The Alpine Recluse (24 page)

Wearily, I trudged to the door. Vida opened it almost immediately. I suspected that she’d been watching for my arrival.

“Doc’s not here yet,” she announced grimly. “Cookie’s drinking tea in the kitchen and crying. Tiffany’s on the sofa in the living room, complaining. They should have a sign out front, ‘Beware of Family.’ ”

Tiffany scarcely glanced at me when I came into the living room. “Jake O’Toole just called,” she said in a petulant voice. “He wanted to know if I was coming to work tomorrow. What a jerk!”

“It would do you good,” Vida declared. “When Doc gets here, you must ask him what’s best for you—lying around doing nothing, or getting back to the store to take your mind off yourself.”

Tiffany ignored the advice and turned a page in the copy of
Us
magazine that she’d been reading. In the distance, I could hear Cookie sobbing softly.

“She won’t stop,” Vida lamented just as the doorbell chimed. “Ah. It must be Doc. Thank heavens.”

Vida went off to answer the door. I considered talking to Tiffany, decided it was useless, and hobbled out to the kitchen. Cookie was standing by the sink, shoulders hunched, head down, still sobbing.

She didn’t turn around, but she must have heard me approach. “I want to kill myself,” she moaned.

“How would that help?”

Startled, she looked at me. “Oh! I thought you were Vida.”

“Vida’s still here,” I said. “I think Doc Dewey just arrived, too.” I put my hand on one of the kitchen chairs. “Sit down, Cookie. You look like you’re about to collapse.” The way I felt, maybe I’d beat her to it.

With an air of despondency, Cookie moved to a chair by a mug of tea that looked as if it hadn’t been touched. She picked up a crumpled table napkin and wiped her eyes. I could hear Vida and Doc talking to Tiffany in the living room. Hopefully—probably foolishly—I thought they might be able to convince Tiffany that spending almost a week on the sofa wasn’t healthy for her or her baby.

The lecture might not last long, which meant my conversation with Cookie would have to be brief. “Look,” I said, sitting down, “you can’t give in to your emotions. Wayne and Tiffany both need you. If Wayne didn’t commit this crime, he won’t be convicted. You know the truth, Cookie. You told the sheriff Wayne was with you all of Monday evening. Of course,” I continued as she stared into the tea mug, “the two of you will have to account for every moment. Can you remember what happened that night?”

She kept staring. Maybe there were tea leaves in the mug; maybe she was trying to read the future.

If so, it must have looked as bleak as the present. “It was just the usual,” she murmured. “We watched TV, we went to bed around eleven. That’s our routine.”

“Just like you usually do?” I remarked, hearing Vida raise her voice in annoyance.

Cookie nodded. “We don’t socialize much, except to visit Tiff and Tim sometimes, or they come over here. But we hadn’t left the house at night for several days.”

Vida appeared in the doorway, looking disgusted. “Doc wants to see you, Cookie. Shall I bring him in here or would you rather go out into the living room?”

“I don’t care,” Cookie said listlessly, but she rose from the chair.

Vida remained by the door. “Feckless,” she said. “Tiffany is lazy, self-centered, and utterly worthless. Doc can’t talk any sense into her. I’m leaving.”

“You’ve done your duty,” I said. “Maybe I should leave, too. I’ve got some things I want to tell you.”

“Oh?” Vida looked intrigued. “Let me get my hat. I intend to go see Delia Rafferty. This is Sunday, my day to do good works. Doc says Delia’s none the worse for her little adventure, but I still feel obligated to call on her. Do you want to come with me?”

“No, thanks. I need to rest my beat-up body.” Another trip to the nursing home was the last thing I wanted to do.

Tiffany was still on the sofa, once again reading her magazine. Cookie was sitting in a side chair, while Doc asked her some questions. He smiled and nodded at me.

“Busy day,” I remarked as I passed him.

“Very.” Doc stopped smiling.

Vida picked up her hat from a side table. I’d never seen this particular model before, but guessed that it was one she reserved for going to church. It was definitely a spring or summer hat, a net confection with a nest on the crown and a trio of baby birds poking their heads out of small blue eggs. I assumed that Vida had bought it on an Easter whim.

