Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) (20 page)

“Shit!” The sheriff started to say something else, but stopped. While I sulked, he didn't speak again until we were almost back on the Icicle Creek Road.

“What the hell did you talk about? His latest frigging masterpiece?”

“No. I did ask if he was J. C. Peace, but he wouldn't answer. He seemed…bemused by the question.”

Milo just shook his head.

“He wanted to know if I was content with you,” I said after a long pause as we passed the ranger station.

“Jesus.”

“He didn't ask about Jesus.”

“You're un-deputized.”

“Good. I don't like working for you. You're a jackass as a boss.”

“You're damned lippy for a deputy. Worse than Mullins.”

“I'm furious with myself for flunking the test,” I asserted. “You think I didn't want him to admit he was J. C. Peace?”

Milo was now able to look at me. “Do you think he is? Was?”

I slumped even further into the seat. “I don't know. Maybe. He didn't deny it.” I reconsidered the encounter. “The question didn't seem to surprise him, though.”

“Did you ask him if he was Craig Laurentis?”

“No. I don't think we talked for more than a minute or two. How are you going to question him about that painting from the dump?”

“Maybe Donna can ask him,” Milo said. “It'd be a natural question coming from her. She might be able to sell it for him.”

I admitted that was a good idea. “But would he tell her the background of the painting, as in who might have owned it?”

Milo shrugged. “It's worth a shot. I'll call her tomorrow.”

We'd reached Fir Street, with our log cabin almost in sight. “I hope Vida gets home this afternoon or early this evening. Otherwise, Amy'll go nuts. I wonder if she's checked in again with her sisters. It's possible that Vida stopped off to call on Beth in Tacoma. It'd be easy to pull off coming from Shelton to see her family.”

“I thought you changed your mind about her visiting Roger in Shelton,” Milo said.

“Well…where else would she go for a long weekend? Buck didn't suggest she'd visit friends or shirttail relations along Highway 2. I doubt she'd stay overnight with any of them, being so close to home.”

“She'll show up.” My husband pulled into our garage. “Charging rhinos couldn't stop Vida.”

After we opened the doors and windows to air out the house, I noticed that the red message light was blinking on the phone. As soon as I heard the words, “Hi, Mom,” I beamed and forgot about my blisters as I immediately called my son back.

“Adam! Where are you?” I cried, trying to kick off my shoes without untying the laces.

“Fairbanks,” he replied. “I got in about an hour ago for a big meeting with the bishop of northern Alaska. I'll be here
until Wednesday. We had the longest day of the year about ten days ago. Did you notice?”

“I thought of you. It wasn't so long here, but it started to warm up about then. It's probably well over eighty by now.”

“Gosh, it was above fifty when I left the village,” Adam said in mock dismay. “I almost said Mass in shorts. What are you and the sheriff up to for the holiday weekend?”

“Nothing exciting,” I fibbed. “We just got back from a little hike.”

“You went hiking? Where to? Francine's dress shop?”

“Up on Tonga Ridge above town. What's the meeting for?”

“The usual.” Adam sounded blasé. “Morale booster, keep the faith, try not to kiss a walrus during mating season. Ever since the Jesuits got themselves into trouble up here, the bishop figures the rest of us need a boost. I talked to Uncle Ben earlier and he told me to go look in the mirror. If I wasn't wearing prison garb, everything was fine.”

“I'm glad they don't ask your uncle to speak at those meetings,” I said. “Of course, he's realistic about his vocation. So are you. Dare I ask if you plan to shop while you're in the Big City?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Adam responded. “Even funnier that I haven't lost your spare debit card. I'll try to keep it under four figures, okay?”

“You have no choice,” I declared. “I'm never too far from being maxed out. You have needs, not merely wants, correct?”

“Dodge isn't covering you in diamonds and furs? Wait—it's eighty degrees in Alpine. You'd pass out. Say, one of my needs is a new cell. This one's practically ready for the Smithsonian.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Try not to buy one that can reach Jupiter in bad weather.”

