The Alpine Vengeance: An Emma Lord Mystery (25 page)

“It does? She hasn’t informed me of that.”

“She will. At least that’s what she told me.”

“Well.” Vida simmered down. “That will be very nice. Perhaps I’ll call her this evening before I come to your house. I suppose she and Denise will be having dinner. Maybe Cole will join them.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, either,” I said. “She’s changed plans and is staying with her cousin Olga Bergstrom. JoAnne’s allergic to Greg’s dog. And before you ask, she looks kind of haggard. Somehow, I expected her to be a new and improved, if somewhat older, version of the JoAnne Petersen I remembered.”

Vida gave me her gimlet eye. “She did just lose her husband.”

“Ex-husband,” I said. “An ex she reportedly never visited after he signed off on their divorce papers.”

Vida nodded twice. “Yes. That
is
odd, in a way.” She shrugged. “Now tell me about what happened with Laurentis at the art gallery.”

I recounted the story, step by step. Brief summations never work with Vida. Any uncertainty or omission would be pounced on by my House & Home editor.

“Poor man,” she said when I was finished. “But so foolish.”

I heard Alison talking to a man in the front office. So did Vida. “It’s Rick Erlandson,” she whispered before I could lean forward to see the visitor. “Oh, my. I hope it’s not about Ginny quitting permanently.”

Rick entered the newsroom before I could say anything. He looked worried. Maybe Vida was right.

“Hi,” he said. “Have you two got a minute?”

“Yes,” I said, getting up. “Take a seat. I’ll grab Leo’s chair.”

Rick sat down. “I just talked to Ginny. She’s home now, but
that was quite a shocker about the hermit guy at Donna’s gallery.”

I agreed. “Ginny’s not calling everyone in town, I hope.”

“No, no,” Rick assured me. “Donna told her to keep it quiet. But Ginny had to talk to somebody, so she called me.”

Vida leaned closer to Rick. “Is there something about Craig Laurentis that we should know?”

Rick shook his head. “That’s not why I’m here. I mean, it’s awful and all that, but it’s Andy Cederberg that’s upset me.” His lean face seemed to get longer. “JoAnne Petersen came by the bank an hour or so ago and had a long talk behind closed doors with Andy. After she left, he stayed in his office and kept his door closed. That’s not like him. I had a question for him about the Doukas account that needed an answer right away, but he wouldn’t let me in. That’s way beyond weird for Andy. The next thing I knew, he went home without saying a word to anybody. That was just five minutes ago.” He stopped to blow his nose. “Sorry—I’ve got a cold. Anyway,” he went on, looking at Vida, “I knew you’d been at Andy and Reba’s house for dinner the other night. I wondered if you knew what might be bothering him, although he seemed fine until JoAnne showed up today. If there’s some huge problem, I’ve got to be the one running the bank, and frankly, that scares me.”

“My, my,” Vida murmured. “This is all very strange. The only thing that comes to mind—and it wasn’t mentioned when I was at the Cederbergs’ house—is that despite what Strom and Cole said on my program last night, perhaps one of them is indeed going to work for the bank. JoAnne would know, I should imagine. That would certainly upset Andy if either of the Petersen boys wanted to step in right away as president. Andy would be demoted or out of a job.”

Rick nodded. “I wondered about that. I might be out the door, too, if both of them wanted to work for the bank. But why
would they say on the radio that they weren’t interested in following the Petersen tradition?”

“Because,” I suggested, “they don’t want to make a formal announcement so soon after their father died?”

Vida bristled. “How dare they lie on my program! If they did, I’ll seek more than just an apology.”

I held up my hands. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. There may be some other explanation for Andy’s distress.” I looked at Rick. “I’ve always assumed that JoAnne still had an account at the bank. I realize you can’t divulge private information, but you did say some of the Petersens still have financial dealings with the bank.”

Rick nodded. “For one thing, they own the property and the building. That’s a matter of public record.”

“Oh, certainly.” Vida smiled sympathetically. “Of course Denise would have her accounts at the bank, having worked there off and on.” She inclined her head to one side, allowing time for Rick to contradict her. He didn’t, so she continued applying her own brand of genteel pressure. “I can’t imagine that Marvin and Cathleen wouldn’t keep most of their money here since he still owns the bank.” Her gray eyes seemed to grow larger behind the big glasses. I wondered if she was hypnotizing Rick. “It’s all so worrisome, isn’t it? I’m not surprised Andy is distressed. And you, too. Emma’s right about JoAnne—I can’t help but think that she’s kept money in the bank if only because she sold her house to her relatives here. My, my—if only one could be sure …” She let her voice trail off, but those mesmerizing eyes stayed fixed on Rick as if she was literally reading his mind.

