The Alpine Uproar (14 page)

“Could Clive claim it was self-defense?”

“He probably will,” Milo replied. “That could get him off the hook. I’m going to have to send him to Everett. With only a half-dozen cells and not enough staff, I can’t keep him here if his court date is set more than a month from now. I’ve already released the other three drunks we picked up over the weekend, and Fred Engelman will be checking in tomorrow night for his usual weekend stay.”

Given that the sheriff’s tone had mellowed, I ventured to ask him about De Muth’s A-frame. “Did he live there alone?”

“Far as I can tell. Not much of a place—just some old furniture, a new TV, and a lot of junk food. No sign of a woman. Nothing to suggest alcohol abuse, only some beer in the fridge. No sign of drugs, either. No criminal record. He slept, he ate, he went to work. He was a good mechanic. From what we’ve learned, no son, no family ties. De Muth moved here four, five years ago. We’re doing a title search for ownership of the A-frame. Nobody I know of has lived there in recent years except him. The place may’ve been abandoned. It happens.”

“And I hear the witness statements are all over the map.”

“You expected something else from a bunch of boozers and losers?”

“They weren’t all losers, really,” I pointed out. “Have you heard from Jica Weaver?”

“Who? Oh—Clive’s girlfriend. Yeah, she came by to see Clive this evening, but I’d left for the day. She’s a space case, according to Sam Heppner, but he did say she was fairly easy on the eyes and what he described as ‘refined,’ which to Sam means she didn’t cuss him out or take a whiz in the reception area.”

“Sam has a way with words.” Suddenly I realized how tired I was. It had been a long day. I slumped back onto the sofa. “I suppose Harvey made a mistake. Or Darlene misunderstood. Sometimes she’s a bit scatterbrained.”

“If there is somebody out there,” Milo said, “they’d claim the body if they knew De Muth is dead. The leeches always crawl out of the woodwork if they think they can get a couple of bucks off a dead relative.”

“True.” I hesitated. “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night? The Grocery Basket has a special on Dungeness crab. Which reminds me, anything new on Mike O’Toole?”

“He’s still alive,” Milo said. “That’s a start. Sure, buy a crab for each of us. I haven’t had any in a long time.”

Had any what?
went through my mind. “Good. Six o’clock. Hey, did Mike drive that grocery truck very often?”

“No,” Milo replied. “If they needed to make a special run, Buzzy usually did it. I imagine he’s kicking himself six ways to Sunday now. Poor bastard. See you tomorrow.”

O
N THE DAY AFTER A BRIDGE CLUB GET-TOGETHER
, V
IDA ALWAYS
marches straight into my office before she even takes off her coat, let alone her hat. On this foggy Friday morning, the hat was an amber satin toque with an artificial topaz clasp and three pheasant feathers. I’d never seen it before and thought it would have looked perfect on Queen Mary of Teck.

“My daughter Amy found it for me on eBay,” Vida explained, stroking the feathers. “You’d be amazed at the bargains you can find on that site. Amy says she seldom leaves home to shop anymore. I don’t condone not buying from local merchants, but these days it’s difficult making ends meet. She paid just six dollars for this hat. It does have a certain drama to it, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “It’s too bad Buck Bardeen doesn’t look like King George the Fifth.”

“Buck is much too tall and broad,” Vida conceded, speaking of her longtime companion. “Still, Buck is a retired military man and King George was in the Royal Navy. Then again, Buck is alive and George isn’t. How was the visit to the tavern?”

I recounted what I could remember. “More muddle,” I concluded. “At least I refreshed my mind about the crime scene.”

“Disappointing.” Vida shook her head; the feathers swayed. “Was bridge club any better?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Rosemary Bourgette was there, which meant we couldn’t really get into the case since she’ll be prosecuting it. Darlene Adcock mentioned that Harvey thought De Muth had a son, but Milo hasn’t found any relatives.”

“Curious.” Vida fingered her chin. “Well now. What next?”

“That’s up to Mitch,” I said. “Was Roger helpful with regard to Mike O’Toole?”

Vida sighed. “Roger and Mike weren’t chums. It was very difficult to get anything out of Roger. He can be terribly discreet.”

Glum, sullen, ornery
, and
uncooperative
were some of the words I’d have used. “So you didn’t learn anything?”

