The Alpine Yeoman (2 page)

“Good,” I said, smiling. I didn’t add that Tanya was also seeing Rosalie Reed, who was treating her for PTSD.

After Mitch went back to his desk, I turned to my editorial. Off and on for the past two months I’d followed up on Mayor Fuzzy Baugh’s plan to reorganize Alpine and Skykomish County. Fuzzy rarely had an idea, let alone a good one, but this time he’d come up with an extraordinary brainstorm. He proposed abolishing his own job, along with the trio of county commissioners, and replacing the positions with a professional manager. This would save money for everybody. I’d tackled the issue slowly, as befit Fuzzy’s laid-back native Louisiana roots. Only now was I about to endorse the revolutionary plan. I’d assigned Mitch to a front-page interview with our mayor. While the local citizenry might be opposed to change in any form, they were also tightfisted. Maybe
not
spending their money would trump clinging to the status quo.

It was a tricky editorial to write. I was finishing my opening paragraph when our receptionist, Amanda Hanson, brought me the mail, just before nine-thirty. Her olive complexion looked washed out, though she’d been in good health for the first five months of her pregnancy.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

After setting the mail in my in-basket, Amanda leaned on the desk. “I’m fine. It’s Walt who isn’t. He called to say I
shouldn’t worry if I heard something was going on at the fish hatchery. But I
am
worried. He sounded really weird.”

“So it isn’t personal with Walt,” I said. “It’s a work problem, right?”

“I guess.” She frowned. “What can go wrong unless the fish died?”

“I’ll send Mitch to find out. It sounds like news.” I stood up to see if I could spot my reporter, but he wasn’t in sight. “Did he go out?” I asked.

“I think he’s in the back shop with Kip,” Amanda replied, referring to Kip MacDuff, our production manager. “If he comes my way, I’ll send him to see you.”

I nodded. “Hey, don’t get too upset. If Walt can call to tell you something’s the matter at the hatchery, then he isn’t being held hostage by outraged anglers like Milo who always gripe about the lakes and streams not being planted with enough fish. Maybe I should call my neighbor Viv Marsden. Her husband, Val, might’ve told her what’s going on since he’s the hatchery’s main man.”

“If you learn anything,” Amanda said, “let me know.” With less than her usual brisk step, she headed back to the front office.

When Mitch reappeared a few minutes later, I dispatched him to check with the hatchery. A moment later, Vida tromped in to see me.

“There is
no
reason for Maud Dodd to censor my copy,” she declared. “Is it my fault that Henrietta Skylstad and Oscar Halvorson prefer dancing with each other instead of their mates at the retirement home? Melvin Skylstad has only one leg and Selma Halvorson is deaf as well as blind.”

“Which part is Maud trying to censor?” I asked. “The leg? The blind? The …?”

“The dancing part,” Vida broke in. “There’s been talk about Henrietta and Oscar for some time. They were sweethearts in high school, you know.”

“Ah … no, I didn’t,” I admitted. In fact, I wouldn’t recognize the Skylstads or the Halvorsons if they fell through my new roof. But Vida would have every detail of their lives and every other Alpiner’s tucked under whichever weird hat she was wearing. “What year did they graduate?” I asked, just to test her remarkable memory.

Vida tapped her cheek. “Oscar was a year ahead of Henrietta. He was in the class of 1928, so she was 1929. Not all that long before I was born. My mother often commented that she thought their breakup was a terrible mistake.”

I managed to keep a straight face. “I assume Maud hasn’t heard rumors of divorce.”

“No. I don’t recall anyone separating—certainly not in the nursing home section—despite the Whipps’ frequent attempts to kill each other. But Maud feels that mentioning Henrietta and Oscar dancing together at the April Fool’s Ball in my ‘Scene Around Town’ column could fuel ugly gossip. That’s absurd, since they were
only
dancing. Maud’s role as retirement home news contact has gone to her head.”

“It’s your column,” I pointed out.

“It certainly is,” Vida asserted. “However,” she added, pivoting on a sensible chunky heel, “I don’t want my news source to dry up.”

“You be the judge,” I said, uncharitably thinking that a lot of the residents at the retirement home had already dried up.

I watched as Vida put on her orange raincoat before leaving to face off with Maud Dodd. She’d been gone less than five minutes when I looked up to see the sheriff loping through the empty newsroom. He paused to pour a mug of coffee and grab
a raised sugar doughnut before parking all six foot five of himself in one of my chairs.