He cleared his throat. “You really know these people,” he murmured—and blew his nose again.

“My, yes!” Vida agreed. “My family goes back to the first generation of Petersens. Very close links. Naturally, I have a certain
understanding of how they think. I also assume that Strom and Cole probably don’t keep accounts in town. They’ve been gone for such a long time.”

Rick nodded. “But sometimes you can’t tell who actually owns certain investments if they’re in a trust or under a business name.”

“So I’m told.” Vida frowned slightly. “I never heard if Alison inherited Linda’s estate, but I would imagine Howard and Susan Lindahl would have been appointed guardians because she was a minor at the time of her mother’s death. The Lindahls are Everett people, so it’s likely they transferred whatever Alison inherited to a more convenient bank.”

“That’s what usually happens when somebody moves away,” Rick conceded. “After Howard Lindahl remarried, he never lived in Alpine.”

“Understandable,” Vida allowed, “but now Alison has moved here.” Her voice held a note of triumph, as if Alpine had just scored the winning run over Everett in the bottom of the ninth inning. She certainly seemed to have been victorious in eliciting information from Rick. Like most people, he was helpless in the hands of a masterful inquisitor. Torquemada should’ve been so lucky.

“By the way,” I put in, turning to Vida, “did you ever get hold of Marvin and Cathleen?”

She shook her head. “They must be gadabouts down there in Arizona. Or else they’ve both gone deaf and can’t hear the phone ring.”

“They’re on a cruise,” Rick said. “Denise showed us a postcard she got from them the day before she left the bank. They were in Samoa.”

Vida heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why didn’t she tell me? I could’ve put that in ‘Scene.’ ”

I gave her a dubious glance. “Right next to Larry’s obit?”

“Well …” Vida paused. “This coming week, perhaps.”

I couldn’t resist. “Right next to the brief story about his interment?”

Vida glared at me again. “Ooooh …” I expected her to whip off her glasses and rub her eyes until they squeaked, a habit that made me wince. Thankfully, she thought better of it with Larry sitting next to her. “I’ll mention it after they get back,” she said. “I assume Denise will know.”

Rick pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’d better go. The bank’s semi-rudderless with Andy and me both gone. I thought you might know why he’s a mess. He still has back problems from whoever tried to run him down ten years ago. Did they ever find out who did it?”

“It was Christie and Troy Johnston,” I replied, “but the charge was dropped after she was arrested for embezzlement. As you recall, the Feds took over after the Johnstons fled to Michigan. It was pointless to bring them back here to prosecute the incident. Christie’s still in prison, but Troy may be out by now. He got less time as a co-conspirator.”

Rick looked puzzled. “I don’t think Andy ever told me about that.”

Vida had also gotten to her feet. “Andy probably thought everyone at the bank had enough to worry about at the time. As for his back, those aftereffects don’t always surface immediately. I suspect part of it is heredity. His father, Stilts, has had a bad back for years. That’s one of the problems with being so tall—and thin.” Vida put a hand to the waistband of her skirt, as if to feel any loss of the two pounds she’d gained at the Cederbergs’ dinner. “Now that I think back to the other night, there was something that was mentioned. A family problem, nothing serious, but Reba didn’t want to discuss it.”

Rick stared at Vida. “With the Cederbergs?”

“Not precisely,” Vida responded. “Come, I’ll walk you to
the door.” She took Rick’s arm. “I want to buy a Christmas present for your new baby. And something for the other two as well. What do you think …”

I put Leo’s chair back in place and went into my cubbyhole. Two minutes later, Vida charged through the doorway.

“It’s something to do with Greg Jensen,” she declared. “If I were a betting woman, I’d put money on it.”

“Did you say that to Rick?” I asked.

“No. It’s speculation on my part, so there’s no point starting rumors.” Vida sighed. “What’s puzzling is why JoAnne would be so concerned. Denise and Greg are divorced. The only link they seem to have is the dog. I wonder why Greg doesn’t collect him. It
was
a him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Greg’s probably waiting for the weekend to come here. Denise said he lives in Brier. That’s over an hour away.”

