Bitter Alpine Read online

  It was now noon and I was alone. That meant a visit to the Burger Barn for takeout. The excitement never stops, I thought as I put on my red hooded jacket.

  I didn’t know that it was about to begin. And then I’d wish it hadn’t.

  Chapter 2

  By the time I got home that evening at five-thirty, it was raining. The drops that covered my Honda’s windshield were heavy, a sign that the temperature was dropping and we might get snow. After coming in from what was now a garage instead of the not-so-snug carport, I went through the kitchen into the living room and opened the front door to take in the mail. Junk. Not even a bill. I retraced my route as far as the recycling bin next to the kitchen door. I didn’t bother changing my clothes, but went directly to the refrigerator to contemplate the items I’d picked up at the Grocery Basket on the way home.

  I decided to keep it simple—as usual. My husband liked basic cooking, especially if it was steak. The phone rang in the living room. I managed to grab it on the third ring. Alison erupted into my ear.

  “Lori just told me Boyd Lanier is staying at the ski lodge, but he plans to move in here at Pines Villa as soon as all his stuff arrives from Wenatchee. Can you believe I could be so lucky?”

  Lori Cobb is not only the sheriff’s receptionist, but Alison’s roommate. “I thought the apartments were all filled up,” I said. “You probably know Leo and Liza are house-shopping, but that could take a while.”

  “Somebody else gave notice,” Alison informed me. “The Ostranders. You know, the weird couple who have the pet hedgehogs, Laverne and Shirley. He’s being transferred by the state highway department, and she’s a freelance artist who can work anywhere. Vida wrote them up a year or so ago when they first came to Alpine.”

  I vaguely remembered the article. Vida had left out the hedgehogs. She told me they were repulsive creatures and not worthy of an extra inch of copy. I’d felt she was being a bit harsh.

  Alison’s voice dropped a couple of notches. “Is there any way…I mean, I know you suggested this a couple of times, but…do you think I could interview Boyd for the paper?”

  “So already he’s Boyd?” I tried not to sound critical.

  “Why not? He called me Alison.”

  I hesitated. “I’ll give you the same advice I’d give Mitch. Give Boyd a chance to settle into the job, at least a couple of weeks, maybe even after he’s moved into his apartment. Okay?”

  “Well…I guess.”

  “You’ll probably run into him once he’s living at Pines Villa,” I reminded her. “You may not even need an excuse to get him…interested.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed. “He’s really good-looking. Tall, too, over six feet, I figure. Of course, I was sitting down.”

  I thought it was a wonder Alison hadn’t fallen out of her chair. “We’ll need a photo,” I said. “They didn’t send one with the news release. Could you do that without drooling on the camera?”

  “I’ll try. You saw some of the pictures I took on that cruise I went on last year, right? I thought they turned out fairly good.”

  “They were very nice,” I said, hearing the kitchen door open. “Got to go. Milo’s here.”

  “You’ve got your man. Lucky you. Bye.”

  My man loped into the living room. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, tossing his regulation hat onto a peg by the front door before he leaned down to kiss me.

  “Gruel,” I replied. “You want it cold or warmed up?”

  “Funny Emma,” he muttered, looking at the end table next to his easy chair. “You haven’t made our drinks yet?”

  “Jeez, Milo, I just got home about five minutes ago, and the phone rang before I could do anything. I had to grocery shop after I left work. Do you want to change clothes while I make the drinks?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take over the bartending. I just want to crash first. It was kind of a crappy day.”

  “Tell me about it when we both sit down,” I said as we went into the kitchen. “It was a dull one for me. I want to hear about your new hire. What kind of steak do you want?”

  “Any kind,” he said, getting out the glasses and putting ice into them. “Just don’t serve it half-raw.”

  I glared at him. “Do I ever?”

  “You do it with yours. It’s a wonder you don’t get some kind of mad cow disease.”

  “Your steak must taste like a catcher’s mitt. All the juices and flavor are lost in the cooking.”

  “It tastes the way I like it, damnit. Why do you care?”

