Bitter Alpine Page 9
“Yeah, thanks,” Leonard said after wiping his nose with a red-and-white bandana handkerchief. “Violet knows how to tell a story. Your readers will eat it up.”
“I’m sure they will,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Glad to do it,” Leonard replied, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pants pocket. “Violet will be tickled pink to see herself in print. Good to chat with you, Elma.” He turned to leave, but I suddenly realized he might be able to answer my question about Waldo Danforth.
“Say,” I said, standing up to make sure he knew I was leaving my cubbyhole, “do you recall anyone living around here named Danforth?”
Leonard paused in the doorway, stroking his chin. “Danforth…I remember some Daniels and a Dandridge and…No, not anybody by that name. Are you trying to find somebody?”
I shook my head. “I’m doing some research and a Waldo Danforth was mentioned. I couldn’t place him. I thought you might remember someone from way back with that name.”
“Dang, but I don’t.” Leonard paused. “I’ll ask Violet. If she remembers the name, I’ll let you know.”
I figured Leonard wouldn’t remember Danforth’s name by the time he got home, but it was worth a shot. “Thanks. Give Violet my best.”
“Will do. I’m off now to see George Engebretsen. He’s in the nursing home, you know.” Shaking his head, Leonard meandered out through the newsroom. Both Leonard and George were members of the now inactive county board of commissioners. The third member, Alfred Cobb—Lori’s grandfather—had died only a little over a year ago. His wife hadn’t lasted very long without him. If an old-timer like Leonard didn’t remember a Danforth, then I couldn’t think of anyone who could. Of course, his memory for names wasn’t very good when it came to people he knew in the present.
But Vida remembered Waldo Danforth, and apparently not in a good way. Passing out suggested the memory was an unpleasant one.
It was still raining by the time I got home. Milo didn’t show up until going on six. I met him at the kitchen door with a quick kiss.
“How was your lunch?” I asked, following him into the living room, where he hung up his hat and jacket.
“Okay. Henry Bardeen had to hire a new cook for the coffee shop. The one he brought in after the holidays turned out to be higher than Alpine Baldy. The guy kept ducking outside to smoke weed. My steak sandwich was weird. Henry’s still seeing Linda Grant. What’s for dinner?”
“Aren’t you going to change first?”
“No. This uniform has to go to Mrs. Overholt for a good cleaning. Barbie or Belinda or whoever the new waitress is spilled coffee on both the shirt and pants. Luckily, it was after we finished eating, so the coffee was cold.” Milo was heading back to the kitchen while I trailed behind him.
“Did Consi get upset when the waitress spilled the coffee?” I asked in what I hoped was a guileless voice.
“Hell no,” Milo replied, reaching for the Scotch. “She’s a cop, for God’s sake. Her father and her uncle are cops in Pierce County. In fact, the uncle’s a detective in Tacoma.” He paused with the bottle in his hand. “What’s with you? Did something happen at work?”
“It did,” I informed him. “Vida passed out when I mentioned Waldo Danforth. She came to and seemed to be all right, but insisted she was coming down with a cold. I don’t believe her. Is the old guy’s name familiar to you?”
“No.” Milo was dropping ice cubes into a glass. “Where’s your drink?”
“In the fridge. I made it when I got home, but wanted to wait until you were here.”
Milo opened the fridge and handed me my bourbon and 7-Up over ice. We went back into the living room and assumed our usual places. I told my husband about Leonard Hollenberg’s visit and that he’d never heard of any Danforths, either.
“Hollenberg may not remember voters’ names,” Milo said, “but he never forgets a face. Are you sure Vida didn’t have some kind of spell? Hell, she’s not far from eighty. She’s entitled to have some off days.”
“True, but she seemed shocked when she heard the name.”
Milo reached for his laptop. “Let me check our official data base. Everybody who ever lived in SkyCo is listed.” He paused, apparently searching through the list of Ds. “No. Nothing even close.”
