The Alpine Uproar (38 page)

Brant was silent for a moment. “I never thought about it. It’s always been working with cars or listening to my dad try to get me to work for him at the home interiors store, but that’s salesman stuff, too.”

“Young people should chart their own futures,” I said. “My son went off in about ten different directions before he became a priest.”

Brant seemed overwhelmed at the thought. “Awesome. I could never do that. But I’m not a Catholic.”

I laughed. “I wasn’t trying to convert you, just making a point. It often takes time to figure out the right niche.”

He walked me to the door. Gus was at the far end of the showroom, pointing out the features of a new Toyota Tundra pickup to an older man I didn’t recognize. I thanked Brant and made my exit into the still-heavy rain.

Inside my car, I took out my cell and dialed Amy Hibbert’s number. She answered before the first ring stopped. “Yes?” she said, breathless.

“It’s Emma,” I said. “Did you track down your mother?”

“No.” Amy sounded crestfallen. “I hoped she might be the caller.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, in apology for dashing Amy’s hopes. “Have you called Buck Bardeen?”

There was a brief silence. “Should I?” she finally asked.

Given Amy’s concern, her response seemed odd. “Why not?”

“Um … I’m not sure if … yes, maybe I will.”

“Good,” I responded. “Keep me posted, okay?”

Amy promised she would. Growing more concerned, I focused on mundane matters. I phoned Kip, telling him that Gus had changed his statement. “Read me how Mitch handled those statements in his follow-up story on De Muth,” I said. “I don’t want to screw this one up.”

The reference to witnesses was, as I recalled, only a paragraph long. It didn’t name the customers, except for Clive Berentsen and Alvin De Muth. I’d written the first of the news stories under deadline pressure the night that Clive was arrested. Spike and Julie Canby were mentioned as the tavern owners, noting that they’d been at the scene.

“Discretion is good,” I told Kip. “If there’s a trial, then we can quote witnesses. By the way, you haven’t heard or seen Vida, have you?”

“No. Is she still AWOL?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Have you told the sheriff?” Kip’s usual calm sounded shaken. “Officially, I mean.”

“That’s up to Amy,” I said. “If it’s a false alarm and we put it in the paper, Vida would be horribly embarrassed. Amy may have talked to her cousin, Bill Blatt. Even if he’s off-duty, it wouldn’t stop him from trying to find his aunt.”

Kip agreed. After we signed off, I sat behind the wheel, pondering my next move. It was after six o’clock, but I’d lost my appetite. Realizing that I’d tensed up during the past few minutes and was almost due for another pain pill, I reached into my purse. Maybe I could cut back on the Demerol and take only a methocarbamol. Using the small flashlight on my key ring, I found the muscle relaxer pill, took it out of the compartment—and dropped it on the car floor. Swearing like a logger, I fumbled around the brake and gas pedals but couldn’t see or feel the damned thing. I’d tracked in a few leaves on my shoes. The pill was under a couple of dead alder leaves. So were some feathers that must have also stuck to my shoes. I was about to follow the sheriff’s bad example and toss the debris out the window when it dawned on me that the feathers looked unusual. Not a jay, a crow, a cedar waxwing, a sparrow, or a robin. These feathers were gray, white, and black.

Pigeons
. We didn’t see them often in Alpine. Leo joked it was because we have only one statue in town, the life-size bronze of mill owner and town founder Carl Clemans. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen a pigeon.

Except on Vida’s hat.

I was overreacting.
I’m no ornithologist
, I told myself. Even if I was right about the feathers having adorned Vida’s hat, I could have stepped on them at the office, on the sidewalk, or while Vida and I were both at the sheriff’s headquarters.

But I hadn’t been near Vida since midafternoon. I’d checked
my car for cleanliness at Bert Anderson’s shop. Nothing was out of place. Wouldn’t I have spotted the debris if someone else had left it in the car? If the stuff had stuck to the soles of my shoes, I’d missed seeing it. That meant I’d tramped on the leaves and feathers in the past half-hour, either at Swanson Toyota—or Bert’s body shop. The matter should’ve been trivial, even comical, if Vida hadn’t dropped out of sight.