“Mars is closer,” Adam said. “Or is it? Did I take astronomy in college?”

“I never really knew what you did in college,” I replied, thinking back to my son's irresponsible younger years. “Other than taking out girls and taking in half-racks to your dorm.”

“Long time ago.” Did he sound wistful? I couldn't be sure. “Hey, here comes Paul McMillan from Barrow. He tells the worst anti-Catholic jokes, but half the time he forgets the punch line. Love and peace, Mom. You'll be able to tell what I'm up to when you get your VISA statement.”

With a bittersweet feeling, I set down the phone. It rang before I could get off the sofa. “Yes?” I said assuming, it was Adam who had forgotten to mention one of his needs.

“Emma?”

“Kip?” I said.

“Right. Are you okay?”

I laughed in a strangled sort of way. “Yes, I thought you were Adam calling me back. We just hung up. What's going on?”

“No work-related problems,” he replied. “Chili and I went to see her sister, Jenni, in the hospital. She had an emergency appendectomy last night. She's fine, probably coming home tomorrow, but Amy Hibbert was admitted last night, too. Do you know what's wrong with her? We didn't want to ask the nurses. They looked busy.”

I leaned back against the sofa. “Nerves, I'll bet. She's made herself sick worrying about her mother, who's been gone since Friday after work. You didn't hear Vida mention taking a trip, did you?”

“No,” Kip said. “I didn't talk much to her Friday. She's been kind of grim lately. I keep my distance when she's like that.”

“Did you see Ted while you were there?” I asked.

“I didn't even see Amy,” Kip replied. “Chili saw her on the way out, but didn't stop. She doesn't know the Hibberts that well. Heck, I don't either, except through Vida.”

“Same here. Amy lacks her mother's spunk. I'll call Ted or the hospital to check on her. Thanks for the heads-up.”

We rang off. I'd managed to remove my shoes, wincing at the blisters on both heels. After applying Band-Aids, I went barefoot to join my husband on the patio.

“Want to eat out again tonight?” he asked.

“I thought you might have to work crowd control at the picnic in Old Mill Park,” I said. “We probably should show up for the sake of our public images.”

“Hell. I suppose you're right. They should have some decent fried chicken. Potato salad, too.” He looked at my feet and laughed. “Serves you right. Why don't you buy some
real
shoes?”

“Because I don't like what you consider ‘real' shoes. They're ugly and clunky.” I changed the subject and told him about Amy.

“I'm not surprised,” Milo said. “It's too bad, though. Amy always was the nervous type. She was a year behind me in school. She got kidded a lot because she had such big feet.”

“Did you tease her?”

“I wasn't into teasing girls. They scared me.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I was. Kind of. In seventh grade, Amy was taller than I was. She's damned near as tall as Vida.”

“All the Runkel girls came within an inch of their mother—and a foot shorter on spine, as far as I can tell. Not as imposing, either.”

“Not even close.” Milo mussed my hair. A twig fell out. “Good God, woman,” he said, “did you bring back part of the landscape with you?”

“I left enough so Craig could paint it.”

“How will we be able to tell what it really is?” My husband turned serious. “I don't like the idea of tricking the guy, but I have to talk to him. He must know who had that painting. Too bad he won't stop in for some free food at the park.”

I cringed at the thought of Craig socializing, especially on a federal holiday. His anti-government stance would erupt all over the hot dogs. As the lazy afternoon meandered on to the picnic's start at three, we could hear more fireworks going off. Some of them sounded annoyingly close.

Around four, I poked Milo, who had somehow managed to doze off despite the noise. “Are those firecrackers over at the loathsome Nelsons' place? I thought their awful kids were still locked up.”

My husband sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Isn't there a younger kid living there with Grandma Nelson?”

“That kid,” I said, “is a toddler. Don't you remember when the older one you busted showed up at headquarters with his wife and baby? Her name's Chloe.”

