The Alpine Yeoman (7 page)

“So he may not even live in Wapato?” I asked, tapping my fingernails on the desk.

“Could be. Yakima County’s close to forty percent Hispanic. As for his common name, didn’t Fleetwood have somebody named Fernandez working for him a few years ago?”

“Right,” I said, “but he wasn’t from Eastern Washington. Do you have time to eat lunch with me?”

“I don’t have time to eat lunch, period,” Milo grumbled. “I have to go with Tanya to her appointment with Dr. Reed at twelve-thirty and I’m shorthanded with Heppner out sick. I’ll be lucky to be home by six. Tanya’s coming for dinner. Bill’s pulling night duty.”

“Poor you. I’ll go away now and leave you alone.”

“If I were alone, I’d have some free time.” Milo hung up on me. Married or not, there were some habits he couldn’t seem to break.

Vida, however, was free for lunch. In fact, she asked if I’d like to join her at the Venison Inn. “One of my Gustavson nieces is working there during the lunch hour. Mandy—you remember her?”

“Yes,” I said, not even bothering to try untangling the branches on Vida’s enormous family tree. “Wasn’t she training to be the daytime bartender before she quit to have a baby?”

“Just briefly,” Vida replied, adjusting the duck, which had listed to the pillbox’s port side. Maybe he’d spent time at the VI’s bar when his owner wasn’t looking. “That was a few years ago. Mandy didn’t care for the job’s rather unsavory aspects. She’s filling in for her cousin, Nicole, who’s taking college classes. A journalism major, as you may recall. Somehow I inspired her.” Vida’s attempt to look modest failed.

As usual, Vida chose the booth with the best window view to keep track of the passing parade. “Oh, dear,” she said under her breath, “there goes Crazy Eights Neffel on a unicycle. He really shouldn’t weave in and out of traffic like that.” She gasped; the duck wobbled. “Goodness! He just swerved into the clock tower by the bank!”

I turned around to try to see how our local loony had landed, but a UPS truck blocked my view.

“That’s my nephew Ronnie Blatt driving,” Vida said. “I wonder if he’ll stop to see if Crazy Eights is hurt. It’d serve him right if he is.”

Ronnie and the UPS truck moved on. I noticed a couple of people apparently helping Crazy Eights. I suggested it to Vida as a “Scene” item.

She shook her head. “You know I try to avoid sightings of that lunatic. It only eggs him on.” She opened the menu and frowned. “The special is a roast beef sandwich with a side of potato salad and a dill pickle. That sounds rather skimpy, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “I’m going for the fish and chips with the coleslaw.”

“Oh.” Vida frowned. “Maybe I should have that, too. I suspect it’d be more slimming. You’re very fortunate you don’t have to count calories,” she murmured, putting the menu aside. “Genetics, of course. I’m forced to watch my weight. Oh—here’s Mandy.”

Vida’s niece looked as if she should be watching her weight, too. Mandy hadn’t shed most of the pounds she’d gained during pregnancy, despite the baby being almost a year old. But most of the Runkel and Blatt women were big-boned and tall. No matter how much Vida fussed about her diet, I could never tell if she’d gained or lost an ounce.

I drifted while aunt and niece exchanged family chitchat. Finally, Vida inquired about the fish and chips. “There are only
two
pieces of fish?” she asked in dismay.

“They’re good-sized portions,” Mandy said.

“Hmmm.” Vida fretted her upper lip. “Might you be able to add just one more? Smallish, of course.”

“Sure, Aunt Vida,” Mandy replied. “Anything else?”

“Well … I’m not that fond of coleslaw, dear. I noticed there was potato salad with the special. Could you substitute that?”

“I can try,” her niece offered.

Vida nodded. “Fine. As for the chips, the last time I had them, there didn’t seem to be enough to go around with the fish. I like my fish
and
chips to come out even. They complement each other so nicely, don’t you agree?”

“Um … sure. I’ll make certain that there are some extra fries to go with the extra fish, okay?”

“Of course. And can you bring catsup and mayonnaise along with the tartar sauce? By the way, they put the tartar sauce in such a tiny cup. It’s never sufficient for the fish. Is it a bother to bring a bowl?”

“Of course not,” Mandy insisted, though I noticed that she looked a bit pained. Maybe her feet hurt. Or her wrist had given out from writing down all of her aunt’s requests.

I finally remembered that I knew how to talk and spoke up. “I’ll just have the regular fish and chips with a vanilla malt.”