“Did your staff quit?” he asked, taking off his regulation hat and tossing it on the other chair.

“They’re working,” I said. “They have to earn their meager pay.”

He glanced up at the low ceiling. “Got your roof fixed yet?”

“Yes. I was about to buy some earplugs. Did you just wander in to see if I’d survived all the noise, or do you have some news?”

Milo gestured over his shoulder toward the street. “I had to stop at the bank to get a cashier’s check for Melville. Except for overseeing the Bourgette crew, his part of the work is done.”

“Come on, big guy. I hear you chewed out your crew today. How come you’re calling on your wife instead of supervising those rascals?”

“Because she’s cuter than my crew?” He ran a hand through his graying sandy hair. “I do have news, my little smart-ass. Jack Blackwell just dropped the charges against Jennifer Hood.”

I stared at Milo. “Why? He didn’t mind that she tried to kill him?”

The sheriff finished the doughnut before he responded. “She was only trying to scare him for revenge after their long-ago and very brief marriage in California. Frankly, I hoped she might get serious about it and do him in. No such luck.”

Milo and Blackwell had a history. As the only mill owner in Alpine and now a county commissioner, Jack considered himself a big mover and shaker. The two men had been at odds since they were both in their twenties. Jack liked to throw his weight around, and even as a deputy, Milo hadn’t taken kindly to anyone who tried to bring him to heel. The relationship had
been further fractured when Jack ran against Milo for sheriff—unsuccessfully—back when the job was an elected position.

“Since when did Blackwell get so softhearted?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s that,” Milo replied. “I figure the SOB’s embarrassed. Oh, the brake tampering, the attempt to run him down, the shot that only tore his pants—he might’ve gone with that, but when Jennifer stabbed him in the back after he banged her for old times’ sake and then he went to sleep—that was too much. Especially since the moron didn’t even know he’d been stabbed and the wound got infected.”

I nodded. “That doesn’t make Jack look too swift. And even you have to admit he’s a shrewd businessman.”

“Oh, yeah,” Milo conceded, “the asshole is that. Will you write the story or hand it over to Laskey?”

“I’ll let him do it. I’d be tempted to turn it into a humor piece. Besides, Mitch gets touchy if he thinks I’m interfering with his beat.”

“He’s a prickly sort,” Milo said, taking a last swig of coffee before standing up and glancing over his shoulder. “Hey—there’s still nobody around. You want to close the door and pretend we’re in conference?”

“I have an editorial to write, Sheriff,” I said primly. “In fact, it’s the one where I announce Fuzzy’s reorganization plan.”

“Sounds like your readers will try to run you and Baugh out of town. Maybe I should assign a deputy to protect you. Too bad I can’t afford to do that.” He picked up his hat and started out the door.

“Hey!” I called after him. “Wait! What’s going on at the fish hatchery? Amanda got a strange call from Walt.”

“Oh.” Milo turned around and moved to the side of my desk. “I don’t know yet. Doe Jamison and Dwight Gould headed out there a few minutes before I went to the bank.
Some problem with the hatchery’s wetlands.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Damnit, now that we’re married, why do I still have trouble keeping my hands off of you?”

I looked up at him, craning my neck to make up for the thirteen-inch difference in height. “We promised to not be … um …
demonstrative
in public now that we’re a sedate married couple. It isn’t good for our professional images.”

His hazel eyes sparked. “That doesn’t make sense. Now we’ve got legal grounds to make fools of ourselves.”

I leaned as far away from him as I could without tipping over. “That’s my point. Do we really want to look like a pair of idiots?”

His arms fell to his sides. “We’ve already done that.”

“For the first few years we hung out together, you hardly ever touched me. Dare I ask how you exercised such self-restraint?”

“It was tough. I thought if I made a move, I couldn’t stop and I’d scare you. We weren’t even dating. Oh, hell,” he muttered. “See you later, Emma.”

I smiled as I watched him stride through the newsroom. I was both happy and content. Yet I still regretted that it had taken me fifteen years to reach that state, when all along Milo Dodge had been right in front of me—and he’d always had my back.
Emma Lord, bat-blind when it came to love
. At least I woke up in time to become Emma Dodge.

I’d managed to produce three so-so paragraphs by the time Janie Engelman Borg Engelman showed up in my office looking for Vida.

“I think,” I said, “she’s at the retirement home. Can I help you?”

“Well …” Janie shifted from one foot to the other. “Not
sure. I got a wedding picture for her. Of Fred and me. Even if it’s the second time.”