“Oh, right. Was that when I slammed you with the door and you ran away because you thought I did it on purpose?”

“That's not exactly what happened, but yes, that was Chloe. She's still too young to set off fireworks.”

“Not if she's a Nelson. They get started young.” Milo got up to amble over to the property line. “Not them. They're coming from across the street. Or in the street. You want to head for the park? I'm hungry.”

“I have to change. Why didn't you get dirty on our hike like I did?”

“Because I wasn't walking on my knees. Did you fall down when I wasn't looking?”

I didn't deign to answer the sheriff. But flouncing off indignantly wasn't easy with blisters.

It was hotter in Old Mill Park than it had been in our backyard. Milo and I traded beleaguered looks as we prepared to mingle with the over two hundred people who were laughing, talking, and, judging from some angry expressions, arguing.

“Where's the food?” my husband asked, dragging me by the arm. More firecrackers went off, almost drowning out the high school band.

“It may not all be out yet.” I gestured with my free hand toward the area where the cookstove was located. “It's usually over there.”

“Where's Mullins?” the sheriff asked, using his height advantage to survey the gathering. “He's supposed to be on duty here.”

I spotted Jack's wife, Nina, talking to fellow parishioners Buddy and Roseanna Bayard. As usual, Nina was the epitome of calm amid the semi-frenzied Fourth. She saw us and smiled sweetly just as someone threw a firecracker at Brendan Shaw, the local insurance agent, who jumped out of the way. The big man thumped into Darla Puckett, knocking off her glasses. A fox terrier raced over to pick them up in his teeth and headed for the river. Darla screamed.

“Shit,” Milo muttered. “Nina!” he called. “Where's Jack?”

The deputy's wife looked like a startled doe. “I'm not sure,” she replied, never one to raise her voice. At least it sounded like what she said. It was hard to tell with all the noise going on around us.

“Stay put,” my husband said. “I'll find Mullins so he can find the damned dog.”

I intended to join Nina and the Bayards, but several young children got in my way. I guessed them to be Bourgettes, since Rosemary and Des seemed to be chasing them.

“Hi, Emma!” Rosemary shouted—and kept going.

I was about to join Marisa Foxx and a couple I recognized from the poker group I'd joined for a short time. I'd soon discovered I couldn't afford to play Texas Hold 'Em with well-heeled attorneys. But my path was barred again by the majestic figure of Mary Lou Blatt.

“Well,” she began, looking smug, “I understand my self-righteous sister-in-law's done a disappearing act and put her idiot daughter in the hospital. Complete nervous breakdown. Tsk, tsk.”

“Is that an official diagnosis?” I asked.

“Close enough,” Mary Lou replied, all but smacking her lips. “Nancy Dewey is the source. I know how to translate medical mumbo-jumbo. Doc's wife told Lila Blatt, who told me. She's Episcopalian, like the Deweys. Other than that, Lila's a sensible person, unlike you-know-who. In any event, I say good riddance.”

The spate of words from Mary Lou's acid tongue was hard to follow with nearby firecrackers going off, the crowd's raucous chatter, and the band playing the rousing finale of John Philip Sousa's
El Capitan
march.

“What,” I shouted, “do you mean by ‘good riddance'?”

“I mean,” Mary Lou responded with evil glee, “Vida's gone for good. I thought you knew.”

I
didn't know what to think about Mary Lou Blatt's statement. I wanted to ask, but the Bourgette children and a half-dozen other little ones had marched straight toward us. I'd seen them coming, but Mary Lou's back was turned. She was almost toppled by a chubby toddler who tromped between her legs. Naturally, she charged after the offender. In an attempt to escape whatever mayhem was about to ensue, I sought sanctuary with Milo, who was heading for the food table.

“This was not a good idea,” I hissed at him. “Where did you go?”

“To find Mullins,” he replied, elbowing his way through the crowd. “He was hiding in the can. I don't blame him. Where the hell's the chicken?”

