Oh, good grief! How could he! I'm glad I never knew him as a nephew-in-law! He would have tried my patience!”

“Maybe so,” I remarked absently. “He does want to apologize in person.”

Vida harrumphed. “He'd better. Oh, dear—this changes everything.”

“How?”

“What if he's telling the truth about not having an
affair with Audrey? What if Stina's telling the truth about not carrying on with Gordon? There's no jealousy motive. I can't believe there was anything … physical between Audrey and those older men she was carting around to medical appointments. They were all ill. So we have nothing left from the romantic angle except that silly, elusive boy, Jesse Damon.”

“There were supposed to be other young men,” I reminded Vida. “Jesse was only the most recent.”

“But that's the point. The others were probably temporary, too. Summer help, lifeguards, whatever.” Vida was looking very vexed.

“Young men don't murder their older mistresses,” I said. “Think about it. A kid like Jesse comes here for tourist season and finds an attractive woman twice his age who's some kind of thrill seeker. For him, it's just carefree sex. For her, too, I suspect. There's no emotional attachment. Audrey wasn't moving to Salem, she was going to Portland. They had a fling. So what?”

Vida had her bill in hand and had risen to her feet. “Even casual lovers tell each other things. Jesse must know something. I really feel that he's the missing link. Let's go. If we hurry, we can be in Salem by three o'clock.”

We were there by ten to three. I'd briefly succumbed to a fantasy in which Vida took off on the long inland drive and I remained in Cannon Beach, strolling through the shops, the galleries, the boutiques. But of course it was impossible to say no. I took two more Excedrin before leaving the Lemon Tree Inn and climbing into the pickup.

The trip was reasonably pleasant as we left the coast and drove toward the rich, flat farmland of the Willamette
Valley. I hadn't been in Salem for over ten years, so naturally I noticed changes, particularly around the state-capital grounds. Vida, however, didn't seem interested in my sightseeing efforts.

“Do try to figure out where this apartment or rooming house is,” she urged as we sailed along Twelfth Street with the white marble capitol in the near distance.

Willamette University was on our left, adjacent to the government buildings. It was a small but handsome campus, built mostly of red brick, with touches of Colonial architecture. I saw a new seven- or eight-story high-rise, which I guessed was a dormitory. A few blocks farther I spotted the street where Jesse Damon lived.

The neighborhood was modest, with many small stucco bungalows. According to the address, Jesse lived in the second house from the corner. It had red trim and the street dead-ended by the railroad tracks.

The doorbell apparently didn't work. Vida thumped the screen door back and forth. A minute later a pale, handsome young man with a shaved head and a small gold earring opened the door.

“We're here to see Jesse Damon,” Vida announced in a voice that brooked no argument. “He'd better be home.”

The young man was taken aback. “Are you his mother? Or his grandmother? I'm Jeremy.”

“Is he here?” Vida tapped a foot.

“Yes!” Still uneasy, Jeremy then stepped aside. “Come in, please. Jess is in the kitchen. He just got back from class.”

The interior of the house was well maintained, though the furnishings were old. Books and file folders lay everywhere, yet there was a basic order and neatness to the living room. Jeremy offered us each a chair, but first removed three thick tomes from one of them.

“I'll get Jess,” he said, starting out of the room.

But Jess, who couldn't have been more than fifteen feet away, came in from the kitchen. He was average height, with a muscular build, wavy dark hair, and clean-cut, attractive features.

“It's your …” Jeremy started to say, but when he saw the puzzled look on his roommate's face, he changed gears. “It's somebody to see you,” he finished in an uncertain voice.

Vida marched straight up to Jesse and wrung his hand. “Vida Runkel, Audrey Imhoff's aunt. This is Emma Lord, my dear friend and business associate. We're here to discuss Audrey's will.”

That was news to me. It was no wonder that Jesse looked startled.

“Ms. Imhoff?” he said. “What are you talking about? Does she need advice? I'm not taking probate until next semester.”

Vida shot me a perplexed glance. “Ms. Imhoff is dead. Surely you knew that, Jesse?”

Despite the scattering of file folders, Jesse sank onto the small sofa. “Oh my God!”

“Jess!” Jeremy hurried to his roommate. “Hey, what's happening?”

Jesse had his hands over his face. Slowly, he removed them and stared at Vida. “Is it true? When? How?”

Vida didn't attempt tact. “She was brutally murdered. Didn't the sheriff question you? Don't you read the papers?”

Jesse sat up straight, his eyes unfocused. “No. No. I mean, I didn't know. Who has time to read the papers or watch TV when you're in law school? What's this about the sheriff?”

Vida finally seated herself in a chair by the sofa. “I told you, she was murdered. Weren't you interrogated?”

“No.” At last, Jesse looked at Vida. His sea-green eyes were wary. “Why should I be?”

“You knew her,” Vida said simply. “You were friends. Close friends.” The insinuation was clear to me, if not to Jesse, who remained mystified.

“When did this happen?” he asked, obviously trying to pull himself together. “Who did it?”

Vida explained. Jesse continued to look bewildered. “I wondered,” he muttered.

“You wondered what?” Vida asked in a sharp tone.

The wary expression was back on Jesse's face. Before he could reply, Jeremy intervened with an offer of coffee. “The pot's always on,” he said in a rather ingenuous manner. “It has to be, or we'd pass out over our books.”