“I almost wish Denise was here,” Vida murmured, “if only to ask about Greg. Of course she’s so impossibly vague that I doubt she’d know—or care. Perhaps I can get JoAnne to confide in me. I can’t see why she’d mention it to Andy Cederberg, and even if she did, why would he be so upset? Greg is Reba’s nephew, not Andy’s. My, my, this is very perplexing.”

I felt as if Vida was talking to herself rather than to me. It was almost four-thirty. I’d wasted the entire day, and yet I was tired—very tired. “I’m going home,” I said, turning off my computer. “It may take me a while to figure out what to do with that French food.”

Vida studied me closely. “Are you sure you want company?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip before speaking. “I think you’ve had too much company.”

I couldn’t look her in the eye. “If that’s what you think, maybe that’s why I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed under her breath. “Yes,
of course I’ll come. Oh, dear!” Shaking her head, she walked out of my cubbyhole in her splay-footed manner.

Instead of heading first for the fridge when I got home, I went into Adam’s closet and dug out the box that held my Nativity set. The Holy Family, two shepherds, three sheep, one angel, and three Wise Men had belonged to my parents. The original stable was already a shambles when I inherited it, so I’d bought a new one, and over the years I’d added more sheep, more angels, and three camels. I’d quit at twenty-four pieces so that I’d come out even on Christmas Eve when I put Baby Jesus in his crib. I was already two days behind. Carrying the battered carton into the living room, I removed the stable first, dusted it off, rearranged the straw inside, and put it on the mantel. Then I placed two sheep near the stable. And prayed.

Forgiveness. Mercy. Wisdom. Guidance. Healing. My litany of requests to God was longer than Adam’s Christmas gift list. And harder to get. Or maybe harder to accept. God’s more generous than willful humans like me.

After putting the box and the rest of the figures in the hall closet, I went into the kitchen. Sorting through Rolf’s delicacies, I realized that there was nothing basic for an actual dinner. Most of the food was intended for appetizers. I considered thawing something out of the freezer, but decided I’d let Vida forage. She might actually enjoy it, once she got over the notion that she was being poisoned by rabid French anti-Americans.

At precisely six, the doorbell rang. “It’s snowing again,” Vida informed me as she swept into the living room. “We may be in for it tonight.” Before taking off her coat, she put the funeral guest book on my end table. “I still haven’t gone through it,” she said. “I recall Reverend Nielsen was tedious and longwinded,
but that’s typical of Lutherans.” She espied my Nativity set. “Oh. I see you’re doing your Advent set. I’m rather puzzled. Pastor Purebeck is beginning to talk more about Advent. Sometimes I feel as if there’s a shift in the wind when it comes to religion these days. I wonder if it’s some sort of backlash because of the Born Again people. They tend to get carried away. I suppose there’s no real harm in Protestants—the more established sects, I mean—resurrecting some Roman traditions. At least there’s history to that.”

I sensed that Vida was trying to divert me from whatever suffering she thought I was enduring. “I’ve always felt that eventually all Christians would band together again,” I said. “Not in our lifetime, but someday. We’ve got too much in common to be separated brethren. How do you feel about cheeses?”

“Very strongly, of course,” Vida said, with a perplexed expression. “Do you think we Presbyterians don’t consider Him as our Lord and Savior?”

“Huh?” I burst out laughing. “I said
cheeses
, not
Jesus
.”

“Oh.” She looked sincere, but I had a feeling she’d heard me correctly the first time. It was yet another attempt at rousing me from my state of gloom. “I’ll have to study the different varieties first.”

We went into the kitchen, where I began to haul various packages from the fridge. After ten minutes of debate and conjecture, we ended up with a chèvre, a Boursin, and a Brie de Meaux. I unwrapped the pâté de foie gras and a box of crisp-breads. Insisting that we needed a vegetable, Vida asked me to open a jar of black olives. I complied, refraining from telling her that I didn’t much like olives in any color, form, or size. I could always eat carrot sticks later on.

While I set out everything on the kitchen table, she fetched the funeral book from the living room. “We might as well
go through this while we eat,” she said, sitting down and opening the book. “We must be careful not to get any food on it.”