  I started to open my mouth to snap back at him, but instead, I set the frying pan down and put my arms around him. “I only care about you, you big jerk.”

  Milo held me close and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. At six foot five, he was over a foot taller. “I am a jerk. Why did you marry me?”

  “Because you tricked me into it,” I said against his chest. “It was something I’d never done. Marriage, I mean.”

  I felt him sigh. “For somebody who was married before, I can tell you it’s sure as hell better the second time around.”

  I looked up at him. “I’m never going to find out if a second marriage could be better. I like this one a lot.”

  He leaned down again to kiss me on the lips. It was a very intense kiss. What it led to meant that I didn’t start dinner until after six-thirty. When we finally sat down to eat, I asked Milo why his day had been, as he’d put it, “crappy.”

  “For starters, Jack Mullins was late getting to work,” he explained after downing a large chunk of steak. “It wasn’t his fault. Their furnace went out last night and the repairman was supposed to show up at seven, but he didn’t get there until seven-forty. Then Jack had to stick around to make sure it got fixed. Nina’s not into household repairs.”

  “Probably not,” I agreed. “She’s the delicate type.”

  “Right.” Milo paused to eat a Brussels sprout. “Breaking in a new hire is always a pain in the ass. I’m going to let Bill Blatt take over after I give Consi—that’s what De Groote likes to be called—the basics. He’s good at that stuff and has more patience than I do.”

  “I’ll have to introduce myself,” I said. “I’ll wait a few days. I remember what it was like when I came to Alpine. I swear I met at least fifty people in the first couple of days. I was overwhelmed.”

  Milo gave me an arch look. “I wasn’t one of them.”

  I smiled. “I told you later why I waited to introduce myself. I’d seen you a couple of times on the street and you looked intimidating.”

  “That’s how a sheriff is supposed to look.”

  I laughed. “You did. But then you took me to the Venison Inn and bought me drinks. You loosened up, so I decided I liked you.”

  He ran a hand through his graying sandy hair, and his hazel eyes were faintly reproachful. “It took you long enough to figure out how much.”

  “I know. You know, too.” Almost sixteen years, I thought, despite a false start with Milo that lasted over a year and a half. And all because I was determined to finally marry the father of my illegitimate son, Adam. I was an idiot.

  “What else happened today?” I asked.

  Milo polished off his last bite of potato. “That call to the cabin was a false alarm. No sign of an intruder.”

  “Who’s living there now? And who legally owns it?”

  “Don’t ask me about the ownership,” my husband replied. “The old coot I talked to is Waldo Danforth. I didn’t see his wife. She was lying down. I guess she was still overcome by the so-called intruder.”

  “Mitch will get it off the log tomorrow,” I said. “What else happened?”

  Milo gazed at his empty plate. “Where’s the pie?”

  I sighed. “I almost didn’t buy one at the store. It’s peach. I’m full. You can get it yourself.”

&
nbsp; My husband headed to the fridge. “When I started back from the cabin some idiot was going too damned fast in an old beater and I decided to chase him down. He accelerated and skidded into the guardrail. Two of his tires blew out, so I had to send for help to get him off the highway.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “No, but he was higher than a kite. I cited him for that and for speeding. Dustin Fong took him to the ER. The dink’s from Colville, so I guess he was heading home over the pass.” Milo began devouring a very large chunk of pie.

  “Anything else?” I asked, in what I hoped was a voice of wifely concern rather than that of an overbearing newspaper editor.

  “Yeah.” Milo attacked another bite of pie. “Dwight Gould’s got a cold. He may not make it in tomorrow. Hell, Gould’s never sick. If we get snow, we’ll be shorthanded, even with the new deputy. She’s just breaking in and I don’t want to put too much pressure on her.”

  “Consi’s had some experience being a cop, though,” I said.

  “In Tacoma,” Milo replied after he’d swallowed the elephant-sized chunk of pie. “She knows zip about winter road conditions in the mountains. I don’t like having a snow-and-ice rookie on highway patrol.”