I thought back to the fracas I’d witnessed between the Andersons. Norene had been upset, scared, too, when I entered the shop. She’d said something about … what? Expecting someone else instead of me? Who? Not Vida. I couldn’t think of any reason for her to call on Bert. Maybe I was obsessing needlessly. Tracking dead leaves, faded petals, or anything else in Alpine’s wet weather was common. But not knowing Vida’s whereabouts was as unusual as it was alarming.

I was stumped. Through the rain-streaked windshield, I saw Gus and his customer yukking it up by a sleek black Toyota Avalon. Brant had disappeared. I still held the white pill in my hand, realizing I didn’t have any water or soda to wash it down. I might as well go home. After putting the methocarbamol back in the pill box, I pulled out of the lot and drove onto Front Street. I’d gone only a block when I heard sirens and saw flashing red lights racing in my direction.

At a few minutes after six with the rain still pouring down, there were only a half-dozen vehicles on Alpine’s main drag. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled over to the curb in front of the PUD office. Straining to see through the windshield where the wipers couldn’t work as fast as the falling rain, I saw that the first set of flashing lights was on a patrol car. The medic van followed and just before I was about to pull back out onto the street, a fire engine turned off Sixth and onto Front. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw the patrol car and then the medic van
take a left onto the Icicle Creek Road. I set the emergency brake, got out my cell phone, and called the sheriff’s office.

Sam Heppner answered. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“We’ve got a situation,” Sam replied.

“No kidding. Come on, Sam, I’m up against deadline.”

“Not my problem,” he responded in his usual taciturn manner. “Hang up, Emma. We need to keep the lines clear.”

Badgering Sam wouldn’t do any good. I knew that from past experiences with the tight-lipped, sometimes surly deputy. I disconnected the call before he could do the same at his end.

The fire engine had also turned onto the Icicle Creek Road. Even in light traffic I didn’t dare make a U-turn on the slippery street. Instead, I went right at Sixth and again at Railroad Avenue. With any luck I could catch up with the emergency vehicles by following the sirens.

I was retracing the route Kip and I’d taken to get to Bert’s chop shop, but that wasn’t the site of the “situation.” Neither was Swanson Toyota. I’d reached the Icicle Creek Road, pausing at the arterial sign and trying to determine where the sirens were coming from. To my dismay, they’d stopped. I considered my options. The Icicle Creek Road dead-ended north of town. Wherever the crisis was, it had to be either across the bridge to River Road or straight ahead. I was still mulling as an SUV rushed past me, made a sharp turn onto the other side of the railroad tracks, and sped east. Despite the vehicle’s speed, I recognized Milo’s Grand Cherokee. I followed him as he passed Gas ’n Go and the ICT and crossed Icicle Creek.

I fought back a rising sense of panic. All I could think of was that Vida might somehow be involved. But Milo was slowing down as he went past the small older homes huddled close together on the other side of the railroad tracks. Although the sirens had gone mute, I could see the cluster of flashing red
lights off to the left. Milo’s Grand Cherokee stopped on the muddy verge that separated patchy stands of grass from the asphalt road. By the time I drove up behind his SUV, he was already striding up the short driveway of a frame bungalow.

“Milo!” I called as I got out of the car, “wait!”

The sheriff stopped, turning to look in my direction. “Oh, for … Emma, get your ass back in that Honda and move on out!”

I ignored his order. By the time I reached him, he was on his cell. “Okay,” he said, turning his back on me. “Then I’m coming in.”

Milo’s long legs covered the short distance to the front porch before I could argue with him. I was too worried to care what he wanted or didn’t want me to do. The flashers from the three emergency vehicles blinded me momentarily, but I caught up with the sheriff just as he went inside the house.

Jack Mullins was in the living room along with Del Amundson and another medic. The firefighters were either still outside or in another part of the small house. Under a striped afghan, a shivering figure on the sofa made strange little mewing noises. It took me a few seconds before I realized it was Norene Anderson.

I hung back near the open door. My initial reaction was relief that Vida wasn’t the one in apparent distress. I remembered that the Andersons lived in this part of town, but I’d never been inside their house. Del and the other medic were trying to talk to Norene. Jack’s eyes slid in my direction, but he didn’t say a word. Milo’s back was still turned, seemingly unaware that I was on the premises.

“How bad is it?” he asked the medics.

“We won’t know until we get her to the hospital,” Del replied, lowering his voice. “Fractured cheekbone maybe, multiple
bruises, cut lip. We don’t need the firefighters. Tony and I can handle it. This room’s not very big. We need some maneuvering space with the gurney.”