I said goodbye to everybody in general, but Vida wordlessly tromped out of the living room and down the short flight of stairs to the front door.

“Did Cookie even taste that tea I made for her?” she demanded when we got outside. “Don’t tell me. Honestly, those Eriks women have no spunk!”

“Tiffany has her own brand of spunk,” I noted. “She takes very good care of Tiffany.”

“Not so,” Vida huffed. “If she did, she wouldn’t be lying around like a heroine in some tragic Italian opera. Exercise. Work. Wholesome food. Mental stimulation. That’s what she needs, for herself and for the poor baby. Well?”

Vida had stopped by her Buick, which was parked in front of my Honda.

“You want to talk here?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course not. Shall we go to my house? It’s only a block from the nursing home. I could use a cup of tea myself.”

“Hot tea?”

“Yes.” Vida nodded. The baby birds bounced. “Hot beverages are actually supposed to be good for you in this weather.”

We both drove to Vida’s, where she made tea and offered soothing noises to her canary, Cupcake. She insisted that even he hated the heat.

For the next twenty minutes, I updated Vida about everything I knew, including the encounter with Craig Laurentis.

“Fascinating,” she declared. “That’s very clever of you, Emma, to figure out that Old Nick is this painter person. I should have thought of that myself, especially when some of the search party members found brushes and other indications of an artist. Really, I feel quite dense.”

“You shouldn’t,” I said. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me if I hadn’t seen one of his pictures at Donna’s gallery and fallen in love with it.”

“Do you think he’s crazy?” she asked, putting more sugar into her English bone china teacup.

“I doubt it,” I replied. “Eccentric maybe. He was very helpful.”

“You should go home and rest.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s after three. I must head for the nursing home. I’d like to be back here around four. Buck and I are driving down to Sultan for dinner. He likes to eat early, you know.”

I was aware that Buck Bardeen preferred to keep to a strict schedule, no doubt a habit from his career in the military. I took a final sip of tea and stood up. I was getting stiffer by the minute.

“You really should have let Doc Dewey take a look at you,” Vida said with a frown.

“Doc’s busy enough,” I replied. “It’s all superficial. I can take care of my wounds when I get home. I don’t plan on doing anything for the rest of the day except lie on the sofa and read or watch TV.”

“Yes.” Vida made a face. “But don’t stay there forever like Tiffany.”

“No. I—” Something popped into my head. “Cookie’s lying. Or else Wayne is.”

“What?” Vida wore her most owlish expression.

“Cookie told me that Wayne was home all of Monday night,” I replied.

“Yes, yes, his alibi,” Vida broke in. “Weak, of course. Spouses tend to do that sort of thing for each other.”

“But she went on to say that they hadn’t been out in the evening for several days,” I explained. “Yet Wayne claimed to have gone up to check that power pole or whatever it was Sunday night when he—allegedly—spotted Old Nick by the football field.”

“Ah!” Vida looked as if she’d discovered the secret of the universe. “Most intriguing. Cookie may have forgotten he’d gone out Sunday—or else he didn’t and she’s lying her head off. Surely Milo can get her to break down. Cookie’s not a strong person.”

“She doesn’t seem to be,” I said in a thoughtful voice.

Vida cocked her head at me. “Are you suggesting that Cookie may be the one who went to Tim and Tiffany’s?”

I sighed. “I’m not sure what I’m saying. Wayne’s the one with the burns. Maybe,” I said slowly, “we don’t know exactly who’s strong and who’s weak.”

“Yes,” Vida agreed. “That’s a fair question, isn’t it?”

T
HE AIR WAS
very still and very muggy, with gathering clouds over Mount Baldy. We seemed to be in for a thunder-and-lightning storm. That was bad news. While it might signal a break in the weather, lightning could start forest fires anywhere in the Cascades.

