Alpine Hero (22 page)

“It meant Irene had to wait,” Stella explained hurriedly, “because I had to set Minnie Harris first. Minnie was anxious to get back to the desk at the Lumberjack Motel. They’re busy on Fridays during ski season. Anyway, I was sure Becca would be back. I thought the Burger Barn was slow filling her order. When Becca wasn’t here for her one-fifteen with Darlene Adcock, I got nervous and called you. I felt silly, but what else could I do?”

“You did the right thing,” Milo reassured her. “What do you know about Becca’s ex?”

“World-class creep,” Stella asserted, glancing anxiously in the direction of her waiting clients. “He called here yesterday.” She gave me a nervous, quirky smile.
“You were here, Emma. That’s the last time I heard anything of the jerk. Why do you ask?” Stella was again staring at Milo.

The sheriff explained that Becca had told me Eric Forbes was in Alpine. Stella gaped and leaned against the counter for support. “Jesus H. Christ!” she exclaimed under her breath. “Becca never told me that! Oh, shit!”

“Would she have told Laurie?” Milo inquired.

Stella was shaking her head in apparent disbelief over Milo’s announcement. “Laurie? Oh—I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. They work well together, but they’re not exactly buddies. Oh, double shit!” Stella sat down in the swivel chair behind the counter.

For me, there was a fascination in watching Milo handle a witness. Stella Magruder was not only a businesswoman and the wife of Alpine’s deputy mayor, but a voter and a lifelong acquaintance. Only in a small town is a public official exposed so rawly to the electorate. Yet Milo behaved as if Stella were a stranger who wouldn’t know a polling booth if it fell on her. I had to admire the sheriff for his objectivity.

“Did Becca have a boyfriend?” he asked, seemingly indifferent to Stella’s semicollapse.

Stella was staring not at any of us, but at the telephone on the counter. Maybe she was thinking about Eric Forbes’s Thursday-morning call. Or perhaps her own, to the sheriffs office.

“A boyfriend?” Stella finally echoed. “I don’t think so.” Her voice was hollow.

“What about girlfriends?” Milo asked, keeping his poker face.

Slowly, Stella got to her feet. “Becca had turned her back on the old crowd from high school. They were the ones who got her into trouble in the first place. Some of
them have moved on anyway. The only girl chum she ever mentioned was your receptionist, Toni Andreas.” The information was delivered with a slightly chiding look for Milo.

“Okay,” Milo responded noncommittally. “I’ll check with Toni. We’re already contacting her parents.”

“Good luck.” Stella’s tone was ironic. Then, with a forceful movement, she came around the counter and stood toe-to-toe with Milo. “Listen, Sheriff, you’d better move your ass on this one. It’s bad enough that a client gets killed on my turf, but to lose an employee—I swear to God I’ll torch that brand-new snazzy office of yours if you don’t come up with some answers pretty frigging fast!” With a flip of her hips, Stella marched off to tend to business.

“Hmm,” Vida murmured. “I don’t believe I’ll get that conditioner after all.”

But Milo wasn’t finished. A moment later Laurie came out of the rear part of the salon, presumably from the facial room. The sheriff beckoned to her; she came forward with obvious reluctance.

Laurie knew nothing about Becca’s former husband. She was almost certain that Becca hadn’t been dating since her return to Alpine. If Becca had any close friends—including Toni Andreas—Laurie didn’t know about them. Laurie not only knew nothing, but in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, she didn’t suspect anything either.

Vida and I, however, believed otherwise. When Milo finished with Laurie, we lingered.

“Laurie,” Vida said kindly, “I really must purchase some conditioner. What type would you suggest for my hair?” To prove her concern, she removed the black pillbox hat she’d been wearing.

Laurie wandered over to the hair-products display.
“You need a conditioner for permed, noncolored extra-thick hair,” she said, as if by rote. “This is a good one,” she continued, taking a large white plastic jug from the rack. “If you buy the biggest size, you save almost two dollars.”

“How nice,” Vida remarked. “How much is that, Laurie?”

