The Alpine Vengeance: An Emma Lord Mystery (17 page)

She giggled. “That’s funny. I never thought I’d ever be in PR.”

“It’s not unlike your teller’s job. You represented the bank to the customers.”

“Huh. I guess that’s right. I’ll read the paper when I have time.”

“Good idea.” Trying not to feel discouraged, I continued on to my cubbyhole. At least Denise’s muddleheaded attitude had made me stop thinking about the sheriff.

Vida was absent from the newsroom, but returned around a quarter to twelve. I suggested we eat at the Venison Inn. She demurred briefly, then agreed but warned me she would order only a light lunch. Reba Cederberg had served a lavish meal the previous evening, and my House & Home editor was afraid she’d gained at least two pounds.

We arrived five minutes before most of the crowd showed up, so Vida was pleased that we could sit at a window table near the front to provide her with excellent visibility of Alpiners’ comings and goings during the lunch hour.

“Tell me about the Petersen boys,” I said, even before we ordered. “I heard you’ve asked them to be on your radio show tonight.”

“Yes,” she replied, securing the faux ruby and rhinestone brooch on her navy beret. “I had qualms, but Strom was very open to my idea, so I thought it might be cathartic for him and for Cole to talk about their experiences with a father who was in prison while they were maturing from adolescence to manhood.”

I tried not to look flabbergasted. “They agreed?”

“Cole wasn’t there,” Vida explained, “but Strom assured me his brother would be willing to join him. I’d already mentioned
having Roger and his parents on my program after the problems at the trailer park. By the way, Spencer told me the ratings for that show were exceptional. He remarked at the time that it was very courageous of all of us to speak so freely about the situation and that what he termed ‘edginess’ of the content was the kind of programming that KSKY usually doesn’t broadcast.”

That was putting it mildly.
Vida’s Cupboard
always had a huge listener base because it was the only live program that was all Alpine, all the time. Controversy was usually avoided, given that Vida stuck to local personalities, hobbies, recipes, gardening, and travel. Such topics were indeed tame, compared with Roger’s involvement with drugs and the town hooker. Even so, Vida had trodden delicately with her daughter’s family. It hadn’t quite turned into an apologia, but the damage to the family’s reputation had been minimized and no doubt the interview had squelched some of the more reprehensible rumors that had raced through the town in the wake of the trailer park tragedy.

“Not,” Vida emphasized, “that I’ll let the program become maudlin. I didn’t do that with my own family, because I wanted to avoid being pitied. If my judgment about Strom and Cole is correct, they’re quite bright and self-possessed. I intend to keep my questions to such things as acceptance, forgiveness, and family ties. Very appropriate for the Christmas season, don’t you think? In a way, Larry’s incarceration wasn’t all that different from, say, a father who is serving abroad in the military or one who is no longer living under the same roof as the mother and rarely sees his offspring.”

Vida sounded convincing. “I suppose,” I allowed, but didn’t elaborate. I’d intended to ask Lori Cobb about Cole’s visit, but I’d been so rattled when I came out of Milo’s office that I
forgot they were an item. I was about to broach the subject of the young couple when Jessie Lott plodded down the aisle to take our orders.

“Jessie,” Vida said, “I can tell your bunions are acting up. The cold weather, I suppose.”

Jessie nodded. “Every winter, the same nuisance. The damp’s even worse for my arthritis.”

“Dear me, I can’t imagine how difficult it is for you to keep working,” Vida said. “Let Emma go first. I must mull.”

I smiled at Jessie, who was only a few years younger than Vida. Like my House & Home editor, she’d been a single mother for many years and had stayed employed for the sake of her children and now for her grandchildren. “I’ll have the pastrami and Havarti on light rye,” I said. “Toasted, please, and a small salad with blue cheese dressing.”

Jessie nodded and scribbled on her pad, plump fingers swollen at the knuckles.

Vida sighed. “Maybe the Cobb salad—with a bit of extra shredded cheddar. If you don’t mind, I’d like the ranch dressing on the side, perhaps more than the usual amount as it seems skimpy with so much lettuce. Oh—does it come with one of those nice plump rolls?”

Jessie assured her that it did. She made her weary way back down the aisle just as Richie MacAvoy and another young man sat down across from us.

“Richie!” Vida exclaimed. “I don’t believe my eyes. Is that you, Cole?”

