The Alpine Fury (13 page)

Like most people, Christie couldn’t refuse an invitation from Vida. As the bank teller sat down next to me, I realized why Vida had insisted on posting us by the door. Christie had been set up. No doubt Vida had learned earlier in the day when and where our new arrival was going to lunch.

“Isn’t this cozy?” Vida was still beaming even as her brown fedora slipped to the rim of her glasses. While Christie mulled the menu, Vida recited a litany of floral precautions. I suspected that Christie wasn’t paying close attention. I also figured that Vida had more than plantings on her mind.

And so she did. “What
will
you do?” Vida asked, from out of nowhere. She rarely worries about tactful
transitions. Noting Christie’s puzzled expression, Vida tipped the fedora back on her gray curls and inclined her head in a sympathetic manner. “Without Linda, I mean. You have no bookkeeper. How will the bank manage until Marv can find someone else?”

Christie looked relieved. Perhaps she was expecting a gardening quiz from Vida. “Andy Cederberg can handle the books for the time being. I could, as far as that goes. I’ve got quite a bit of experience working for banks.”

Vida gave a quick nod. “Good, good. But you’ll have to find somebody soon. The bank’s busiest time of year is right around the corner.”

“That’s true.” Christie had resumed studying the menu. She didn’t seem particularly concerned about her employer’s personnel problems. When Jessie Lott arrived with our orders, Christie put in hers, which was complicated by various substitutions and requests for “on the side.” Jessie kept her patience, barely.

Vida nibbled her fishwich. “So sad,” she remarked with a deep sigh. “Linda, I mean. You must be terribly upset.”

Christie, who had been rearranging her thick brown curls with her fingers, gave a little start. “Upset? Oh, of course! It’s terrible!” Her sharp features assumed a sorrowful air.

“You weren’t close.” It wasn’t a question from Vida, but a statement of fact.

“Not really.” Christie seemed to be eyeing my french dip with longing. “Troy and I had her over for a barbecue last summer. She never asked us back. I think Linda was antisocial.”

“Did she bring a beau?” Vida was so matter-of-fact that I wondered if Christie realized she was being pumped.

Christie shook her head, but waited to speak until
Jessie Lott had delivered the baconburger basket with its extensive variations. “Linda was going with some guy from Sultan, I think. The only reason I know about him is that one day she had to leave early because his car broke down this side of Index and she had to go rescue him.”

Having played Vida’s stooge since Christie sat down, I felt it was time to speak up: “Do you know who he was?”

Christie didn’t. “I don’t think she’d been seeing him for quite a while now. Linda didn’t bring anybody to the Petersens’ Labor Day picnic.”

Nor did Christie know where Linda had gone after work on Friday. In fact, Linda had still been at the bank when Christie left at six-twenty. “She and Andy Cederberg were usually the last to leave,” Christie added. “Linda closed the books for the day, and Andy locked up.”

I saw the glint in Vida’s eyes and knew what she was thinking. Linda and Andy as a couple didn’t seem likely, but anything was possible. Vida did not, however, press the point with Christie.

“You must be tired of so many questions,” Vida said, polishing off her coleslaw. “I understand Jack Mullins interrogated everyone at the bank this morning.”

Christie seemed to have lost interest in Linda’s murder. Her gaze was wandering about the dining room, apparently taking in the cutouts of turkeys, Pilgrims, Indians, cornucopias, and
The Mayflower
that were suspended from the ceiling.

“Oh—yes, he talked to Andy and Rick and me. There wasn’t much we could tell him. You don’t want to guess.” Christie’s brown eyes finally came back to our level.

Vida pounced. “Guess? At what?” She tried to hide
her eagerness by casually tipping her hat back on her head.

Christie shrugged. “The obvious. Linda picked up some guy in a bar and he killed her. What else could have happened?”

Since Vida had now managed to knock her hat onto the floor, I intervened. “Was that a habit with Linda?”

Christie looked troubled by the question. “I don’t know if you’d call it a habit, but Troy and I saw her one night last spring at Mugs Ahoy. She came in alone and left with some guy from the bowling alley. It looked to us like she came on to him. But maybe we were wrong,” she added hastily.

Jessie Lott had presented all three of us with separate checks. Christie, who had eaten very fast, announced that she had to run. She could only take half an hour for lunch because Denise Petersen was home with her grieving family. Vida and I lingered over my coffee and her tea.

“Christie didn’t like Linda much,” Vida remarked. “Nobody did, it seems. How sad.”