Milo looked at Jack. “Tell the firemen they can go. Where’s Julie?”

“In the kitchen,” Jack said, starting for the door. “Should we put out an APB for Bert?”

“Hold off on that,” the sheriff replied and turned around. “Oh, for chrissakes!” he shouted as he finally spotted me. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“The whole neighborhood can hear you now,” I said quietly as Jack hurried outside. I gestured at Norene. “Is this what it looks like?”

“Work it out.” The sheriff turned on his heel and left the room.

I followed him. The kitchen was separated from the living room by an inglenook. Julie Canby was closing the refrigerator. “Coffee coming up,” she said, seemingly unruffled. “How’s Norene?”

Milo shrugged. “Pretty banged up, but at least she’s alive. They’re taking her to the hospital.”

“Good,” Julie said. “That’s the best place for her. Thank God she was able to call us. Spike couldn’t understand a word she said. Just as well.” She checked the coffeemaker. “I can cope better with a crisis than he can. Anyway, Spike has to hold down the fort at the tavern. Thank goodness we’re so close to Bert and Norene’s house.”

I finally spoke up. “What was Norene able to tell you?”

“That she got beat up,” Julie replied. Given the circumstances, I found her aplomb admirable. Being a nurse, she was accustomed to crises. “Or so I pieced together,” she added. “Poor Norene.”

I ignored the dark glare the sheriff was giving me. “By Bert?”

Julie shrugged. “I guess. He wasn’t around when I got here. For all I know, it was a burglar. Norene’s car is gone. I suppose Bert took it—or the burglar stole it.” She looked again at the coffeemaker. “Who wants java?”

I said no; Milo said yes. While Julie poured coffee into two mugs, the sheriff was still glowering at me. “Have you got some kind of death wish? You could’ve been killed, you moron.”

“So could you,” I retorted. “I didn’t see you pull a gun before you came into the house.”

Milo sighed. “I suppose you’ll put this in the damned paper.”

“I will if it goes in the log,” I said. “Where’s Vida?”

“How the hell do I know?” the sheriff shot back. “I’m surprised she didn’t get here before I did.”

“She’s still missing.” I paused as Jack entered the kitchen.

“Coffee,” he said after giving Milo and me a curious glance. “Good idea, Julie. I’ll have some. Bit of sugar, no cream.”

Just another day with law enforcement
, I thought, and got to my feet. “Okay,” I said to Milo, “I’m leaving. If you don’t care what’s happened to Vida, I do. Meanwhile, you’ll be hearing from me again before eleven. Whatever went on here has to be in the
Advocate
.”

“Knock yourself out,” Milo muttered before turning to Jack. “We’ll stay on the job until we find Bert. I’m going to let the other deputies know what’s going on and make sure we’re all up to speed.”

“Overtime,” Jack said. “That’s …”

Not wanting to get in the way of the medics, I decided to leave via the back door. It wasn’t easy to see through the heavy
rain, but the Andersons’ backyard looked neglected. There was nothing but overgrown grass, untended berry vines, and weeds. As I started down the unpaved driveway, I heard a sudden loud rumble that made me jump.
Calm down
, I lectured myself, realizing the noise signaled the fire engine’s departure. Still unsteady, I stumbled on a rock, but awkwardly regained my balance. The twisting movement caused sharp pains in my back. “Damn,” I said under my breath. I’d forgotten to ask Julie for water so I could wash down my pill. Taking a few tentative steps, I headed back inside. Climbing the four wooden stairs leading to the door made me wince. I rapped twice; within a few seconds Julie let me in.

My return didn’t seem to surprise her. “Forget something?” she asked. No doubt it was a frequent query for ICT patrons who left all sorts of belongings at the tavern—including their spouses.

I explained about needing some water. Milo was standing up, looking out the window on the west side of the house and talking on his cell phone. “No,” he was saying, “let’s not drag in the state patrol yet. Bert’s got to be around here someplace.”

Julie poured me a glass of water. I thanked her before taking both a methocarbamol and a Demerol. If the pain didn’t ease quickly, I wasn’t sure I could drive home.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I reinjured my back,” I said after gulping down the first pill. “I pulled something a few days ago.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from veering in Milo’s direction. He’d just rung off and had turned around.