The Alpine Winter Page 7

  Adam looked up again. “I only met Phil Corrigan once, but he seemed like a solid guy. He and Dad went way back. But I can’t act like I’m rich. I might start thinking that way. That’d be a bad idea.”

  I understood. “You don’t know Marisa Foxx, but she’s a lawyer and a parishioner. I’ll call her. Check with me after ten. You need anything?”

  Adam grinned. “Mom, I’m used to living on my own. I’ll manage.”

  “Right.” I blew him a kiss and headed out the door.

  When I got to work, Alison was at her post, taking a classified ad over the phone. We exchanged waves as I entered the newsroom. Mitch was at his desk, eating a sugar doughnut.

  “Mitch!” I exclaimed, surprised. “How are you?”

  He flicked sugar off his chin. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  I placed a hand on his visitor’s chair. “As in … how?”

  “Troy will get caught or he won’t. There’s a third scenario, but I won’t think about it.”

  “Do you feel like talking?”

  He shrugged again. “What’s to say? He hasn’t contacted Brenda or me. We’re wrecks, especially Brenda. She couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Look,” I said. “If you want time off, take it. If you want to talk, I’m here. I’ve got a story for you, if that’ll help.”

  Mitch’s expression was ironic. “A first-person piece on ‘My Son the Escaped Con’?”

  “We can do that,” I said, straight-faced. “Why not have Brenda write to ask for Vida’s advice and have her sign it ‘Ma Barker’?”

  Mitch laughed, as I’d hoped he would. “That’s what I like about you, Emma,” he said. “No bullshit. You meet things head-on.” He paused. “Vida’s lucky her grandson didn’t end up in jail. I hope she thanked Dodge for temporarily going blind.”

  “Roger cooperated,” I pointed out. “He gave up the perps involved with the drug trafficking and the truckers. If the kid so much as jaywalks, Milo will bust him and toss the key into the Skykomish River.”

  “Vida,” Mitch said thoughtfully. “It took me a while to get used to her.” He paused before looking me in the eye. “Okay, what’s the story?”

  “Let me get some coffee and a doughnut first, then meet me in my office,” I said. “I take it you haven’t checked the sheriff’s log yet?”

  “No. I’m not eager to face the local law enforcers.”

  I considered my next words carefully. Milo’s name had been kept out of the Seattle media in the Bellevue standoff coverage, a professional courtesy by the King County sheriff’s office. I hadn’t run anything about the tragedy in the Advocate, despite the involvement of former Alpiners. Spence had also gone silent, if only for fear that he’d end up with no nose at all. But the locals recognized the names of Tricia and her ex, former Alpine High teacher Jake Sellers. Of course tongues had wagged all over town for a few days until Toyota dealership owner Gus Swanson ran off to Vegas with the local florist, Delphine Corson.

  I stood up. “Don’t be embarrassed. The sheriff and his deputies have seen it all. The ugly side of life is no stranger here. And yes, I saw the bulletin about Troy last night.”

  He ruffled his graying hair. “I need to stay busy. I told Brenda to keep weaving.” He sighed and turned away.

  I went behind his desk to get coffee and a French doughnut. Five minutes later, I called Marisa Foxx, whose secretary, Judi, was another of Vida’s nieces. Judi said her boss was busy, but would get back to me soon. I’d just hung up when Mitch came into my office. After I briefed him on the body in the cave, he headed off on his beat. Alison came into my cubbyhole just as I finished my doughnut.

  “Pete Patricelli is here to see Leo about a change in the coupon he’s running in the paper. Should he talk to you or to Kip?”

  “What’s the change?”

  Alison smiled. “He forgot to mention that the two-for-one is only for the regular pizza, not the deep-dish kind.”

  “Send him to Kip,” I said. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  She nodded and went on her way.

  Pete, however, did not go on his way. To my surprise, he came into my office five minutes later via the back shop.

  “Hi, Emma,” he said, his round face looking worried. Even his mustache seemed to droop more than usual. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure. Have a seat. What’s wrong?”

  A rotund man in his late forties, he squatted in the chair and gave me a feeble, gap-toothed smile. “Kind of empty around here, isn’t it?”