“It's probably been poisoned by Mary Lou Blatt,” I said, wincing as a beach ball bounced off my rear. “She's a witch.”

“I can't hear you,” my husband bellowed.

I shut up. Five minutes later we'd dished up some semblance of food. To my horror, I saw Ed Bronsky driving a golf cart through the crowd and honking a
ga-goo-ga
horn. He was towing a wagon filled with what I assumed were Casa de Bronska souvenirs. Milo had spotted him, too.

“Holy crap,” my husband muttered, “let's get out of here.”

Like a couple of burglars, we sneaked around to the other
side of the campstove area. The band was taking a break and the noise had diminished a few decibels. My chicken tasted like putty. I marveled that Vida hadn't cooked it. I was finally able to tell my husband what Mary Lou had said about her sister-in-law taking a one-way trip.

“That's bullshit,” Milo declared. “Vida would never desert Alpine.”

“I know that, but it bothers me that Mary Lou would pass on that rumor. She's malicious.”

My husband shrugged. “She's always been that way. Especially when it comes to taking digs at Vida. I'm surprised she didn't tell you Vida had run off with Crazy Eights Neffel.”

I gave up on the chicken. It was too hard to chew. “You must've found Jake's take-out kind,” I said.

Milo nodded. “I know my chicken. Yours is better than Jake's, though. I lived on his deli chicken for the first month after Mulehide left.”

My watch said it was after five. “Will you put out an APB on Vida?”

“No. If Amy had a breakdown, she won't be bugging me about it.”

“I'm uneasy, though,” I admitted. “Maybe I should go see Amy.”

“That's the dumbest idea you've had since you wore party shoes to go hiking,” Milo declared. “You know damned well Amy will moan and groan about her mother being ass-end up in a ditch somewhere.”

“I suppose,” I murmured. But I was still uneasy.

—

Vida wasn't in the office when I arrived Tuesday morning.

“Is it her day to bring the pastry?” I inquired of Mitch.

“No,” he replied, pouring a cup of coffee. “She brought
those damned muffins Friday. Why? Do you think she quit in a fit of pique?”

I was loath to tell my reporter about Amy's concern for her mother, so I kept quiet. Instead, I asked about his weekend.

“We went to see Troy on Saturday,” Mitch replied. “Then we spent Sunday in Seattle fighting traffic. We stopped again on the way back to see Troy yesterday afternoon. He's put on some weight working out in the gym there. He looks good.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” I said.

Mitch, being Mitch, frowned and ran a hand through his thick gray hair. Good news was never good enough. “Brenda worries about how he'll manage once he's released from prison. She's afraid it'll be hard for him to make the adjustment to life outside.”

“He won't have been in that long, really,” I pointed out. “Doesn't he have only a year to go?”

“A year come August,” Mitch said. “No chance of him being released early because of the two escapes. It seems like forever since he's been locked up. And not just to him, but to Brenda and me.”

“This last year has certainly gone fast.” It was a stupid thing to say, but my brain is never in gear until I've had massive amounts of caffeine. I tried to rectify that by pouring myself some coffee.

“I wouldn't be working here if Troy hadn't been put away at the Monroe facility,” Mitch reminded me.

“Well,” I said, “I'm glad you are.” That much was true.

“It beats early retirement from the
Free Press
in Detroit,” Mitch allowed, gazing around the newsroom. “Where is everybody?”

“Kip has the bakery run,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Leo told me he'd be late. He took the red-eye from L.A. Vida went out of town for the weekend.”

“Oh. Leo's lucky his kids didn't get themselves into big trouble. Especially since he and his wife were divorced.”

“They had their own problems,” I said. “But you're right. He counts himself fortunate that things never got any worse than they did.”

Mitch's spirits were lifted by the sight of Kip carrying the lavender Upper Crust bakery box. “Cinnamon rolls, twisters, and bear claws,” he announced. “I already ate a twister. Chili and I overslept, so I didn't have breakfast.” He glanced around the newsroom. “No Vida? No Leo?”