Briefly we both sat in silence. “I wonder,” I finally said, “if I should call Amy. But Vida is so secretive that she probably won’t tell her daughter she’s had a fainting spell. The only one who knows besides us is Mitch, and he’s not the type to blab, except maybe to his wife, Brenda. She’s got her own emotional problems and is borderline antisocial.”
“Maybe Brenda will perk up when Troy gets released later this year,” Milo said. “When do we eat?”
“Now.” I led the way to the kitchen. “I figured you wouldn’t be all that hungry after a lavish lunch at the ski lodge.”
“I told you, the steak sandwich was weird.” He encircled my neck with his arm. “Damnit, Emma, are you jealous? De Groote is my new deputy, not my future girlfriend. I worked too damned hard to get you to marry me, and that was after sixteen years of waiting for you to come around. Jesus, I can’t believe you’d think I’d even look at another woman now that I’ve finally got you.”
“I know,” I said in sort of a squeak. “But…”
He let go and I turned around. “But what?” he asked, frowning.
“I suppose I can’t understand why other women wouldn’t be attracted to you.” I punched him lightly in the midsection. “You’re a very imposing-looking man, Sheriff.”
His hazel eyes sparked. “Turn off the stove. Let’s impose on each other.”
And so we did.
* * *
—
We were finishing dinner a little before eight when Milo’s cell rang. “What now?” he muttered, and answered the phone. “Dodge here,” he said, and frowned as he listened to whoever was at the other end. “Okay, Sam, they should’ve let us know as soon as it happened. What’s wrong with those assholes over in Shelton?” He paused for the answer. “Right, freaking red tape. Thanks. Alert the rest of the troops.” He put the cell back in his pocket. “Mickey O’Neill escaped from the Shelton Correctional Facility over the weekend. They knew he was from here, but they’d had calls from people closer to the prison who thought they’d seen him. Maybe that was before Mickey left the area.”
“I forget,” I said. “How long a sentence did he get for beating up our awful next-door neighbors’ daughter-in-law?”
“Two and a half years,” Milo replied. “It was a first offense, and otherwise he was clean. Blackwell dropped the charges when Mickey tried to shoot him at the Labor Day picnic. I figure Jack was embarrassed because of his reputation as a good employer, and there was no proof that Mickey poached those trees on protected land. But the woman he beat up, Sofia Nelson, filed battering charges against him.”
“Have you heard about anybody around here seeing Mickey since he escaped?”
Milo shook his head. “Hell no, since we just found out about it. Anyway, I figure he wouldn’t come back to Alpine. Yes, he still owns the old family house, but that thing is practically falling down. Mickey’s father and his uncles damned near wrecked the place over the years.”
I knew that, having seen the house after Mickey was arrested. The three older O’Neills, including Mickey’s father, had all been murdered by their longtime rivals, the Hartquist family. It was the culmination of a decades-old feud between the two families that had begun before my time in Alpine. If memory served, it had something to do with a goat.
We migrated to the living room. “Nothing new on the homicide investigation?” I asked innocently.
Milo paused in lighting a cigarette. “No. The autopsy report hasn’t come back. Don’t you think I’d have mentioned if it had, you little twerp?”
He flicked the lighter. “So that’s where you go during the day. I thought you sneaked off to shop at Nordstrom in Seattle.”
“I haven’t even been to Nordstrom Rack since I married you,” I retorted, referring to the upscale store’s discount outlet. “I have clothes that are older than Alison Lindahl.”
“You’ve got so many clothes that I had to put half of mine in the spare room’s closet.”
“That’s because your clothes are much bigger than mine. I could fit a pair of shoes into just one of your…”
The phone rang on the end table. By coincidence, it was Alison. “Guess what?” she said in an excited voice. “I ran into Boyd Lanier outside of Pines Villa. He asked me to lunch with him tomorrow! I am so hyped!”
“That’s great, Alison,” I enthused—and then added for Milo’s benefit, “When do you and Boyd announce your engagement?”
“Emma!” she exclaimed. “It’s lunch at the VI, not dinner at Le Gourmand. But it’s a start.”