Richie smiled. “Cole and I are getting caught up. We went through school together.”

Cole Petersen came over to shake Vida’s hand. “Mrs. Runkel, it’s great to see you. Do we have to rehearse for your show?”

“I never rehearse,” Vida responded. “Do you remember Emma Lord, the
Advocate
’s publisher?”

Cole looked dubious. He was taller but not as broad as his brother, Strom. “I think so,” he said, and shook my hand, too. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has,” I agreed, accustomed to being in Vida’s shadow. “You were still a teenager when I saw you last.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “I haven’t been in Alpine much since my freshman year in college.”

“We’ve been reminiscing,” Richie said as Cole returned to his seat. “I worked at the bank not long after I got out of high school.”

“So you did,” Vida said, while nodding to an older couple who had just entered the restaurant. “My, but that seems like such a long time ago. How is your new baby? Chloe, isn’t it?”

“Chunky little monkey,” Richie replied, “keeping Cindy and me up half the night.”

“How good of you to share duties with your wife,” Vida said. “And Cole, I believe I heard you’ve been visiting your cousin, Alison, and her roommate, Lori Cobb. We must talk about that later. I haven’t seen Alison since she moved from Everett.” She paused as the Nordby brothers from the local GM dealership walked by, stopping long enough to pay their homage.

“How’s that Buick running these days?” Skunk Nordby inquired.

“Quite well,” Vida informed him.

“You’re due for a tune-up the first of the year,” Trout Nordby reminded her. “Put it on your calendar.”

“I always do,” Vida declared, “just as soon as Parker’s Pharmacy sends me their new calendar.” She leaned out into the
aisle to wave at someone. “Speak of the devil,” she said with her toothy smile, “here come Dot and Durwood Parker now. Yoo-hoo!”

I’d almost forgotten how wearing it was to lunch with Vida. Between her family disaster and it being the busy month of November, with the town’s social activities in full swing, it had been at least six weeks since we’d shared a meal. Another dozen or more Alpiners had paused to meet and greet her by the time our food arrived. I’d begun to wonder if I could remember how to talk. When I finally had a chance to test my vocal cords, I refrained from telling her about the letter I’d received. Too many ears were too close to the ground in the Venison Inn, especially with Cole Petersen across the aisle. It was only after we got back to the office that I brought up the subject.

Vida, naturally, was appalled, but quick to zero in on practical matters. “If Milo finds out that other people involved in the murder trial are getting these peculiar mailings, that might help us understand the reason behind the letters, though the timing would still be odd. Why wait ten years?”

“How do we know this person did?” I said. “What if Milo finds out that the judge and the jury and everyone else involved in Snohomish County have been receiving similar letters since Larry went to jail?”

Vida dismissed the idea. “Surely
someone
would’ve said
something
over the years. Since the crime occurred here, we’d have heard.”

What Vida meant, of course, was that
she
would’ve heard. But her argument was convincing. There had always been a strong link between not only the towns of Alpine and Snohomish but the city of Everett as well. Many former timber industry families had moved farther down the road when the original mill had closed, and later, when logging was sharply curtailed in
the 1980s. Everett was as far west as you could go on Highway 2 without ending up in Puget Sound.

Later that afternoon, Vida received a phone call from Al Driggers informing her that the autopsy had been performed on Larry Petersen. The Walla Walla County medical examiner had confirmed that the deceased had died of heart failure.

“The interment will probably be Monday,” Vida said after relaying the news to me. “Al talked to JoAnne. Cremation is in Walla Walla, perhaps even today, and the ashes will be shipped here.”

“I assume Strom and Cole will stay on. Did Al mention if JoAnne was coming to Alpine?”

“He thought she would,” Vida replied. “I’m going to try to reach Marv and Cathleen again. Maybe I should do that now. Certainly they can’t be gadding around in the afternoon sun.”

“Arizona can get rather cool in December,” I said, then lowered my voice. “How come you aren’t including Denise on your program tonight?”

Vida looked askance. “I simply couldn’t deal with her on the air. Besides, it seemed like a conflict of interest now that she’s working here.”

That excuse sounded as good as any. “Does she know her brothers are going to be on your show?”

