The Alpine Vengeance: An Emma Lord Mystery Read online

  “I haven’t told Uncle Elmer and Aunt Thelma about Larry,” Milo replied, relighting his cigarette, which had gone out while he was eating his roll. “I don’t know if Elmer and Marv’s sisters are still alive. They broke off whatever connection they had with the rest of the Petersens after Linda was murdered.” Milo took a drag on his cigarette. “All I had time to do this morning was verify Larry’s death. Now I’m wondering who the hell is sending this crap—and why.” He took the letters from me. “You know what’s going to happen next.”

  “I do?”

  Milo regarded me as if I were the dimmest suspect in a police lineup. “Legal problems. Threats. Dealing with a nut-job. I don’t need more grief right now. Hell, it’s only been a little over a month since the shootout at the trailer park.”

  “It’s a crackpot,” I said. “Larry never denied killing Linda. I’ll admit I didn’t attend the entire trial, but that was because the defense wanted a change of venue and the case was tried in Everett.”

  “I know, I know.” He waved away the plume of smoke from his cigarette. “I got so damned tired of having to be there that I spent two nights in a motel. The commute was killing me.”

  “And Larry tried to kill me,” I reminded the sheriff. “Thank God you came along or I wouldn’t be here listening to you bitch about some stupid letters.”

  Milo was silent for a long moment. “Did you ever wonder if Larry wanted to tell you something instead of turning you into his next victim?”

  I thought back to what had been one of the most frightening moments in my life. “To be honest, no. In fact, that’s how the whole situation began. It was snowing that night. I was in front of the bank, waiting for Vida and Rick to come out after we inveigled him into letting her inside. Larry drove up and realized something odd was happening. He did say he wanted to talk to me, but I was suspicious of him by then, so I suggested we go over to the Advocate. Then everything went downhill. He got very agitated and dragged me inside the car. You know the rest.”

  Milo sighed. “What if Larry did just want to talk?”

  It was my turn to pause before speaking again, trying to force myself back in time to my emotional, as well as intellectual, reactions. “I was on guard from the get-go. I sensed his desperation. It scared the hell out of me. I already figured him for the killer. So did you.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Everything fit. If it hadn’t, I’d never have made the arrest.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” I smiled softly. “That’s the way you always work.”

  “Right.” He shook his head, obviously unhappy. “It’s a hell of a way to spend a Monday morning. The first two letters were so vague that I almost chucked them. The timing bothers me, now that Larry’s dead.”

  “The letters were sent before Larry died,” I pointed out.

  “I know. But still …” He shrugged. “Coincidences happen.”

  I waited while he finished the roll before I posed a question. “Are you here because you want us to run a story about these letters?”

  The sheriff stuffed the letters inside his jacket. “God, no!” He frowned, his eyes fixed on my wall map of Skykomish County. “Maybe I just wanted to blow off steam. It must be a crank. The woods are full of them. All this Internet stuff—somebody reads something that sets them off, and even if it has nothing to do with them, they get their rocks off by jumping into whatever. It’s just one step away from the crazies who confess to a murder they didn’t commit or claim to have information about a terrorist plot to blow up Grand Coulee Dam.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Go solve some real cases. If you have any.” I looked inquiringly at Milo. “Do you? I haven’t talked to Mitch about the police log from the weekend.”

  The sheriff put out his cigarette and stood up. “Mitch hasn’t been in yet. Nothing much to report anyway, just the usual DUIs, traffic violations, and a couple of non-injury vehicular accidents on Highway 2.”

  I also stood up. “No break-ins? No domestic violence? No lost livestock?”

  Milo shook his head. “Funny thing about the weekend after Thanksgiving. We never do get much real crime. I guess everybody’s too stuffed and sleepy from eating big Thanksgiving dinners.”

  “That could be a story in itself,” I said.

  Milo looked amused. “You must be desperate for headlines.”

  “I am, actually,” I admitted. “But we’ve had enough excitement around here already this year, and much of it hasn’t been pleasant. I’d prefer a quiet holiday season.”

  “Me too.” Milo awkwardly patted my shoulder. “I feel better. Maybe I’ll concentrate on winter steelheading.”