“I’m glad for you. Really. Are he and his roommate all moved in?”
“I think so,” she replied. “Boyd mentioned he’s starting to feel at home. Now I have to figure out what to wear.” She disconnected.
Milo looked up from the Sports Illustrated he’d been reading. “Alison’s on the hunt again?”
“I’m not sure she ever gave up. She’s been lying in wait for the next eligible guy since the last one fizzled.”
“The new county extension agent, right?”
“Right.”
Milo went back to reading his magazine. I picked up an Agatha Christie mystery I’d read so long ago that I’d forgotten whodunit. I hoped that Alison would have better luck this time around. Her last attempt at finding romance had almost proved fatal. The last thing I wanted for her was a repeat.
But, I reminded myself, we don’t always get what we want.
Chapter 10
Alison showed up Tuesday morning in an outfit I’d never seen before. The deep blue cowl-necked sweater accentuated her eyes, and the charcoal tights weren’t tight enough to be considered overly provocative. Her only jewelry was a familiar silver locket that contained a picture of her birth mother on one side and one of her father and the stepmother who had virtually raised her on the other. Having taught cosmetology at the community college before coming to work for us, she was very skillful about applying makeup. She had a good complexion, used only a minimum of lip gloss, and except for the mascara she’d applied to her lashes, Alison looked like she usually did. Except, of course, for her sense of anticipation.
“Do I look okay?” she asked as I came through the door.
“Drop-dead gorgeous,” I replied. “You’re a very pretty young woman.”
“No, I’m not,” she declared. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. Even if my class got cut by the college, I benefited from what I taught. How do you like the new outfit? I got it at Francine’s Fine Apparel last night. She stayed open late because of her year-end clearance sale.”
“Nice. The color of the sweater is very becoming.”
She sat down at her desk. “I hope Boyd thinks so.”
“I’m sure he will. He’s a man and…” I shut up as the phone rang on Alison’s desk.
Wide-eyed, she hesitated. “What if it’s him and he’s cancelling?”
“Unlikely,” I replied, but waited just in case.
“Hold on, Mrs. Runkel,” Alison said after listening for a few moments. “Ms. Lord is going to her office.”
Only Mitch was in the newsroom, waiting for the coffee to finish perking and staring hungrily at the otherwise empty shelf. “Liza’s turn,” I said as I hurried into my cubbyhole.
Vida’s voice assaulted my ear as I picked up the receiver. “We must lunch today. I assume you’re free?”
“I am,” I replied. “The Venison Inn?”
“No,” she said. “The ski lodge coffee shop. It’s more private. I’ll see you at noon.” On that imperious note, she hung up.
An hour later, Spencer Fleetwood strolled through the now-empty newsroom and into my office. As usual, KSKY’s owner was impeccably dressed in charcoal tailored slacks, a navy cashmere sweater over an ecru dress shirt, and a black leather jacket slung over his left shoulder. Spence made himself comfortable in one of my visitor chairs.
“I come with possible good news,” he said in that smooth radio voice I’d initially resented, because he was the Advocate’s competition, but had grown to appreciate. If nothing else, Spence was a professional. “I stopped to get gas at Cal’s Chevron this morning. Cal was giving directions to a man representing the Panera Bread cafés. They’re apparently considering Alpine as a future site. Did you know about this?”
“No,” I replied. “I thought they only operated in suburban malls. There’s one north of Everett near the Tulalip Resort Hotel and Casino.”
“Yes,” Spence agreed. “I haven’t been to the café, but I’ve visited the Tulalip casino a few times. Rosalie enjoys playing roulette.”
The reference was to Rosalie Reed, RestHaven’s chief psychologist and Spence’s main squeeze long before the facility opened in Alpine over a year ago.
“I appreciate you informing me,” I said formally, then leaned closer in my chair. “The newsroom’s empty. Why are you really here?”