I explained again about Leo's late arrival into Sea-Tac. “Vida should be here soon,” I said, not wanting to set off any alarms. “She took off for the weekend, too.”

Neither Kip nor Mitch—who was scarfing down the first bear claw out of the box—seemed concerned. But I was. I took a twister into my office and realized I hadn't given my editorial any serious thought. I had to come up with a fresh idea. Realizing that Milo and I had missed the usual speeches at the picnic because we'd arrived late, I didn't know if Fuzzy had announced the date for the special election. I hurried out to the newsroom, asking Mitch to find out.

“You were out of town,” I told him, “so you have a good excuse not to have been on hand. I don't. If the mayor did confirm the date, that's two, three inches on page one.”

Leo showed up a little after nine, catching me by surprise as I stared at my Sky Dairy calendar, seeking editorial inspiration. “Earth to Emma,” he said, grinning.

I jumped. “Leo! How was your visit?”

“Good.” He sat down, but stopped grinning. “Except for Brian threatening to quit his job at Raytheon in Santa Barbara. He doesn't get along with his superiors. Kids these days…” Leo shook his head.

“How does his fiancée feel about that?” I asked.

“Shannon's laid-back,” Leo replied. “Being a freelance illustrator, if they have to move, that's fine with her. She's an army brat who's used to living in different places. Liza would hate to see them move out of Southern California, though. Rosemary and her boyfriend are talking about settling in Denver. That's where he's from. Katie seems content in L.A. Westwood, actually. She's finishing her PhD in history at UCLA.”

I felt stupid. “Which one has the grandson?” I asked.

“Brian and Shannon,” Leo said. “That's why they decided to get married. When they first started living together, Liza was so embarrassed that she told me they were already married. It's a different world, Emma.”

“You've forgotten that Tom and I weren't married when I had Adam?”

Leo looked faintly embarrassed. “God no! Somehow, that was different. That happened before I knew either of you.” He turned to glance into the newsroom. “Where's the Duchess? I didn't see her Buick parked outside. Is she off on her rounds?”

Having seen Mitch leave earlier, I didn't have to lower my voice. “Vida's been gone all weekend. Nobody, including her daughter, Amy, knows where she went. In fact, Amy had a meltdown yesterday and is—”

I stopped speaking. Vida was tromping into the newsroom, wearing something on her head that looked like a small bathtub. “Traffic!” she exclaimed, heading toward us. “I thought I'd avoid it by getting an early start over the pass.” She sat down in the other visitor chair. “Really—where do all these people come from?”

“Where,” I asked, relief flooding over me, “did
you
come from? Amy's been so worried that she got sick.”

“What?” Vida was dismayed. “Didn't Ella tell her where I'd gone?”

“Ella?” I echoed as Leo got up, patted Vida's shoulder, and went off in search of coffee.

“Yes, Ella, that ninny,” Vida said. “What do you mean, Amy's sick?”

I grimaced. “She's in the hospital. It's not serious,” I added quickly. “Nerves, I gather. She was so upset about where you'd gone that—”

Vida threw up her hands. “Gracious! I called Amy before I left Friday, but something's wrong with her answering machine. It has been for the past few months. I told her that a dozen times. I asked Ella to call Amy for me, but she's so addled that she obviously forgot. I must go see my silly daughter at once. Where is her spunk?” Vida stood up, holding the bathtub in place with one hand. While she was seated, I'd noticed the inside was full of paper forget-me-nots. “I'll tell you about my weekend with Faith Lambrecht in Spokane when I get back. Most inspiring.”

Leo sauntered in with his coffee and a cinnamon roll. “Missing Mrs. Runkel mystery solved, I take it. Who's Faith Lambrecht?”

“The mother of the new Bank of Alpine president. Didn't you catch
Vida's Cupboard
last Thursday when she talked about Bob Lambrecht's wife and his mother?”

“I missed it,” Leo confessed. “Don't tell Vida. Liza phoned just before seven to ask when I'd arrive so she could meet me at the airport.”