  “I do give my staff some time off. Leo and Vida return tomorrow.”

  He nodded absently. “Um … I looked at your site this morning. I wanted to make sure the ad I’m running on it didn’t have anything about this coupon deal yet.” He paused, licking his lips. “I saw the notice about the body on Mount Sawyer. You got more news on that?”

  “No. It’ll take some time. The sheriff has to send the remains to SnoCo for a full autopsy.”

  He nodded again. “That’s what I thought. I … well, I don’t know how to put this … you didn’t see the body, did you?”

  “No. Why?”

  He lowered his gaze. “Do you remember my kid brother, Gus?”

  Pete came from a family of eleven children. “Gus? No.”

  “So you weren’t here when Gus got in trouble.” Pete’s dark eyes strayed to my SkyCo map. “It was just before Marius sold the paper.”

  “Over fifteen years ago,” I said, wishing he’d get on with his story.

  He nodded. “Gus was working for an escrow company in Everett, saving money for college. He was the youngest. You knew Mamma Mia.”

  It wasn’t a question. I remembered Appollonia—known as Polly—for her extreme piety, lighting so many votive candles after Mass that I thought she’d burn down the old wood-frame building.

  “Gus was fourteen when Papa died,” Pete went on. “Mamma Mia really spoiled him after that. Anyway, he stole money from the escrow company, got caught, and went to prison. He served five years, then got released, but he couldn’t keep out of trouble and was caught stealing from a Lynnwood convenience store nine years ago. Thank God it didn’t make the news here, being in Snohomish County.”

  “He held up the convenience store?”

  “No. He worked there. Gus would never hold up anybody. The only thing he ever shot was a camera. He loved taking pictures. I bought him a nice one when he was paroled from Monroe last spring, on the first anniversary of Mamma Mia’s passing.” Pete paused to clear his throat. “Gus stayed with Shari and me while he looked for work. I had him help out at the pizza parlor, but I didn’t need him full-time, and I couldn’t pay what he might make somewhere else. He had some pride, too. He wouldn’t take money, saying he was trading his work for room and board.” A faint smile was on Pete’s lips. “To be honest, he wasn’t very good in the kitchen. He was kind of clumsy. Once he dropped a quarter or something in the topping and Davin Rhodes broke off part of a tooth. I was afraid his parents, Oren and Sunny, might sue me, but they were nice about it. Then, not long after that, Gus went on one of his long walks. He never came back.”

  I could guess where Pete was going with his account. Given his long pause, I decided to help him out. “You think the body may be Gus?”

  Pete couldn’t seem to give voice to a simple “yes.” But looking into his dark eyes, I knew the answer. The only advice I could offer Pete was to get in touch with the sheriff. “That’d be a big help,” I told him, “not just to you, but to the law enforcement people. Otherwise, they’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Pete had composed himself. “I don’t care about that. I want Gus to have a church burial if Father Den will do it. Mamma Mia will rest easier.”

  I kept from saying Polly was resting as well as she could. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you have anything with Gus’s DNA?”

  Pete frowned. “Like what?”

  “He must’ve left clothes behind. Or a brush with hair in it.”


  “We’ve got his clothes,” Pete said. “I don’t think he had a hairbrush. Gus was going bald faster than I am.” He put a hand to his receding hairline. “Should I take the stuff to the sheriff?”

  “Yes. Bag all of it carefully to avoid disturbing the DNA sample.”

  Pete nodded. “I will. Gus didn’t own much.”

  “What was he wearing the last time you saw him?”

  “My bathrobe,” Pete said. “He’d just gotten up. But Shari may know what he wore when he left.” He stood up. “Thanks, Emma. I’m really glad I asked. I’ll make sure that stuff gets to Dodge today.”

  “Do you want me to call and let him know you’re coming? He may’ve already shipped the body the geocachers found.”

  Pete frowned. “The who?”

  “It’s like a treasure hunt,” I said, avoiding details. Maybe Pete hadn’t read Scott Chamoud’s story about the sophisticated hobby. “Don—Judge Krogstad’s son—and his wife, Dee, found the body. They were with a couple from Maltby.”