“Fifteen ninety-five, plus tax.” Laurie’s pretty face was an absolute blank.

“With tax?” Vida asked.

In her typically vague manner, Laurie began to look at the sales tax chart that was taped next to the register. Vida leaned down and slapped her hand over the paper.

“Make a guess, Laurie.” Vida wore a smile that would have made an angel blush.

“Seventeen-thirty,” Laurie replied, those blue eyes bland. “I do this all the time. I can sort of memorize it.” She looked away.

“Remarkable.” Vida spoke without inflection. “Your father must be very proud of you.”

The startled expression that passed over Laurie’s face was almost imperceptible. “He wanted me to go to work for him at the machinery shop, but I said I’d like a career of my own. I really enjoy doing hair. It’s creative.”

If Laurie hadn’t missed a beat, neither had Vida. “I didn’t mean Martin Marshall, Laurie. I referred to your real father. Surely you’ve heard from him now that he’s moving so close to Alpine.”

If I’d glimpsed surprise on Laurie’s face a moment ago, I could have sworn that it was now briefly replaced by alarm. Then her gaze hardened, that same agatelike look I’d seen the previous morning after she dropped the mail. “I hardly remember my birth father,” she said
carefully. “My dad’s my dad. That’s why I’m Laurie Marshall.”

“Instead of Laurie Popp.” Vida tossed off the line as if it were an aside in a play.

“Seventeen-thirty,” Laurie repeated. “Do you need shampoo?”

Even Vida knows when to run up the white flag. “I have exact change,” she murmured, rummaging through her purse. “No, I don’t need shampoo, thank you.”

I had assumed Milo would leave after he finished questioning Laurie, but apparently he hadn’t. The sheriff now appeared in the rear of the salon, where he paused to speak to Stella.

“What’s he been doing?” I whispered as Vida and I headed for the door. “I thought he went back to his office.”

Vida wore a sour expression, no doubt smarting from her defeat at Laurie’s hands. “He did. That is, he exited the salon.” She paused in midstep, looking over her shoulder. “Interesting, that.”

“What?”

But Vida didn’t answer. Maybe she was taking out her revenge on me. I’d let her; she’d get over it. Vida’s not a spiteful sort.

But I wondered what she meant.

While I didn’t know Becca Wolfe very well, I was worried about her. For the next two hours I felt distracted, my mind constantly turning to Becca’s whereabouts. My imagination was working overtime, inventing all sorts of grisly scenarios.

Around four o’clock, I went into the news office and sat down next to Vida’s desk. “Have you heard anything from Milo?” I asked.

Vida shook her head. “I talked to Billy a few minutes ago. There’s no news, not even from the phone company. Stella told Milo she’s never seen a picture of Eric.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, trying to keep my hands from making nervous little gestures. “What if Becca saw something Monday? Or the murderer
thinks
she saw something. Isn’t it possible that he or she might have taken steps to silence her?”

“It certainly crossed my mind,” Vida agreed, putting aside the etiquette book she’d been consulting for filler on her page. “I trust it also occurred to Milo. But why would the killer wait five days to act? Becca has been interrogated thoroughly.”

“Her subconscious,” I said, more to myself than to Vida. “Becca hasn’t told anybody what she knows because she hasn’t realized it yet.”

Vida whipped off her glasses and began rubbing her eyes. “That means the killer is still among us. Oh, dear!”

The phone rang, causing Vida to fumble for her glasses before lifting the receiver. Her whole body tensed as she listened, then rose from the chair.

“Don’t read it to me, Billy. I’ll be right over.” Vida hung up and reached for her coat. “That was Billy. He has the phone-company information.”

I rushed into my office. “I’m coming, too,” I called, grabbing my duffel coat. Feeling a need to excuse myself, I gave Vida a wan smile as we went through the door. “I can’t stand the suspense.”

My House & Home editor was understanding. “It’s the immediacy. You discovered the body. We all know Stella and the others at the salon, not to mention Honoria and her family. The killer has struck very close to home.”