“Hot tea for me,” her aunt said. “Cream, of course.”

Mandy trudged away.

Vida was again looking out onto Front Street. “I see no sign of Crazy Eights or the unicycle. At least he didn’t dent the bank’s clock tower.”

“It
is
cast iron, isn’t it?” I said.

“I believe so. It’s very old, dating from the bank itself.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I hear we may finally be getting a permanent Bank of Alpine president.”

“Not Andy Cederberg?”

“That’s right. Nobody ever thought Andy would hold down the job permanently. He doesn’t have the experience, nor does he possess an executive manner.” Vida’s gray eyes practically danced. “Do try to guess who would fill the role most admirably.”

“I suppose I can eliminate Crazy Eights Neffel. Unless, of course, his executive parking place is the clock tower.”

Vida wasn’t amused. “If you insist on being obtuse, I shan’t tell you until the announcement is official.”

Despite all the unpleasant memories from the latest Petersen family bank tragedies of the previous November, I forced myself
to recall if Vida had mentioned any names. “I’ll eliminate Marv Petersen’s grandsons, who declined the honor on your radio show,” I said. “Is Marv involved in the decision making or has his brain gone further south than the Arizona retirement community where he and his wife now reside?”

“Marv apparently has some lucid moments,” Vida said. “The trustees he put in place upon leaving the bank are the college president, May Hashimoto, and Dr. Bob Starr, Lloyd Campbell, Al Driggers, and Simon Doukas. Quite an upstanding list, you must agree.”

I made a face. “Except for Simon Doukas. In case your memory is slipping, he was the first one in town to call me a whore. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“That, of course, was of no importance to Marv,” Vida said in a reasonable voice. “He wanted one attorney involved, and even if Simon is semi-retired, he comes from an established Alpine family. The other two lawyers, Marisa Foxx and Jonathan Sibley, are relative newcomers.”

“Right,” I muttered, “they’ve only been here ten years.”

“Now, now,” Vida reprimanded me, “you think highly of Bob Starr, who is an excellent dentist. Certainly Al, as the local funeral director, is a longtime fixture, and so is Lloyd, with his appliance store. Admittedly, May Hashimoto hasn’t lived in Alpine for very long, but I gather Marv wanted someone from the college. And she’s a woman as well as a minority. Surely that means something.”

I suspected it meant that whoever was advising Marv felt May’s inclusion was necessary to convince a prospective bank president that Alpine was living in the twenty-first century.

“Okay,” I said. “The only name I can come up with is from the first set of serious problems at the Bank of Alpine ten years ago. Your old friend Faith Lambrecht had a son who was a higher-up at the Bank of Washington. He came to town when
there was talk of a buyout, but nothing happened. In fact, I recall that he went fishing with Milo.”

Vida beamed at me as if I’d been able to tell her the earth was round. “Indeed. Bobby Lambrecht longs for his roots.”

The prodigal son
, I thought. Vida would embrace Bob Lambrecht as if he were her very own. But I had to admit that his acceptance of the job would be a real boon for Skykomish County. I did wonder how Bob liked being called “Bobby.” Vida had always called Tom “Tommy,” and it made me cringe, but it didn’t seem to bother my former lover.

“City life in Seattle has grown so tiresome,” Vida was saying, though I think I missed the first part of the family saga. “The four Lambrecht children are off on their own, so it’s time for a change. In fact, only the daughter is still in the Seattle area. So wise of Bobby and Miriam to come back to Alpine.” She suddenly smiled in her most toothsome fashion. “Here’s Mandy with our orders.”

Fulfilling her aunt’s many special requests had forced Mandy into carrying a tray. She wobbled a bit trying to balance everything and looked relieved to start unloading Vida’s meal. “I had to use plates instead of the usual basket for the fish and the chips,” she explained. “I’ll get your tea. I didn’t have room for the pot or the cream.”

Vida was looking into the sugar container that was already at our table. “Oh, dear! So much of what’s in there is that non-sugar sweetener. It has such an unpleasant taste. Would you mind bringing more of the real sugar, Mandy dear?”

“Yes,” Mandy replied. “I mean, no, I don’t mind,” she amended, putting my basket in front of me. “Be right back.”

I returned to our previous topic of conversation. “Did you hear about Bob from his mother, your old chum Faith?”

Dousing salt and pepper on her potato salad, Vida nodded. “I’m urging her to move back here from Spokane. The weather
there is so much more extreme. I have a feeling she’s never felt at home there since her husband died. She’d be so much better off in Alpine.”