  Pete shrugged. “Oh. I know Don from high school. Thanks.”

  As soon as Pete left, I called Milo. Jack Mullins answered the phone. “Sorry, Emma. The boss is chasing reindeer.”

  “No kidding,” I said. “He can’t find a rainbow in this weather.”

  “I thought he already … hang on.” I heard muffled voices in the background. “Got a stalled semi on Highway 2 blocking traffic,” the deputy said. “Can you make it quick? I’ve got to go.”

  “Then go,” I said. “Is somebody else in the office?”

  “Yeah—I’ll pass you off to the Dustman.”

  Dustin Fong’s pleasant voice came on the line. “Hi, Ms. Lord. How was your holiday?”

  “Fine,” I said to the only male deputy besides Vida’s nephew, Bill Blatt, who didn’t annoy me. “Can you translate Jack’s reindeer remark?”

  “Rudolph,” Dustin replied. “One of the Overholts found him in their barn. You know—the plastic reindeer that got swiped from Old Mill Park. This isn’t official,” he went on, lowering his voice, “but Dodge knows who did it. He went in person to nail the kids.”

  “Dare I ask who?” I inquired, hoping it was Roger.

  “Aaron and Tyler MacDuff, Kent and Jennifer’s kids and Kip’s nephews,” Dustin said. “Your back shop man will be mad about that.”

  “Yes, he will,” I said. “How old are those kids? I seem to recall that they were toddlers the last time I heard anything about them.”

  “Aaron must be fourteen, Tyler’s a bit younger,” Dustin replied. “Being underage, their names won’t go in the log.”

  “Just as well,” I said, recalling that Milo and Kent MacDuff had a history dating back to the first murder investigation I’d covered in Alpine. Hopefully, Kent wouldn’t get arrested for assaulting a law officer after the sheriff chewed out the boys and their parents. I let the subject drop and relayed Pete’s speculation about the body in the cave.

  “The body’s still at the hospital,” Dustin said, “but as soon as the highway’s cleared, it’ll be sent to Everett. We’re shorthanded with Doe and Bill taking time off. Dwight’s coming in late after pulling weekend duty and filling in for Dodge as the senior deputy.”

  “Keep an eye out for Pete when he brings his brother’s belongings.”

  Dustin said he would. I went to the back shop to tell Kip about his nephews. He wasn’t surprised.

  “I love my brother,” he said, “but Kent’s always been full of himself. He sees his kids as copies of what he was like. Being the oldest, you’d think he’d be more disciplined, but that’s not how it went down. You’re lucky. You seem tight with your brother, even if he doesn’t live here.”

  I smiled wryly. “Maybe that’s why.” I changed the subject to the stalled truck so Kip could alert our readers on the website.

  Marisa called back before nine. Lunch was out because she had a court appearance at two and needed to talk to her client first. She suggested dinner at King Olav’s. I agreed. Adam and I would meet her at six. She asked if Ben might join us. I told her I’d find out.

  I called Adam, who okayed the plan. Ben had asked if he wanted to help take communion to the nursing home. “Then we’ll catch lunch and call on some shut-ins to show the priesthood still gets younger dudes.”

  “Go for it,” I said. “I’ll see you at home.”

  Mitch returned just after eleven. He’d heard about Rudolph and had gone up to the Overholt farm to take photos.

  “I got some of Rudolph in a horse stall,” he told me when I came out to refill my coffee mug. “Dodge wouldn’t let me take his picture with the reindeer. For such an imposing guy, he keeps a low profile.”

  I shrugged. “He doesn’t like the spotlight. Even when his job was elective, Dodge shied away from grandstanding.”

  “He seems like a solid guy,” Mitch said. “I was surprised he didn’t ask about Troy.”

  “He wouldn’t,” I said. “As you may recall, he, too, has children.”

  Mitch looked sheepish. “I forgot he’s been out of town because of that trouble with his daughter and her fiancé. The deputies must’ve closed ranks on that. Did the girl survive?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s been recovering at home for the past couple of weeks.” His lack of interest puzzled me. Did he and Brenda lead such exclusive lives that they hadn’t heard any of the gossip about the Bellevue tragedy? Maybe Vida was right about Brenda being distant. Apparently, Mitch was, too.