  “Good plan,” I said. “Don’t ask for trouble.”

  “I won’t.” He ambled into the newsroom, pausing just long enough to exchange a few words with Leo, Mitch, and Vida. Peacemaking, I thought. Nice. Especially with Christmas around the corner.

  As I turned to go behind my desk and sit down, I bumped into the drawer I’d left open. I banged my knee, winced, and swore under my breath. It occurred to me that there was a problem with corners, even the ones on desks.

  You can’t see what’s around them.

  TWO

  AS SOON AS MILO LEFT, VIDA CHARGED INTO MY OFFICE. “What was that all about?” she demanded, leaning on my desk. “I merely mentioned that the letters I receive asking for advice are a perfect example of how foolishly people can behave—even in Alpine—and suddenly he went off on a tangent.”

  “He’s gotten some weird letters lately,” I explained, emptying the ashtray. “I think he’s in a bad mood because his ex forced him to spend Thanksgiving with her and their kids to prove they could behave like a real family when their daughter gets married. Milo’s not too thrilled with Tanya’s choice, but he’s never liked any of the guys she’s dated. He didn’t go into mourning a couple of years ago when Tanya broke up with that live-in sculptor after her miscarriage.”

  Vida avoided my gaze. Her own family gathering had been tarnished by Roger’s illegal and immoral behavior. “Yes, I understand. Awkward, sometimes.”

  Ordinarily, Vida would’ve changed the subject immediately, but her reticence amplified her shame and guilt for having spoiled Roger the past twenty-odd years. Thus, I reverted to the sheriff’s problems. “Did you know Larry Petersen died over the weekend?”

  Vida looked stunned. “No! How can that be?”

  “Presumably a heart attack in the penitentiary at Walla Walla.”

  “My goodness,” she murmured. “Larry couldn’t have been more than early fifties. Has Milo talked to Elmer and Thelma?”

  “Not yet,” I replied. “Do you know where Larry’s ex-wife lives?”

  “In Seattle, but I don’t have her address. I can find out, though,” Vida said, her aplomb returning. “In fact, Rick Erlandson should know. He would’ve been involved in changing JoAnne’s accounts after Larry was sent to prison. Besides Denise, there were two boys who were away at college when the tragedy occurred.” She drummed her fingers on the back of the visitor’s chair. “Frankie’s the eldest and Cole’s the youngest, with Denise in the middle. The boys must be in their late twenties or even early thirties. As for Marv and Cathleen, I doubt they have enough brains left to take this in. If it hadn’t been for Andy Cederberg taking over at the bank, the rest of the Petersens might’ve sold out. I’ve always said moving to Arizona is a bad idea. So much sun! It must wither the brain cells.”

  The concept of any Alpiner moving away always baffled Vida. Why move to Hell when you could live in Heaven? “Marv had two sisters,” I said. “Have you heard from them since the disaster?”

  Vida straightened up and squared her wide shoulders. “Certainly not. Offhand, I don’t recall the sisters’ married names, but they were at Linda Petersen’s funeral. Or should I say Linda Lindahl? She never changed her name back after divorcing Howard. I can call Driggers Funeral Home. There was a guest book. I wonder who has it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Marv, probably. He grieved d
eeply for his daughter. To realize that Linda was killed by her brother because Larry’s dream of running the bank had been dashed would be enough to make any parent want to blot out reality. Alzheimer’s, indeed! Every disease and condition has a ridiculous name these days for something that’s been around since time began. In my opinion, Alzheimer’s is a cliché diagnosis for shutting out the past, refusing to recognize the present, and fending off the future. I can’t blame Marv for any of that.”

  Once again, I wondered if Vida was thinking of herself—and Roger. “Milo should know how a prison death is handled,” I said. “Next of kin would be notified. Larry’s kids, I suppose.” I suddenly remembered Denise. “Oh, my God! Ginny was just talking to me about Denise Petersen Jensen. I wonder if she—Denise, I mean—knows.”

  “Ginny?” Vida scowled. “Why was she talking about Denise?”