  “Have her stay in town. They should sand around here if it gets bad. By the way, Vida met Consi.” I kept my voice neutral. “She says your new hire is very good-looking.”

  Milo scowled at me. “I didn’t hire her for her looks. Hell, I’m old enough to be her father. Which reminds me,” he went on, having finished his pie and putting the fork down, “Bran called to say I’m going to be a grandfather. Solange is expecting a kid.”

  “When?”

  “Sometime in the spring,” he said. “April, May. I guess.”

  I’d gone to the wedding with my husband, which had been held on Seattle’s Eastside. Solange’s parents had been there along with Milo’s ex-wife, Tricia. I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. I’d never be a grandmother. And because my son, Adam, is a priest, unless the Catholic church changed the rules, he would never give me grandchildren. The thought always made me a little sad.

  “That’s great,” I said, hoping to sound enthusiastic as we got up from the table. “Has he told Tanya? I haven’t seen her since she and Bill Blatt came here for our New Year’s Day get-together.”

  Milo shrugged. “Probably. If he hasn’t, Tanya spent Christmas in Bellevue with Mulehide, so she probably found out then.”

  Tanya was Milo’s daughter, and “Mulehide” was a reference to his ex-wife. Tricia and Milo had been divorced for over twenty years. The first Mrs. Dodge had been involved in an affair with a high school teacher who also had a spouse. After the move to Bellevue, Tricia and Jake Sellers got married as soon as their divorces became final. Tricia had taken the three Dodge children with her. But cheaters don’t change. The second marriage ended in divorce as well. The ex–Mrs. Dodge/ex–Mrs. Sellers now had a new man in her life. I suppose I couldn’t blame her to never stop trying.

  After we sat in our usual places, I stopped thinking about Tricia. I should be grateful to her. If she hadn’t left Milo, I would never have ended up married to him.

  Milo looked up from his book. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You.”

  He smiled back.

  * * *

  —

  Only a dusting of snow had fallen during the night. Milo had checked the forecast and been informed that by early morning the snow clouds were blowing westward out over Puget Sound. Our outdoor thermometer sat at exactly thirty-two degrees when I headed for the office. By noon the temperature would be in the high thirties and the snow would be gone later in the afternoon. Yet as I drove down the steep hill to Front Street, I smiled at how pretty the town looked in its coating of winter white. Even the homeliest, dumpiest houses and buildings were transformed. An illusion, of course. But I was reminded of how small and mean Alpine had seemed to me when I first moved here after leaving Portland. I’d never planned to stay in the town. Then marriage changed all that. Now I’d spend the rest of my life here. I kept on smiling.

  But my mood was dampened as I walked into the office. I heard Ed Bronsky’s voice whining to Leo. “Why do I have to pay for a subscription to the paper? Wasn’t I the one who kept it from going under back in the day?”

  Leo was accustomed to his predecessor’s bitching. “That was then,” Leo replied calmly. “This is now. You haven’t worked here in the last ten, twelve years, Ed. Alison tells me you’re six months behind in your subscription payment.”

  Ed waved a dismissive pudgy hand. “I can’t keep up with everything.” He shot me a wary glance. “Emma—did I forget to tell you about my new project?”

  I was blank. “I don’t recall you mentioning it when you and Shirley dropped by on New Year’s Day.”

  He shook his head and made a face. “That wasn’t the right setting for talking about something serious like what I’ve got in mind. In fact, I’m here now to give you and Leo a heads-up. It’s only fair that I…” Ed stopped talking as Alison appeared with the Upper Crust bakery’s goodies. “What kind of pastry did you get today?”

  Alison assumed a sweet smile. “Date bars and fig rolls. We’re all trying to keep a healthy style of eating in the new year. In fact,” she went on, now frowning, “I wonder if I should put everything in the microwave to warm it up. It might taste a little dry.” Our office manager and the pastries moved on to the back shop.

  All three of Ed’s chins dropped. “What happened to sugar doughnuts and cinnamon rolls?” he virtually bleated.