I figured Vida would say the same about Queen Elizabeth having to make do at Windsor Castle.
So old, so drafty, so hard to keep up
. “How soon will this news become official?” I inquired, always feeling the need to remind Vida that I was the
Advocate
’s editor and publisher. It was a common enough mistake for many of our readers.

Vida waited to answer until after eating a bite of fish—and a bite of chips. “Maybe at the end of the month. I’m not sure when Bobby is handing in his resignation. Perhaps,” she went on with a sly glance, “Milo already knows.”

“If so, he hasn’t mentioned it.”

Vida didn’t comment. When she spoke again, it was a change of subject. “I’ll be leaving a bit early today. The family dinner, you see.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “You’ll have everything in by then?”

“Of course. I finished the last letter for my advice column just before lunch.” Vida made a disapproving face. “These silly women who want to apologize for breaking off with an impossible man get my goat. What are they thinking of? He won’t change.”

“Do you know who this one is?” I asked, given that most of the time Vida could identify the anonymous advice seeker.

“I must confess I don’t. The letter was mailed from Everett. It’s quite possible that the writer sent it from there to befuddle me.” She pressed her index finger to her cheek. “Now, who do I know who has gone to Everett in the past few days?”

I decided to let the subject drop. It was a wonder Vida didn’t keep a log of every SkyCo resident’s departure, destination, and return. In fact, she probably did—in her head. My House & Home editor never took notes. If I could see inside
her brain, my own head might explode at the sheer volume of data stored there.

We passed the rest of our meal discussing what she thought of Fuzzy Baugh’s plan to reorganize the county’s government structure. Despite her conviction that it had probably been the mayor’s wife, Irene, who had come up with the idea, she grudgingly endorsed it.

“Unfortunately,” she said, devouring the last of her potato salad, “the trio of county commissioners grew so old and inept that we’ve been stalled for the last decade—or two. Granted, Alfred Cobb passed away in December, but George Engebretsen and Leonard Hollenberg have barely been conscious, let alone attentive, for far too long. I would’ve been pleased about Jack Blackwell’s appointment to fill Alf’s vacancy, being as he’s a younger man with solid business experience running his mill. However, his personal life is deplorable. Talk about silly women! Patti Marsh has taken him back after his latest short-lived affair with Tiffany Rafferty. No doubt Jack is already beating up on Patti again.” Vida shook her head. The duck seemed to nod.

Mandy stopped off with our separate bills. “No dessert, Aunt Vida?” she asked.

“Heavens no!” Vida cried. “I really am watching my weight. Easter, I fear, always means too many sweets.”

Mandy’s blue eyes twinkled. “From the colonel?”

“Why, yes,” Vida said coyly at the mention of Buck Bardeen, her longtime companion. “He’s a very considerate
gentleman
.”

I didn’t know if the emphasis on the word was for Mandy, lest she get some erotic notions about her aunt, or for me, alluding to Milo’s less refined take on life and the English language.

The rest of the day passed in the usual flurry of getting the
paper ready for publication. By the time I’d finished with Kip in the back shop, it was after five. Everyone else had left when I returned to my office to collect my jacket and handbag. I had two Cornish game hens in the freezer at home and didn’t need any other items at the grocery store. But after Milo’s complaint about strawberries being a poor substitute for dessert and the possibility that he had never eaten lunch, I stopped off on Front Street at the Upper Crust Bakery to get a pie.

One of Vida’s sisters-in-law, Mary Lou Hinshaw Blatt, was coming out just as I was going in. “Well!” she exclaimed, looking disgruntled. “Are you picking up something for the birthday party, too?”

“What birthday party?” I asked, backpedaling to the sidewalk.

“For the child of that nincompoop Roger. Today’s his second birthday.” She stared down at me with probing brown eyes. Not only was she close to Vida in size, but she was just as opinionated and outspoken. Thus, the sisters-in-law had never gotten along. “I happened to arrive at the bakery as she was collecting the poor little nipper’s cake. Thirty dollars! Can you imagine? If he’s as ill-behaved as Roger was, he’ll smear it all over himself and the walls. And don’t think I didn’t tell that to my self-righteous kinswoman!”

I’ve never exactly warmed to Mary Lou, having spent very little time in her company. But despite my loyalty to Vida, I couldn’t play the hypocrite. “I’m afraid Vida has a problem seeing Roger in anything but a good light. It’s her blind spot. Are you going to the party?”