It was very sad. Now I, too, stared up at the cheerful Thanksgiving cutouts. It was the bright-eyed turkey that caught my eye. Plump and unsuspecting, the big bird reminded me of Linda Lindahl. Neither knew what fate held in store for them.

I must have had a wry expression on my face, for Vida asked what I was thinking.

“About neck-wringing,” I said. “Gruesome, huh?”

Vida glanced at the turkey as she got out of the booth. “But apt. Let’s go see the Petersens.”

“We can’t,” I protested. “They’re mourning. Milo said Marv and Cathleen were a mess, and Larry and JoAnne are in shock.”

Vida made exact change at the register. “I don’t mean
those
Petersens,” she said as we left the Burger Barn. “I’m talking about Elmer and Thelma. Thelma and I went through school together. I’d feel terrible if I
didn’t
call on her. You might as well come along.”

I had qualms. I’d never met the Elmer Petersens. My desk was piled with work for the Wednesday edition. But, like Christie Johnson, I couldn’t turn down Vida’s offer. In less than ten minutes, we had pulled onto the dirt road that led off Highway 187 to the Petersen farm.

The house was shielded from the road by two huge holly bushes that must have been planted when the foundation was laid forty years ago. Unlike the well-maintained homes in town that belonged to the Marvin and the Larry Petersens, Elmer and Thelma lived in genteel squalor. The house was large, and its white paint had faded to gray. The roof was tin, as are many in Alpine, to better ward off the winter snows. The ramshackle barn looked as if a strong wind might topple it, and the chicken coop definitely listed to starboard. Two scruffy Morgan horses grazed behind barbed wire. Except for some withered cornstalks, the vegetable garden was plowed under. And everywhere there were stumps, remnants of trees that had been cut not to create a view, but for firewood.

“Thelma’s no housekeeper,” Vida murmured as we waded through mud to the wide verandah. “Be careful where you sit.”

Thelma Petersen embraced Vida with a reserved show of affection. Tall and gaunt, she bore a familial resemblance to her nephew, Milo Dodge. Elmer greeted us in what sounded like a series of grunts. He was a heavier, older version of his brother, Marv, and his face was weathered and weary.

We were led into what Thelma quaintly called the
parlor. Vida’s advice was well taken. On the first try, I almost sat on a chicken.

After the introductions and condolences, Thelma offered coffee. Vida declined, and gave me her gimlet eye. Judging from the amount of feathers, animal hair, and just plain dust, I surmised that sanitation might be a problem.

“Damnedbastardsoutthere.” Elmer was muttering into his bib overalls. He was almost impossible to understand.

Thelma gave her husband a flinty look. “Time will tell,” she said cryptically.

Vida was perched stiffly on the edge of a rail-back chair with a worn leather seat. “What will it tell, Thelma?”

Our hostess gave her husband a scornful look. “Elmer is convinced that Linda was killed by the Republicans. He blames everything on the Republicans. Elmer’s still mad at Herbert Hoover.” Thelma discussed her husband as if he weren’t in the same room.

Vida sniffed. “Elmer had better get over it. Besides, there’s a Democrat in the White House now. Don’t blame me—I didn’t vote for him. Arkansas! Imagine!” Vida all but spat on the floor, which probably wouldn’t have mattered, given the accumulation of dirt and other filth.

“DamnedfoolGOP. MoviestarsandCIAspooks.” Elmer muttered away on the tattered mohair sofa. Next to me, the chicken flapped its wings and took off for the kitchen.

Vida seemed equally capable of ignoring Elmer. “I take it you must have a different theory of what happened to poor Linda.” Her comment was directed at Thelma Petersen.

Thelma, however, shook her head with its topknot of silver hair. “As I told Milo, she never showed up.”

Vida gave a slight start and I swiveled in the faded faux velvet armchair. “Never showed up where?” Vida inquired.

Thelma looked as if Vida ought to know. But of course everyone in Alpine assumed that Vida always knew everything. Usually she did. “Here,” Thelma replied. “Linda called around seven to say she was coming by. She never showed up.” For a fleeting moment, Thelma’s long chin quivered.

“FederalReserveBoard. CIA. Country’srunbybothof’em. Bankexaminers—huntedLindadown.” The chicken had returned, and was now squatting on Elmer’s lap.

“Why,” Vida asked, her forehead furrowed, “was Linda calling on you?”