“I can’t learn what Roger doesn’t know,” Vida retorted a bit
indignantly. “Roger referred to Mike as … undependable. That’s not the right word, but I think that’s what he meant.”

Pot, meet kettle
, I thought. “He didn’t say in what way?”

“No. Though he did mention going to Mike’s vigil. I offered to go with him but he was meeting some of his chums.” Vida scrunched up her fist and pressed it against her chin. “I intended to go anyway, but Amy seemed a bit down so I stayed to cheer her.”

I feigned interest. “Oh? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps menopause. And Roger, who has so much on his mind lately. This is a hard time for young people. He’d still like to become an actor. Or a musician. If only Amy and Ted could afford to send him to a school specializing in the arts. I’ve offered to help pay his way, but it would mean Roger leaving Alpine. That upsets me.”

I refrained from saying that I’d help pack his bags and even drive the kid at least as far as the state line. But although Vida is quick to criticize just about anyone else including God, she wears blinders when it comes to her grandson. I’ve often wondered if she’d be more realistic if her other two daughters and their families lived closer.

After she went into the newsroom, my phone rang.

“I overslept,” the female voice on the other end said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Sorry.”

“Is this …?” I stopped as the phone clicked off and I realized the caller was Amanda Hanson. Our new hire was off to a bad start. It was ten past eight. I’d expected her to show up much sooner, if only to let me show her how to make the coffee.

Instead, I did it myself. Kip, Leo, and Mitch all watched me with caffeine-deprived faces. “What happened to Ginny’s sub?” Mitch asked.

“She overslept,” I replied, moving out of the way as Kip set the Upper Crust’s pastries onto the tray. “Or so she claims.”

“Dock her,” Leo said. “Make sure she understands this isn’t the post office. We can’t have slackers around here.”

I glanced at Leo, who was looking unusually grim. He sounded that way, too. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone softening. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I shrugged. “So much flu and colds going around lately. I thought maybe you’d caught a bug, too.”

Leo offered me an imitation of his off-center grin. “I’m too ornery to get sick.”

“Good,” I said, keeping my voice light.

Kip tossed the lavender bakery bag into a wastebasket. “Want me to break in Amanda? I know Ginny’s routine pretty well.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but send her in to see me before you start, okay?”

Kip saluted. “Will do.”

Vida had been on the phone. When she hung up, she looked exasperated. “I just called the hospital to see how Ginny and the baby are doing. They plan to send her home this afternoon. Doesn’t that beat all? What’s wrong with doctors these days? I was in the hospital for over a week after I had each of my daughters. Dr. Sung must’ve made that decision. Doc Dewey wouldn’t have time for such silly notions.”

“It’s standard,” I said. “And it’s stupid. My money’s on Ginny. If she carries on the way she did before she had the baby, she can probably coax Dr. Sung into another twenty-four hours if only to spare Rick having to deal with her complaints.”

“I hope so.” Vida stood up. “I’ll help you show Amanda the ropes, Kip. You shouldn’t take on the entire responsibility.”

“Sure,” Kip agreed. He knew as well as I did that Vida’s curiosity was greater than her desire to assist him. By the time she
finished grilling Amanda, our House & Home editor would know everything about the newcomer including when she’d started teething as a baby. She’d also retain every detail, a talent that served her well in the newspaper business, allowing her the luxury of never having to take notes.

A half-hour later, Amanda Hanson entered my cubbyhole. She was pretty, despite the pug nose, short neck, and overly plucked eyebrows. In her three-inch brown platform shoes, she gave the impression of being tall, although she probably carried an extra ten pounds. Stella had highlighted Amanda’s short dark hair. She looked professional in a long-sleeved brown sweater and camel-colored slacks. Her only jewelry was a small gold leaf-shaped pendant, a plain gold wedding band, and what might have been diamond studs in her pierced ears. She stood between my visitors’ chairs and gave me what I perceived was a challenging look.

“I’ll be on time Monday,” she said.

“Good.” I smiled. “Have a seat. Kip and Vida will be helping you get started, but I wanted to get acquainted first. I know you’ve been in Alpine for a few years, so you know something about the
Advocate’s
schedule and content.”

“Yes.” She sat. “It’s the only paper we get. Walt and I watch the rest of the news on TV.”

I nodded. “Many locals do that. How do you like living here?”

“I don’t.” She didn’t change her expression. “Walt has to go where the state sends him.”