  A quick check of my watch told me it was going on ten. The morning was passing too quickly. I still hadn’t written my editorial. In fact, I hadn’t even decided on a topic. “Ginny’s waffling about coming back to work. She wants to wait until after New Year’s, and she suggested Denise as a fill-in.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes!” Vida stopped just short of removing her glasses and attacking her eyes again. “Denise is a nitwit! And whatever is wrong with Ginny? I thought she had more gumption than to act as if she’d been paralyzed in a car accident instead of merely having a baby. If you tell me she’s pleading postpartum whatever it’s called, I’ll lose all respect for her. Such nonsense! What’s wrong with young women these days? That’s what I’ve said all along about equality between the sexes. Why on earth did women ever want to lower themselves to the level of men? Ginny’s a perfect example, what my dear mother would’ve called a ‘weak sister.’ She was, of course, referring to men who behaved like weak sisters.”

  I’d heard similar rants many times from Vida, and given the tales she’d told about the early female residents of Alpine, most of them could’ve given Paul Bunyan a run for his money. Or his ox or axe or …

  But Vida wasn’t finished. “Even Buck, who I must confess is sometimes rather old-fashioned in his views, thinks that women make excellent fighter pilots. He calls it their ‘mother lioness nature,’ in this case defending their country instead of their cubs.”

  Buck Bardeen was a retired air force colonel who had been Vida’s longtime companion. His brother, Henry, managed the ski lodge, and although I didn’t know Buck well, he was obviously a man who could put up with Vida while accepting whatever limits—physical and emotional—she might set. “Understandable,” I agreed. “Most women can—”

  I was interrupted by Mitch Laskey, who was standing in the doorway. “I’m off to interview the new prof at the college,” he said. “I’ll check the police log on my way back, okay?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Good luck. He’s science, right?”

  Mitch, who is in his fifties and a veteran of the Detroit Free Press, grinned at me. “Whatever he teaches will have to be translated. Science is not my specialty. Give me race riots, drug busts, crooks in high places, and a UAW strike with blood on the picket line any day.” With a casual wave, he headed back through the newsroom.

  “Detroit,” Vida murmured. “It’s a wonder Mitch and his wife got out alive.”

  “They lived in Royal Oak, a suburb,” I reminded Vida.

  “It’s still Detroit.”

  I didn’t argue. The Laskeys had moved to Alpine because their son was serving a five-year term in the Monroe Correctional Complex for dealing drugs. Mitch and Brenda had thought he’d moved out west to find himself. Instead, he’d found a market and a supplier for doing business as usual. Troy Laskey might as well have stayed in Michigan.

  Vida had gotten to her feet. “I’ll call Al Driggers. As funeral director, he should know if Denise or her grandparents have been notified of Larry’s death.”

  “Okay.” I slumped in my chair as Vida walked out in her splay-footed manner. I was still pondering my various problems a few minutes later when Leo came into my office.

  “You look like the last rose of summer,” he remarked, sitting down in the chair Milo had vacated. “A pretty rose, but fading fast.”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly. “If you’ve got a dilemma, can you keep it to yourself until noon?”

  Leo chuckled. “I’m still sorting out my Thanksgiving interlude with Liza and the kids. It seemed almost like old times. Except,” he added wistfully, “it wasn’t.”

  Leo had finally been invited back into the family fold after ten years of divorce from his wife and estrangement from his children. “They must’ve been glad to see you sober and gainfully employed,” I said.

  “If that hadn’t been the case, Liza would never have let me in the door.” Leo’s weathered face was like a map of the roads he’d traveled in the past twenty years or more. “It was tough at first for all of us, but what broke the ice was when the turkey caught fire. There’s nothing like a threat to life, limb, and a paid-off mortgage to bring people together. I didn’t even need to remind Liza that I was the one who made the last payment on the house in Santa Maria, the BBQ capital of the world. We must’ve violated a city ordinance by roasting the damned bird instead of firing up the grill. Which,” Leo went on before I could do more than laugh, “brings up an idea I have for our advertisers. Why can’t Alpiners call themselves the something-or-other capital of the world and make some money off of it?”

  “My God,” I said in mock horror, “have you turned into Ed Bronsky?”