Thelma’s steel spine was back in place. “She didn’t tell me. She said Larry was coming, too. But when they hadn’t showed up after over an hour, I called Larry and he didn’t know anything about it.”

“Were you worried?” I felt duty-bound to ask questions of my own.

“Not really.” Thelma’s face showed regret, however. “It wasn’t the first time that Linda had promised to visit and then backed out at the last minute. She never spent much time with us. Or with her own parents, for that matter. Linda was what you’d call a loner.”

Vida nodded sagely. “She and Larry never got along when they were children. Typical sibling rivalry.”

Thelma shot Elmer another contemptuous look. “Typical Petersens. Cat and dog, black and white. No sense of family ties between brothers and sisters. Elmer and Marv have always wrangled. They couldn’t agree that the sun will come up tomorrow.”

“Itwon’t,” Elmer retorted. “Toodamnedcloudy. MarvvotedforIke. Nixontoo.”

Vida could hardly keep from sneering at Elmer’s political views. But her question was for Thelma. “Did Linda and Larry often come together to visit?”

“Never,” Thelma replied. “I wondered if there was some family ruckus. A row with their father, maybe. But after … afterwards, I asked Larry, and he said no. He couldn’t imagine what Linda was talking about or why she thought he was coming here with her. Larry and JoAnne were having a card party that night.”

Vida was looking thoughtful, until a goat wandered into the parlor. I tensed, and clutched my handbag. Thelma paid no more attention to the animal than she did to her husband.

“Ornerycuss,” Elmer remarked, giving the goat a dirty look. “Larrylethimlooselastweek. Name’sGoldwater.”

“A handsome beast,” Vida said, standing up and sidestepping Goldwater. “Intelligent eyes, too.” She patted Thelma’s bony shoulder, but ignored Elmer as we began our progress to the door. When Vida’s back was turned, I smiled at our host, who was petting the chicken.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

Elmer’s small blue eyes regarded me with suspicion. “ClareBoothLuce,” he replied. “She’sagoodlay … er.” Elmer winked. I could have sworn that the chicken did, too.

B
Y FOUR-THIRTY
on Tuesday afternoon, I was a nervous wreck. We were up against deadline, and Milo Dodge still hadn’t heard from the Snohomish County medical examiner. To be fair, Milo’s emotional state wasn’t much better than mine.

“It’s a big county over there,” he allowed, grumbling into the phone. “They had their share of homicides over the weekend. For every one we get in Skykomish County, they get a dozen. How do you think I feel? The voters will want my hide if I don’t make some progress. Not to mention that the longer they wait in Everett to examine the body, the harder it’s going to be to fix the time of death. But then it’s not their body—or their sheriff.”

So far, I had only the bare bones of the homicide story, which was all over town anyway.
The Advocate
was about to go to press with stale news. My county commissioners coverage was as dull as warmed-over mush, and the photographs I’d taken weren’t worth running. The focal point of the front page would be Carla’s two-column picture of the murder site, which conveyed no drama, since the log had been removed by the sheriff. Linda Lindahl’s head shot looked as if it had come off of her driver’s license. Frustrated, I lashed out at Milo.

“Can’t you guys do
anything
on your own? What about alibis? The motel register? Strangers sighted in town, anything that might pump up our front page?”

Milo retaliated. “Since when did you start printing rumors? Come off it, Emma. You always brag about how you deal only in facts. What’s with you, midlife crisis?”

Milo’s rebuke stung. But it was fair. I simmered down. “Okay,” I sighed. “Buy me a drink after work. Then I’ll buy you one. Then we’ll be even.”

I’d barely hung up when Leo limped into the office. The chamber of commerce had voted down Ed Bronsky’s plan to put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving. It had been close, however, and would be reconsidered next year. The main problem, according to Ed, had been that most merchants couldn’t dismantle their Thanksgiving displays and get out their Christmas trimmings in time.

Ed had, however, prevailed with his plan to extend credit. I agreed with Leo that it was a bad idea. Still, it probably would spur more advertising in the newspaper.

“The problem will be collecting in February,” Leo noted as he showed me his layouts for the next edition. “What do you think of the Veterans Day insert?”

I thought it was just fine. Leo’s idea to have various merchants take out individual ads thanking Alpine’s living war veterans had elicited an enthusiastic response. He had managed to talk Al Driggers of Driggers Funeral Home into buying a half page, listing deceased servicemen who were buried in the local cemetery. I congratulated Leo on his ingenuity and powers of persuasion.