I was beginning to feel defensive. “I’d never lived in a small town until I moved here,” I said. “Where had you been before Alpine?”

“Outside of Spokane,” Amanda replied. “Not that I’d call Spokane a big city. It’s more like the Midwest.”

“Were you raised in the Midwest?”

Amanda nodded. “Milwaukee.”

“And Walt?”

“Walt what?”

“Is he from Milwaukee?”

“No.”

I paused. This wasn’t the Amanda Hanson I knew, if only in a somewhat distant way. She’d always struck me as vivacious, if vapid. Maybe Vida’s interrogation wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d thought. “Have you ever worked for a newspaper?”

“No.”

“You have an hour for lunch plus a morning and afternoon break if you need it.”

Amanda didn’t respond.

I broke the awkward silence. “Anything else you need to know?”

“Not really.” She stood up.

“Okay.” My smile was forced. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Amanda swiveled around on her platform shoes and strode out of my cubbyhole. I watched Vida, who seemed focused on her monitor, but I knew her eagle eyes were following Amanda’s every step. After a brief wait, Vida rose from her chair, heading for the front office. A middle-aged man entered the newsroom a couple of minutes later. He looked around as if he were lost, and spotted Mitch.

“I’m Fred Engelman,” he announced, just loud enough that I could hear him. “You’re Mr. Lashley?”

“Laskey,”
Mitch corrected the newcomer. “Have a seat. Coffee? Bear claw? Cinnamon twist?”

I hadn’t seen Fred Engelman in some time. He’d grown a short beard since then, and his hairline had begun to recede. He’d also lost some weight, maybe because he’d quit drinking beer. I had an overwhelming urge to eavesdrop. Vida and Leo
were both absent from the newsroom. I couldn’t resist going out to Leo’s desk and pretending that I was looking for something.

Mitch seemed to have guessed what I was doing. “Emma, do you know Fred?”

“By sight.” I walked to Mitch’s desk and shook Fred’s hairy hand.

“Mrs. Lord,” Fred said with a gap-toothed smile. “I’ve seen you at the Venison Inn and around town. Glad to meet you. I like the way you keep telling those dumb bastards in Congress to okay the Alpine wilderness bill. They’re dragging their feet.”

“Call me Emma,” I said, not bothering to correct his misuse of the “Mrs.” title. “It’s good of you to come in.”

“I told Blackwell I’d be late this morning,” Fred responded, offering me the extra chair by Mitch’s desk. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, I’ll work late tonight before I check into the jail.”

I indicated that I preferred to stand. Fred hesitated, but sat down. “That’s very smart of you to understand your own weakness,” I said. “Most people don’t.”

Fred shrugged. “It’s better than killing somebody when the booze has taken over.” He scowled. “Like poor Clive did. I feel sorry for him.”

“For De Muth, too,” I remarked.

Fred grimaced. “De Muth was an oddball. One of those moody guys. You never knew which way he’d swing. I kept away from him as much as I could, even in my drinking days.”

Mitch nodded. “De Muth comes across as someone who didn’t make friends. He doesn’t seem to have any family around here, either.”

“I guess not.” Fred took an inhaler from the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. “Allergies,” he said after a couple of puffs. “Sawdust. Good thing I quit smoking.”

I sat on the edge of Mitch’s desk. “I understand De Muth was a good mechanic.”

“He was,” Fred agreed. “He trained some of the younger guys, too. He must’ve had a lot of patience to do that.”

I thought about Harvey Adcock’s mention of a son. Maybe Harvey had seen one of the trainees with De Muth. “Did he hire any of them?”

Fred shook his head. “Not that I know of. He’d teach them the tricks of the trade, but I guess he liked to work alone.”

“So,” Mitch put in, “what did you see happen last Saturday?”

“Let me think …” Fred scratched his chin. I wondered if the beard itched. “I was sitting with Janie—my ex—and her new husband, Mickey Borg. It was Janie’s birthday. That’s why I came. We get along pretty good.” He made a face. “Damn. If only I’d stopped … never mind, water over the dam. Or beer, I ought to say.” He offered Mitch and me a rueful smile. “Mickey didn’t feel good. Janie thought he was coming down with the flu. In fact, Mickey spent half the night in the can. Nobody else could get in there, being a one-holer, and a couple of the guys had to go outside to …” Fred looked at me. “You know—to take a whiz.”

I nodded. “We girls also have to take a whiz sometimes.”