I opened both the front and back doors, but latched the screens. The windows were already open. After taking care of my skinned knees and putting on fresh bandages, I changed into an old cotton shift. Propped up on the sofa, I wrote a quick e-mail to Adam, telling him that in case he hadn’t already heard, Toni was on her way to Fairbanks Monday. Fortunately for him, the city was a long, long way from St. Mary’s Igloo.

As soon as I shut down the laptop, my eyes shut down, too. The events of the past week, as well as the weather, had sapped my energy. I fell asleep, the second time in the last few days that I’d taken a nap. That was a record. I don’t think I’d taken two naps in two years until this August. Maybe I was simply getting older.

It was the clap of thunder that woke me up. I was disoriented at first, thinking it must be morning. It was quite dark, which further confused me because my watch said it was five minutes to seven. Dawn or dusk, the sky should be light at that time of day during summer.

Sliding off the sofa, I walked—stiffly—to the open front door. No rain fell, but twin jagged bolts of lightning flashed vertically across the sky. It was still Sunday. The storm had begun.

Despite the muggy atmosphere, I was starving. I went into the kitchen and turned on the light. Occasionally I tease Milo about subsisting on TV dinners, but in fact, I always kept two or three in the freezer. As I put a turkey entrée into the microwave, the phone rang.

It was Vida. “I just got back from Sultan,” she announced. “A good thing, too. The storm hit just as we drove past Skykomish. I had to get Cupcake covered early in this dark weather. How are you feeling?”

I told her I’d slept for almost three hours, but I’d survive.

“Of course you will,” she asserted. “You’re not a nincompoop like some of the women around here. By the way, that pathetic Delia took my hat—again.”

“You mean the one with the bird’s nest?”

“Of course. It was a great favorite of mine. I bought it years ago on sale in Seattle. I almost didn’t give it to her, but she’s so pitiful that I felt I had to. Maybe I can get Margaret Peterson or Beth to return it to me. I don’t care about the other one, but this was a one-of-a-kind model, sixty percent off.”

I didn’t doubt that the hat was unique. “Delia must have liked the birds,” I said.

“She adored them,” Vida replied wryly. “Unfortunately. Next time I visit, perhaps I’ll take her a stuffed animal. I certainly won’t wear a hat.”

“Excuse me, Vida,” I said, “but my microwave timer just went off.”

“That’s fine. I’m going to observe the storm. Summer lightning is very spectacular, if dangerous.”

I devoured my prepared dinner in front of the TV, watching Sunday night baseball. The thunder and lightning continued, sometimes sounding very close, occasionally in the distance. The lights and the TV flickered a few times. Periodically, I limped to the front window to watch the show. The storm was all over the sky, probably stretching the length of the central Cascades.

The game ended, but I stayed tuned for ESPN’s
Baseball Tonight.
The sportscasters were doing a National League roundup when I heard sirens. I turned the volume down and tried to judge where the sound was coming from. Not in my direction, I decided. Perhaps whichever emergency vehicles were involved had headed for Highway 2.

But the sirens stopped after about three minutes. Whatever was happening had occurred in town. Then I heard more sirens. Again, they quit after a very short time. I considered turning on KSKY, but decided I couldn’t stand being scooped twice in one day by Spencer Fleetwood and his breaking news. For all I knew, there might have been a false alarm or a minor medical crisis. I’d had enough drama for what should have been a quiet Sunday.

I turned my attention back to ESPN. They cut to a commercial just as the phone rang again. I hit the mute button and picked up the receiver.

“Emma!” Vida shrieked. “Have you heard? The nursing home’s on fire!”

TWENTY

“I
’LL BE RIGHT
there,” I said, not waiting for details. “I’ll call Scott first.”

Scott was at home with Tamara. He, too, had heard the sirens. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Two big fires in one week! Man, that’s a record.”

Certainly it wasn’t one anybody would want to break. As I hurried out to the car, I thought about all those crippled and confused residents in the nursing facility. Maybe the retirement section itself would be spared. Maybe, I prayed, the fire hadn’t spread far.