I was used to Janie’s choppy speech. “I think it’s fine. Congratulations. I’m glad you and Fred got back together.”

“Me and Fred, too. He got out of rehab. Before we married. Again.”

“I’m happy for both of you,” I said. I didn’t add that I was also happy for Milo. The Engelmans’ first union had broken up because of Fred’s weekend binges. He’d tried to cure himself by checking into the jail Friday nights and staying put until Monday mornings. The sheriff and his staff felt like babysitters. Janie’s rebound marriage to Mickey Borg had been rocky from the start. “Say,” I went on, “Ron Bjornson quit his handyman’s job at headquarters. Would Fred like to take it on when he’s not working at Blackwell Timber?”

Janie’s gamine face brightened. “He might. We could use the money. Mickey cleaned me out. Of my small savings. And TV.”

“I’ll mention it to Milo,” I said. “I heard Mickey left town.”

Janie’s brown eyes darted from side to side as if she expected her ex to come through my walls. “Hard to say. About Mickey.”

Hard to listen to Janie
, I thought. But I smiled. “You can forget Mickey now. Didn’t he sell the Icicle Creek Gas ’N Go to a Gustavson?”

Janie nodded. “He kept the money. For himself.”

“I suppose he would, if the divorce was final.”

“It wasn’t.” She scowled. “Typical Mickey. Selfish. I asked him to give the TV back. Fred likes to watch baseball. Mickey said no, Fred can listen to the Mariners on the radio. At noon our time. In Chicago. I told him Fred wants to see it. Not just hear it. Mickey didn’t care. Fred still wants a TV. Maybe we can. With extra money.”

“The main thing,” I pointed out, “is you’re back with Fred and rid of Mickey. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Janie smiled faintly. “I hope not. Maybe he’s gone by now. For good.” She wandered out of my office.

But we hadn’t heard the end of Mickey for good—or for bad.

I
WAS DELETING ALL THREE PARAGRAPHS OF MY FEEBLE EDITORIAL
when Amanda poked her head in. “Have you heard anything about the hatchery yet? I saw Dodge come in, but I was in the back shop when he left. Walt hasn’t called again.”

I shook my head. “Milo sent his deputies to check it out. He didn’t seem very excited about it.”

Amanda looked bemused. “I’ve never seen the sheriff get excited about anything.” She winced. “I mean, he seems … ah …”

I laughed. “Never mind. On the job, he’s usually unflappable. Excitability doesn’t become a law enforcement officer. I’ll call him when I think he’s heard back from Gould and Jamison. He did mention that it had something to do with the wetlands.”

Amanda frowned. “The wetlands? What could happen unless they dried up? But it’s raining.”

“It could be vandalism, I suppose. Mitch told me the Big Toy at Old Mill Park had gotten trashed over the weekend. The schools are on spring break, and that always means trouble.”

“You’re right. That didn’t occur to me.” She put a hand on her bulging abdomen. “After so many years of thinking we’d
never have our own baby, it still seems like a miracle. It’s hard to believe that keeping track of school schedules will be important five years from now.”

The idea obviously cheered her. She was smiling as she headed to the front office. Last fall, the Hanson marriage was rocky, with each blaming the other for their childless state. Then, as they considered adoption, Mother Nature stepped in.

Our conversation reminded me to call Viv Marsden to see if she knew what was going on at her husband’s hatchery. But Viv wasn’t home. I didn’t bother to leave her a message. Milo would find out soon enough. Whether or not he’d remember to call me was another matter. Marriage had not changed the sheriff’s concept of what was news.

Ten minutes and two more dull editorial starts later, I lectured myself:
This isn’t the Queen’s Speech. Stop pussyfooting around the issue. No, Skykomish County readers don’t like change. Yes, they prefer keeping their money in their pockets. Just say so off the top and go from there
.

“Keep the change. Make the change. This is what Mayor Fuzzy Baugh is asking of SkyCo residents. Change is good when it costs less than the status quo.” The writing didn’t sparkle, but it might get readers’ attention. I gathered steam and kept typing. I was almost done when Vida returned from wherever she’d been for the past hour and a half.

“I managed to reach a rapprochement with Maud,” she declared, sitting down in one of my visitor chairs. “I told her that featuring any of those old fools who can stand upright and possibly even move on a dance floor spoke well for the retirement home, especially for the smug and overbearing Lutherans who run it.”