Vida sighed. “I’ve no idea. Strom told me he stopped to see her at the bank on Monday, but they didn’t have much chance to visit. She was fairly busy. As for Cole, I couldn’t say. It’s rather sad. The rest of the family has all moved on, or at least away, except for Denise and Elmer. From what Thelma tells me, Denise doesn’t visit very often.”

“No surprise there,” I murmured.

“Not that Thelma cares,” Vida went on. “She’s too upset about her great-niece Tanya being married in a windmill.”

“I don’t think Milo’s daughter is actually being married
inside
the windmill,” I said. “It’s in a park.”

“There’s still a windmill involved,” Vida said, obviously taking Thelma’s side. “It’s ridiculous. What if the day turns windy? That’s dangerous with those big things blowing all over the place.” She shuddered. “I mustn’t think about that anymore. I have to finish a few things before I go to the radio station.”

Just before I was about to leave, Leo showed me the mock-up for the Grocery Basket special recipe insert. “Looks good so far,” I said. “I like the nineteenth-century holiday art.”

He pointed to a Thomas Nast Santa Claus. “It’s easy to find Christmas and New Year’s art from that era, but not for the other holidays. A dreidel, a menorah, yes. They don’t change much.”

“Just don’t put a sprig of holly on it.”

“No mistletoe, either. Isn’t that a Druid thing?”

“I think we can skip Druid holidays,” I said, “unless we include Winter Solstice. Now that I think about it, we probably should.”

“Good idea. I’ll find some Stonehenge art.” Leo started out of my cubbyhole. “Did Denise put the pervert through to you this afternoon?”

I didn’t know what Leo was talking about. “What pervert?”

“The guy who wanted to take out a too-personal personals ad,” Leo replied. “She switched him over to me twice, but he hung up both times. I thought maybe she’d tried to let you handle him.”

“No. He may be sleeping it off. Denise said he sounded drunk. And with the holidays approaching, we’ll get more just like him,” I said. “It’s a bad time for lots of people.”

“Oh—one other thing,” Leo said, moving back closer to my desk. “Incredible as this may sound, my ex and our kids would
like me to join them for Christmas this year. It’s a Saturday, so I was wondering if I could take off Thursday and come back Sunday night. I’d have everything set for the next edition because so many of the merchants will be holding their post–holiday and pre-inventory sales.”

“Sure, Leo,” I said. “You haven’t used up your vacation. We’ll be fine.” I smiled. “I’m glad. This will be your first family Christmas in a long time, right?”

“First one with all of us together in over ten years,” he said. “I’ve burdened one or two of the kids with my presence—and presents—a few times. It’s going to be sort of strange, but we made it through Thanksgiving.” He shrugged. “We’ll see. Maybe Liza won’t make me sleep on the sofa this time. We’re going to be grandparents in February.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “If you need an extra day, come back on Monday. You’ll still have time for any last-minute work before deadline.”

He blew me a kiss. “Thanks, babe. See you tomorrow.”

I started getting ready to bail out, too. Kip poked his head in just as I was putting on my coat. “Did Denise say anything about not feeling good this afternoon?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s sounds like she’s in the restroom, throwing up.”

“Oh. Well … it
is
flu season. Let’s hope it’s not contagious.”

“That’s for sure,” Kip said. “Do you think it’s okay to leave her all by herself if she’s sick?”

“I can stay,” I said.

“No, I will. I’ve got a couple of tech problems I want to resolve anyway. I’d rather get them taken care of now instead of waiting until morning. That sort of stuff always gets me off to a bad start.”

“You’re sure?”

Kip nodded and grinned. “I’ll just keep my distance from Denise. I don’t want to catch what she’s got.” He disappeared toward the back shop. It occurred to me that what was giving our new staffer the heaves might be something that Kip would never have to worry about catching.

M
ILO SHOWED UP AT SIX-FIFTEEN, BEARING TWO RIB
steaks, a fifth of Scotch, and an apple pie. “Some woman in Monroe makes these,” he said, showing me the label on the pie. “Jake O’Toole swears they’re better than Betsy’s.”

“How could he remember that far back? Poor Betsy hasn’t had time to make a pie since she began to help run the store ten years ago. And when Buzzy O’Toole took time off last month to recover after Mike died in the truck crash, Betsy managed the produce section, too. I know Jake told his brother not to worry about coming back until he and Laura had recovered from the initial shock of their son’s death, but it’s been over six weeks and this is a busy time at the store.”