I could see smoke but no flames as I drove down Sixth Street. I could also see several emergency vehicles with their flashing lights. As I stopped near the corner of Sixth and Cascade, a jagged bolt of lightning struck so close by that it lit up the scene as if it were midday. Onlookers had gathered, but were being urged to move on by Sam Heppner and Dwight Gould.

As soon as I got out of the Honda, I started to cough. The same smells, the same heat, the same eye-burning sensations assailed me as I’d endured Monday night. I felt as if I must be having a nightmare. Surely lightning couldn’t strike twice. Or, I asked myself, reining in my fantasies, was it really lightning that had started this fire? It was possible. The thunder that followed the last bolt had come quickly and loudly, making me grit my teeth.

Putting a tissue over my mouth and nose, I tried to focus on what I was seeing. That wasn’t easy. But another flash of lightning allowed me to see what was happening. The church, which stood between the infirmary-hospice and the retirement home, appeared untouched. So did the retirement home itself. The smoke was pouring out of the newer building to the east. That was where the hoses were spraying big plumes of water. It was also where the pitiful cries of the elderly and infirm were coming from. I could see patients being evacuated on gurneys, in wheelchairs, and in rescuers’ arms. Another ambulance was coming down Cascade, perhaps from the nearby ranger station at Skykomish. I suspected that more would come from other parts of the county. Alpine’s city budget could afford only one.

I couldn’t spot my reporter, but if Scott had arrived, he was probably closer to the fire’s source. Finally, I caught Sam Heppner’s eye.

“Move back, Emma,” he ordered. “Everybody’s got to keep away. We need space to get these people out of here.”

“Sam,” I begged, “please tell me what happened. I have to know.”

Sam was wielding his baton at a couple of teenagers. They backed off. The deputy scowled at me, but spoke rapidly. “Fire started in a wastebasket. No known fatalities yet, but that could change with these old, sick folks. Some of them’ll be taken to Sultan or Monroe. We don’t have room for all of them here. Now step back.”

I obeyed. And bumped into Vida.

“Too dreadful,” she declared, speaking loudly over the sirens and shielding her eyes from the blinking emergency lights. “But so lucky the fire started in the new section. It appears that it’s much easier to contain because of the improved construction and safety methods. The damage is mostly from smoke, but many of the patients have lung problems.” Sadly, she shook her head.

“A wastebasket?” I remarked, trying not to cough. “Was someone smoking?”

“I don’t know.” Vida grimaced. “Really, it’s impossible to learn very much. I can’t imagine, though, that smoking would be allowed in the infirmary. Several residents are on oxygen.”

“Someone on the staff might have sneaked a cigarette,” I speculated as the parade of stricken old folks continued. The deputies were growing hostile as relatives and friends of the victims arrived, demanding to know what had happened to their loved ones. People were sobbing; a woman’s hysterical shrieks rose above the din; two small children clung to their father, asking “Where’s our nana?” over and over.

Milo stood on the edge of the street with a bullhorn. “Don’t come any closer,” he commanded in a calm but authoritative voice. “You’ll only interfere with the situation. Step away.
Now.
”

Most of the crowd obeyed, but several remained, besieging Milo and anybody else they could collar for information.

I wanted to ask him if Vida and I could do anything to help, but he was completely surrounded by concerned friends and relations. Instead, I put the question to Vida.

“I already asked,” she said, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes with less than her usual vigor. “The Lutherans rallied immediately. So many of them live near the church. They seem well organized, and I must admit, they’re generally very strong, sturdy people.”

Vida’s assessment would have amused me if the circumstances weren’t so dire. Two ambulances were pulling away; two more were arriving, along with a pair of EMT vehicles. The smoke was beginning to dissipate. Maybe the worst of it was over. I could see Pastor Nielsen conferring with Milo. I also noticed Scott further down the block, taking photographs.

“I brought a camera,” Vida said. “I took a few pictures but stopped when I saw Scott. He’s really very good when it comes to photography.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though Vida could take adequate pictures, which was more than I could manage.

I felt an urgent hand on my arm. “Emma!” Beth Rafferty cried. “Have you seen Mom? Has she been evacuated? Is she okay?”