Spence chuckled. “You read me too well.” The amused expression fled and he lowered his mellifluous voice. “Vida called last night to say she didn’t want to continue doing her radio program.”
I jerked straight up. “No! Do you think she meant it?”
Spence shrugged. “She sounded like it. But she didn’t seem like herself. Is she ill?”
I was certain that Mitch wouldn’t tell anyone about Vida’s faint. But Spence and I had a history. Not a romantic one, but a camaraderie shared as the only two media owners in the county. While we were rivals for news, we also did some co-op advertising. I decided to hedge a bit.
“Vida wasn’t feeling well yesterday,” I said. “She thought she might be coming down with a cold, and she didn’t act like herself.” That was true, since passing out in my office was something she’d never done before. “Maybe it’s more than a cold.”
“She’s had remarkably good health ever since I’ve known her,” Spence allowed. “The only time I’ve seen her off her feed was when Roger got busted. Has she ever visited him?”
“If she has, she’s never mentioned it.” It occurred to me that her grandson had also been sent to the Shelton facility. It was a wonder that Roger hadn’t tried to talk Mickey O’Neill into letting him come along on the breakout. “It’s been going on a year since he was incarcerated.”
Spence nodded absently. “Maybe I should give her a day or two to think over cancelling her program. Vida doesn’t have whims, but if she’s not feeling good…Well, you know what I mean. I’d hate to lose her. She gets the highest ratings of all our live local programs, including the news.”
“Her ‘Scene’ and advice column are the most-read part of the paper. If she’s serious, maybe that’s why she wants to have lunch with me today.”
“Ah!” Spence’s expression matched my own feelings. “It appears that the incomparable Vida Runkel has both of us up a stump, as the natives would say. She’s literally irreplaceable.”
My face turned grim. “That’s true. But she is mortal.”
Spence’s hawklike features were also somber. “Physically, Vida’s a strong person. I’ve always figured she could make it to a hundred without stopping for extra breaths. Still…” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.
Unfortunately, I understood what he meant.
* * *
—
At ten minutes to twelve, I headed for the ski lodge. When I reached the parking lot, I saw
one of the valets parking Vida’s big Buick. After leaving my Honda in their care, I entered the lodge to find Henry Bardeen coming into the lobby. He stopped to greet me with the professional, gracious smile that befitted him as the longtime manager.
“I understand you’re meeting Vida,” he said. “She’s sitting by one of the pillars. More private, of course, which she requested. Are you two planning a big exposé of the Burl Creek Thimble Club?”
I smiled back. The remark was as close as Henry ever came to being humorous. “Not exactly. It’s more work-related. Vida told me that she and your brother Buck had a pleasant visit to friends in Startup last week.”
Henry’s smile disappeared. “Yes, so I heard.” He touched the obvious toupee that sometimes moved a bit on his bald head. “I’d hoped Buck and Vida might eventually marry, but after all this time, I suppose it’ll never happen. I think Buck has wanted that, but Vida apparently likes things the way they are. If only…” He paused as a worried-looking bellboy approached him. “Excuse me, Emma, there may be a problem. Misplaced luggage, perhaps. Enjoy your lunch.”
I went down the hall to the coffee shop, wondering if having his older brother finally remarry would give Henry the green light to propose to his own longtime companion, schoolteacher Linda Grant. Both Bardeens had been widowed. Maybe the younger brother felt the older brother held rank when it came to their love lives. If so, Henry might have a long wait. I couldn’t imagine Vida remarrying. But then, I couldn’t imagine her fainting—until she did.
I headed straight for Vida. I’d barely settled into my chair before she went straight to the point. “It’s Amy,” she said, referring to her youngest daughter and speaking in an unusually quiet voice. “She’s going through the change, and it’s extremely hard on her.”
I nodded. “It’s no fun. Doc Dewey was a big help. Has she seen him?”
“Yes, but though Gerry is a fine practitioner, he’s not a woman.” Vida paused to adjust her gray felt cloche with its wide black band. “He can’t imagine how difficult it can be for someone as delicate as Amy.”