  I was still musing on this conundrum when I realized he was talking to me. “… Or do you think that’s too subtle?”

  “Well …,” I said, wondering what he meant. “What do you think?”

  “It’s better than what I came up with last week. Rudolph’s tired, like everybody after the holidays. He hits the hay, hoping the new year’s better. Sure, it’s corny, but I’ll try to write some clever copy.”

  “I think it’ll work,” I said. “How big?”

  “Four by five above the fold to allow for copy alongside?”

  “Okay. The big story will be the body discovery, but since we may not have any ID, it can go below.” I started back to my office.

  “Emma?” Mitch called. I turned around. “Yes?”

  “Are you busy for lunch?”

  I shook my head. Mitch and I had only gone to lunch twice since he arrived in Alpine. “Where?”

  “How about the ski lodge?”

  “Sure. The coffee shop?”

  Mitch thought for a moment. “No. Let me treat. We’ll eat in the main restaurant, King Oily or whatever it’s called.”

  “King Olav,” I said, realizing I’d end up having two meals there in one day. “Don’t forget the local Scandinavian influence.”

  “Guess I haven’t assimilated yet. Not sure how long it’ll take …” He uttered an abrupt little laugh. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

  I knew the feeling.

  We took my Honda to the ski lodge. The first thing he asked me after we started up Alpine Way was if it ever stopped raining. I told him it didn’t—unless it snowed. My answer evoked only a slight shake of Mitch’s head.

  “Have a drink if you want,” I told Mitch after we were seated at a table under a sculpture of Frigg, the Norse goddess who may or may not have been Odin’s wife. “It’s still the holiday season in my world.”

  “Are you going to?” he asked.

  “Why not? Vida isn’t around to give us a sniff check.”

  Mitch chuckled. “I haven’t had a drink at lunch in a long time. I try to avoid being the stereotype of the journalist with a fifth in the drawer at work. When I broke into the newspaper business, it wasn’t just a stereotype. There were still a lot of guys—and gals—who did that.”

  I nodded. “I recall that from The Oregonian. Now everybody’s so damned earnest. I’m not sure it’s an improvement. But maybe it doesn’t matter, with newspapers heading for the dust heap. There’s nothing colorful about reading news on a monitor.”
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  Yet another pretty blond waitress came to take our order. Her nametag said Gala, but I didn’t recognize her and she returned the blank stare. I asked for a screwdriver; Mitch ordered a stinger. Gala slithered off as if she were part of an exiting chorus line.

  Mitch was studying the menu. “What’s this lutefisk special?” he asked. My look of horror made him laugh. “Not so good?”

  “It’s soaked in lye and smells ghastly,” I said quietly, lest I offend any Scandinavian within earshot. “I’ve never tasted it, but the smell’s enough to put me off.”

  “I’ll skip it then,” he said, putting the menu aside.

  We sat in silence until our drinks arrived. Mitch lifted his glass before he drank. “To you, Emma, for being a good boss and the best-looking one I’ve ever had.”

  We clinked glasses and took a first sip. “Thanks. No women bosses on the Free Press?”

  “Not on my beat,” he said as his gaze took in the etched glass wall behind the bar, depicting tall trees and waterfalls. “Maybe Brenda and I are crazy for moving here to visit a kid who escapes from jail, thus making our efforts seem futile.”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid to visit my son in Alaska because I know how he lives. That, too, is crazy.”

  “It beats being locked up,” Mitch pointed out.

  “Not in the winter,” I said. “He might as well be. It’s just a different kind of isolation from the rest of civilization.”

  “But Adam’s doing good things. That’s a big consolation.”

  “Oh … yes,” I said. “Do you have any idea where Troy might be?”

  His gaze was wary. “Are you being my editor or my friend?”

  I waved an impatient hand. “You know which one it is.”

  He nodded. “I have no idea where Troy is. He was arrested in Yakima. It’s not within walking distance.”

  “Did he have a job there?”

  “Yes. He was a Good Humor man. That’s how he dealt.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course.”