I turned to look at Beth, whose face was pale and haggard. “I don’t think they’re moving people out of the older wing,” I replied. “She must be fine.”

“No!” Beth exclaimed, frantically yanking at her hair as if she wanted to pull it out by the roots. “Mom was in the infirmary!” For the first time, Beth noticed Vida. “Do you know anything?”

Vida looked pained. “I visited her shortly after you left this afternoon. She was still in the infirmary then. I understood she’d be kept there overnight.”

I felt stupid. Somehow, I’d assumed that Delia was back in the retirement home’s assisted-living wing. My brain seemed to be clouded by sleep and smoke.

“It’s impossible to identify the patients who’ve been removed,” I said, feeling completely inadequate. Even as I spoke, I saw that the only people now coming out of the infirmary annex were walking under their own power. Firefighters, staffers, and volunteers, I guessed. The evacuation must be finished.

Vida was tapping her chin, always a sign that she was contemplating action. The anxious relatives and friends were gathered around Elvis Sung, who, along with the beleaguered Doc Dewey, was evaluating the stricken victims who hadn’t yet been put into the ambulances or medic vans.

“Dr. Sung seems to be giving out information,” Vida said. “Come, Beth, let’s speak with him. I don’t believe anyone will try to stop you at this point.”

Naturally, I trailed along. Dr. Sung was on the sidewalk where only a thin pall of smoke remained hanging in the air. Behind him, Doc Dewey worked with the medics. Milo and Pastor Nielsen were speaking with two of the firefighters and a couple of people who appeared to be staff members. After thoroughly spraying the church as a precautionary measure, the fire hoses dwindled to a trickle.

Quickly, I counted how many patients—and possibly employees—were still waiting to be treated. Four in wheelchairs, two on gurneys, one on a walker, and three wrapped in blankets. One of the medics was putting an oxygen mask over the face of a gurney patient.

Beth and Vida were edging up to Dr. Sung. I moved closer to the person on the gurney.

“Beth!” I shouted. “Here! It’s your mother!”

“Oh!” Beth ran toward me as lightning struck and thunder rolled. “Where?”

I pointed to the gurney. Even in the darkness I was certain that the patient was Delia Rafferty.

She was wearing Vida’s bird’s nest hat.

A
LMOST AN HOUR
passed before I could talk to Milo. We ended up in Vida’s living room. Since she lived only a block away, it was the most convenient place to gather. The sheriff, however, rejected Vida’s offer of tea, and looked as if he’d prefer a stiff drink.

“The wastebasket was the source,” Milo confirmed, stretching out his long legs on an ottoman. He looked tired and disheveled. “The wastebasket was in a linen closet. Nobody was seen going in there, but someone noticed smoke coming out from under the door. When they opened the door, the rush of fresh air really got the blaze going. It had already burned quite a bit of the stuff that was stored there, but the flames and smoke got into the hall where there were some garbage bags ready to go out. Most of the stuff inside was paper and plastic, so it all caught pretty fast. Luckily, they were able to get the extinguishers and help contain the fire even before the emergency guys got there.”

“Goodness,” Vida said with a shake of her head. “How lucky! It could have been the worst disaster Alpine’s ever suffered. Is there any word yet on fatalities?”

Milo grimaced. “All I know is what the doctors and one of the medics told me. At least a couple of them probably won’t make it. There were only twenty patients in the infirmary at the time, about the usual number. It’s a hospice, too, so half a dozen of them probably don’t have much chance of lasting very long anyway.” He spoke dispassionately, but his hazel eyes were melancholy.

“Yes,” Vida murmured. “I know several of them. I’ve been preparing obituary backgrounds.”

I’d also declined hot tea and was drinking ice water. “Any idea of how the fire started?” I asked.

Milo shook his head. “Not exactly. Somebody going in there for a cigarette or even a joint is the best guess. A couple of employees have been caught—and canned—for doing that. When the weather’s bad in the winter and they don’t want to smoke outside, they go to some enclosed space so they don’t screw up the oxygen tanks. It happened around the time they change shifts, so the medical staff was meeting to exchange information.”