  Leo gestured at his wife’s vacant desk. “It’s my wife’s idea. Now that we’re back together, she wants us to eat healthier so we can live longer to enjoy each other’s company.”

  The concept appeared to flummox Ed. “You don’t enjoy eating?”

  “Moderation in all things,” Leo replied. “What’s your project, Ed?”

  Ed assumed a serious expression. Mitch had just come into the office and knew Ed well enough to merely nod before going to his desk. But that didn’t stop my former ad manager from insisting that our reporter had to hear about The Project. “You’ll like this, Laskey,” he said. “You’re from a big city. Cleveland, right?”

  “Detroit,” Mitch responded. “Actually, a suburb—Royal Oak.”

  Ed nodded vaguely. “Okay, here’s the deal. Mayor Baugh isn’t in very good shape these days, and he’s officially out of office with the new government change. That leaves only Jack Blackwell as county manager, and face it, he’s not a warm and fuzzy guy. We need somebody around here who can put some serious warmth into Alpine, especially for visitors. I’m thinking billboard.”

  “Billboard?” I echoed. “On Highway 2? I’m not sure they’re legal.”

  The comment was dismissed with a wave of Ed’s pudgy hand. “We can worry about that stuff later. But you bet your boots it’d bring in the tourists.”

  Leo was trying to hide his dismay and almost succeeding. “What would be on the billboard?”

  Ed beamed. “Me. I’ll be the spokesperson for the town and for all of Skykomish County, for that matter. I’m a native son and nobody can ever say I haven’t done my share to boost my hometown. Do you think I should wear a costume?”

  My phone was ringing and I’d had enough. I excused myself and practically ran into my office. The last thing I heard from Ed was “…maybe a trench coat like yours, Walsh, to add some kind of intrigue…”

  The only intrigue I was interested in was finding a topic that might induce subscribers to actually read my editorial. Paving was probably out; it sounded too expensive. Streetlights throughout the town might be worthwhile, since January had the longest dark days of the year. By the time February rolled around, I always felt like a mole. I’d use the analogy in the lead and maybe in the headline. “Mole People of Alpine.” Why not? Some of our re
aders might actually read at least the first couple of sentences.

  I’d just reached the not-so-exciting conclusion when I saw Postmaster Roy Everson come into the newsroom. He paused by Mitch’s desk, but shook his head and came into my office. I had a premonition of what was coming next.

  Roy fumbled with the chair before parking his unimposing body in it. “I didn’t mean to put off your Mr. Laskey,” he said by way of greeting, “but this is something you should hear first.” He swallowed in a way that made his Adam’s apple jump. “It’s about Mama.”

  It always was with Roy. Going on twenty years ago, his widowed mother, Myrtle, had disappeared while on a blackberry-picking expedition. No sign of her had ever been found. Roy had become obsessed about Mrs. Everson up to the point of being hospitalized a little over a year ago. In fact, we’d all hoped that episode had cured him. Apparently it hadn’t. I sat up a little straighter to hear him out.

  “After Bebe and I take down all the Christmas decorations,” he began, “we do what we call our ‘sprinter’ cleaning.” He paused, smiling a bit. “That’s a cross between spring and winter. Then we can skip another cleaning when March rolls around.”

  “Smart,” I said, just to let him know I was listening.

  “We’ve got a lot of boxes for our holiday trimmings,” he went on, “and sometimes we’re not as organized as maybe we should be about which holiday is which. That is, Thanksgiving and Christmas come pretty darned close together some years. And Halloween kicks everything off.” Roy paused, frowning, then turned very serious. “It’s Halloween that got me wondering about the bucket we found in the basement when we were putting everything away.” His expression indicated this was serious stuff.

  “How so?” I asked, sensing what was coming next.

  Roy had started to perspire. He took out a white handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Mama never liked being bothered by the trick-or-treaters. Oh, she loved kiddies, but sometimes they could be grabby or rude or…you know how kids are. Anyway, she’d turn on her porch light and put candy in a bucket on the porch. The bucket Bebe and I found in the basement had what looked like dried berries in it. Nubs, you might say. Do you know what that means?”