  Leo leaned his head back and stared at the low dappled ceiling panels that were beginning to show wear and tear after four years. As the print media increasingly became an endangered species, I wondered if the Advocate or my office would be the first to collapse. “We’ll do okay during the Christmas season, but come January, we’re always a little thin. I’m scheduled to be the chamber of commerce speaker right after the first of the year. I thought I might stir up the merchants by suggesting we find something unique about Alpine as a promotional theme. ‘World Capital of Vida Runkel’ would be fitting, but I’m not sure it’d sell ads or goods beyond SkyCo.”

  I grinned at Leo. “For a moment, I thought you might’ve been channeling your predecessor.” Ed’s ideas—on the rare occasions that he had them—were always borderline absurd. I sucked in my breath. “Speak of the devil,” I murmured. “Here comes Ed.”

  Ed, however, had stopped by Vida’s desk. Leo turned discreetly to look into the newsroom. “He’s sitting down. That’s not a good sign.”

  “Better Vida than me,” I said. “Or you.”

  “True.” I leaned to one side, trying to see what Ed was doing. Talking, of course, and gesturing with his pudgy hands. He obstructed my view of Vida—no surprise, since Ed was wide enough to block out a hippopotamus.

  Leo and I looked helplessly at each other. “Should I rescue the Duchess?” he whispered, using his nickname for Vida that she claimed to despise.

  “She may’ve already passed out from listening to him.” But before I could say anything else, I heard her voice.

  “That’s a fine idea, Ed,” she said in a calm manner. “Why shouldn’t you run for county commissioner? The trio we have now are all senile. And you aren’t deaf.”

  Leo shot me an incredulous look. “Didn’t we just hold an election?” he murmured.

  I nodded. The only commissioner who’d been up for reelection in early November was Alfred Cobb. He won because his opponent, Arnold Qvale, dropped dead on Halloween. There hadn’t been time to remove Arnold’s name from the ballot. Even though his opponent was deceased, Alfred had won by only a slim margin. Frankly, it had been hard to tell the difference between the two candidates. “You’ve heard talk about a special election in March, right? Alfred can barely sit up at the meetings, let alone participate.”

  Leo sighed. “As I recall, Ed was going to run for office a couple of years ago, but didn’t make the filing date.” He stopped, seeing my signal to shut up. Ed was chu
gging toward us.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Ed exclaimed, greeting Leo with a loud slap on the shoulder. “Bronsky’s back and SkyCo’s got him!”

  “I’ll be damned,” Leo said, wincing. “What’s up, Ed?”

  My former ad manager pulled out the other visitor’s chair and wedged himself between the armrests. “I’ve got it on good authority that Alfred Cobb’s stepping down from the county troika. He’s announcing it at the commissioners’ meeting tomorrow night. You better tell Kip to stop those presses, Emma.”

  “We always hold a space open for their meetings since they changed the night to a Tuesday,” I said blandly. “It’s a nuisance, especially when the meetings drag and drone on for so long.”

  The chair creaked under Ed as he leaned forward, fists on my desk. “You got it! That’s why I’m running. This county is stuck in the mud. You wouldn’t believe the plans I’ve got to perk things up!”

  “I’ll bet I wouldn’t,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Will you be speaking at the meeting tomorrow night?”

  Ed made a face. “I’m not sure. It depends on what happens. If Alf—I’ve always called him that, even when I was a working stiff—if he announces he’s stepping down due to ill health, I might. You know—to show that I’m ready for action and rarin’ to go.”

  Leo, who had shot Ed a sharp glance, scooted his chair a few inches from his predecessor and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, “but this working stiff has to work.” He winked at me. “Later, Emma. Don’t forget, we’re going seventy/thirty this week.”

  “I can’t forget that,” I said with a grin for Leo. “Nicely done.”

  Ed’s eyes widened. “Seventy/thirty? That’s … good.” He settled back in his chair. “It’s holiday season, of course. That always pushes the ad ratio up. Way back before you took over, I usually ran about seventy-five/twenty-five or better. Marius Vandeventer used to give me a bad time because he didn’t have enough room for news or photos. He was kidding, of course.” Ed chuckled.