“There will have to be another investigation,” I said, noticing that Vida had stiffened in the rocking chair where she was sitting. “What?” I said to her.

She blinked several times. “Oh—nothing. It just makes me so upset to think what might have happened. Not that it wasn’t bad enough. But still . . .” She made a dismissive gesture.

“Say,” I said, turning back to Milo, “where was Fleetwood?”

“On the other side of the infirmary,” the sheriff replied. “He did his broadcast from Cedar, not Cascade. Doe Jameson was over there. She refused to be interviewed. Doe told him she was busy and to buzz off.”

I laughed. “I still don’t know her, but I’m getting to like her better all the time.”

Milo pulled himself up out of the chair. “Doe’s not going to like working the desk until we get somebody to replace Toni. I hope I can find a new hire fast. Toni should never have left without notice. That pisses me off.”

“Now, Milo—” Vida began.

But the sheriff waved aside her disapproval. “You’re lucky I didn’t say something worse. Like what Toni could do with herself. She may not have been the sharpest knife in the butcher block, but at least she could handle the job once she learned it.”

“Perhaps you should insist that she stay on until you do find someone else,” Vida said, rising from the rocking chair to accompany Milo to the door.

The sheriff shrugged. “She’s already bought her plane ticket.”

“So?”

“Look,” Milo said to Vida, “it’s a hassle, but frankly, Toni’s been a pain in the ass the last few weeks anyway. On top of it, Beth’s a mess. I need to get somebody in that office who isn’t a train wreck.”

Vida neither argued nor reprimanded. “I suppose you know what you’re doing,” she said.

Milo gave her a dirty look. “I already did what I had to this week. I caught Tim’s killer. Now I’m going home and work my way through a half rack of Budweiser.”

The sheriff left.

“He really isn’t going to do that, is he?” Vida said in a horrified voice.

“No,” I replied. “But he needs to unwind.”

“He needs to eat,” Vida declared. “If I were a wagering woman, I’d bet that he’s hardly stopped to have a decent meal all day. I should have offered to make him something. Scrambled eggs, perhaps, or an omelet.”

I didn’t want to contemplate what outrage Vida could commit with eggs. Years ago, she’d prepared breakfast for me when I was laid up with a minor injury. The toast was barely browned, the bacon was burned to a crisp, and the scrambled eggs had somehow managed to come out both watery and lumpy. There had even been bits of shell in them. I’d been unable to finish the meal and had given the excuse of an upset stomach. Which, after a few bites, was true.

“Good grief!” Vida exclaimed.

“What?”

She stared at me, her eyes wide. “Eggs. It’s all about eggs. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

I didn’t know what Vida was talking about. Nor would she tell me.

“I have to think,” she insisted. “I may be wrong. Please, Emma, be a dear and don’t ask any more questions.”

Baffled, I surrendered. I was too tired to argue, and the Excedrin was wearing off. “In that case, I’ll go home.”

“Yes, you do that. And be careful. You’re limping rather badly.”

Despite the cautionary words, Vida practically shoved me out the door.

As I was about to turn off Fir into my driveway, a car came from the other direction. I had my blinker on, so I waited for the other vehicle to pass by. But it didn’t. The driver—without any right-turn signal—swerved abruptly, narrowly missed my mailbox, and stopped on the verge where the grass met the gravel that led to the street.

Slowly, I made the turn, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror. In the dark, I could just barely recognize Toni Andreas. She had gotten out and was going around to the trunk. I pulled into the carport. Slowly, I opened the door and emerged on tired, aching legs. Toni was coming toward me, carrying a big carton.

“Can I leave this stuff with you?” she called as she walked toward the carport.

“What is it?” I asked wearily. It was almost ten o’clock. I really didn’t need any more burdens or impositions on this hot, horrible day.

She joined me at the back door. “Just some things I don’t want to take with me to Alaska. I don’t have any place to store them. You’re a baseball fan, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I didn’t know you were, too,” I said, opening the door and letting Toni enter ahead of me.