I promised not to rat him out. After Leo headed to his desk, I called Milo to let him know Vida had landed.

“Spokane?” he said. “God, I don't remember Vida going that far from Alpine in the last ten years. Why didn't she tell Amy?”

“You don't want to know. It's complicated. I suspect Roger removed the Hibberts' phone message capabilities before he
went to jail. No doubt there was incriminating evidence involved. I'll spare you the details now.”

“Keep it to yourself,” Milo responded. “I've got problems of my own.”

Any time the sheriff had problems, I smelled news. It was after nine-thirty. Mitch should return soon unless the mayor had launched into one of his long-winded explanations. Vida had recently told me that years ago Marius Vandeventer and former sheriff Eeeny Moroni had an agreement to downplay the seamier aspects of Alpine life. Maybe it was time to put a spotlight on those bad old days, if only to create enthusiasm for a change in SkyCo's government. I settled in, digging deep to find my most self-righteous stance. I'd gotten as far as three feeble leads—all deleted—when Mitch showed up.

“Just the usual,” he said. “The mayor verified that the vote on his plan will be held Tuesday, September sixth. If Blackwell doesn't shoot Fuzzy first. Oh—did you know about the breakin at your church?”

“No,” I replied, startled. “Was anything valuable taken?”

“Apparently not,” Mitch replied. “The only way Father Kelly knew someone had broken in was because the lock was jimmied when he returned from his trip Saturday night.”

“That's a relief,” I said. “Maybe it was kids horsing around.” I decided not to mention something might've occurred at the sheriff's office after my reporter had gone over to the courthouse. If my editorial writing skills didn't improve, I'd pay a call on Milo. For reasons I've never understood, the sheriff and his deputies were indifferent when it came to anything that smacked of a headline, big or small.

By ten o'clock, my wellspring of inspiration had run dry. Vida still hadn't returned from checking on Amy, so I headed off down Front Street, already feeling the sun's heat.

Dustin Fong was in charge of the reception desk, greeting
me in his usual polite manner. “Mr. Laskey was already here,” he said. “You probably already knew about the wrecks and those kids who got lost.”

“Do you have an update on the one who broke his ankle?” I asked.

“No.” Dustin looked apologetic. “You'll have to call the hospital. After they were rescued, the situation was out of our hands.”

Dwight Gould appeared from the hallway. “It's not a crime to break an ankle, you know.”

I glared at Dwight. “No kidding. How come you're not on patrol?”

He returned the glare. “I just got back. We had another wreck out by Cass Pond. Three injured, all taken to the hospital in Monroe. They're full up here. Damned three-day weekends. Firecracker injuries, domestic brawls, a fight at the Icicle Creek Tavern. Didn't Laskey tell you?”

I wouldn't admit he hadn't. “He's used to it. He's from Detroit.”

“Detroit,” Dwight sneered as he headed out the door. “No wonder he moved here.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Dustin inquired.

“I had a question for the sheriff. I assume he's not too busy?”

“He left,” Dustin said. “I guess you didn't notice the Yukon's gone.”

I wouldn't admit I hadn't done that, either. “I figured…” Lori had hung up the phone and was staring at me with a puzzled expression. “Okay, I sensed news. What's going on?”

Dustin glanced at Lori, who shrugged. “Honest, Ms. Lord,” the deputy said, never having called me by my first name in the ten years I'd known him, “we're not sure yet.” He paused, frowning. “I can only say—since it was logged after Mitch
left—we got a call from RestHaven. They have some kind of problem up there.”

I smiled. “Okay. I'm sure Mitch will hear about it later. I'll go back to the office and drink more coffee. I'm not really awake yet.”

“You can have some of ours,” Lori offered.

“No!” I cried. “I mean, we have plenty of our own.” And ours doesn't taste like toxic waste. “Thanks, though.” I was out the door, hurrying as if the sheriff's coffee could follow me down Front Street like a bad dream.