Vida’s words struck home, too. As we walked through the rain I noted that Front Street was now virtually clear of snow, and so was Third, at least as far as where it crossed Cedar. In Alpine, looking south means looking up, viewing the town as it climbs Tonga Ridge. I could see all the way to the cul-de-sac off Fir Street, which is where my log house sits nestled among the trees. Until today, snow had clung to the evergreens that flank the mountainside almost to the crest. The steady rain had washed the branches clean. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen the trees so bare since November. Maybe spring was coming after all.

Bill Blatt’s offer of a chair for his aunt was declined. “I can read standing up,” Vida asserted with a wave of her hand.

I tried to look over her shoulder, but since Vida is almost six inches taller, my success was limited. “Interesting,” she remarked, pushing the fax along the counter in my direction. “Don’t you think so, Billy?”

Billy looked bewildered. There was no sign of any other sheriff’s personnel except for Toni Andreas. I saw Vida dart a glance her way, and knew that Toni was next on the interrogation list.

But Vida bided her time. “See here, Emma,” she said, pointing to the record of calls made on Monday, February 13. “There’s only one long-distance charge, at four fifty-two, to Pacific Grove. That would be the undertaker. Isn’t that correct, Billy?”

Bill Blatt was once again squirming under his aunt’s scrutiny. “We haven’t had time to check. Should I do it now?”

Vida nodded solemnly. “I should hope so, Billy. Or do you have a reason to wait?” The sarcasm was almost hidden behind her mild tone.

I, however, was beginning to feel a bit like Bill. Then Vida’s point dawned on me. “There’s no call to Castro Valley,” I said. “That’s where Honoria’s sister lives, isn’t it?”

Vida gave another nod. “Exactly.” She pursed her lips, watching Bill dial the number in the 408 area code. “That means no one notified Cassandra of Kay’s death until Tuesday. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Honoria or Trevor could have called from Alpine,” I pointed out. “Maybe from here.”

Bill spoke a few words into the receiver, then hung up. “You’re right, Aunt Vida. That was the Pacific Grove funeral home. They received Ms. Whitman’s body last night.”

“Ah!” Vida said in an undertone. “Trevor has arrived, then.”

“The funeral is Monday at ten o’clock,” Bill added, obviously eager to please his aunt. “Actually, it’s a memorial service. Mr. Whitman requested cremation.”

Vida had retrieved the list of phone calls. “Do you remember if Honoria or her brother telephoned their sister from here on Monday?”

Bill’s face worked in concentration. “They made some calls,” he said at last. “But I think they were trying to get hold of their mother in Startup.”

Vida lifted her eyebrows. “ ‘Trying’? What do you mean, Billy?”

“Well …” Bill cleared his throat. “I don’t think she answered the first couple of times. Ask Toni—she might remember.”

Toni Andreas was pretty in an angular sort of way, with a boyish figure and close-cropped brown hair. During Adam’s brief courtship of her, my son had decided that she was dim and had no sense of humor. With the arrogance of youth, he couldn’t endure the
lack of either. Milo, however, had informed me that Toni was reasonably bright and fairly efficient. Otherwise he wouldn’t have hired her full-time. The sheriff apparently didn’t care if Toni could keep the rest of the staff rolling in the aisles as long as she helped keep them on their toes.

I trailed along after Vida as she approached Toni’s area at the far end of the curving counter. Toni looked daunted as my House & Home editor approached.

“We keep a log of all calls,” Toni said, in answer to Vida’s first question. “It’s done by computer. I can print out the Monday list, if you want it.”

“We do,” Vida replied, at her most majestic.

Toni fiddled around with her computer keyboard, then went over to the printer, which was next to the far wall, close to Milo’s office door.

“Here,” said Toni, handing Vida a three-foot-long sheet of paper. “Incoming calls are on the left, outgoing in the right-hand column.”

The gaze Vida riveted on Toni was enough to melt the snow on Tonga Ridge. “We should have access to this list all the time, not merely when a homicide has occurred.”

Toni sat down again, virtually huddling in her chair. “You’ll have to ask Sheriff Dodge about that,” she mumbled.

“So I shall.” Vida scanned the list. “My, my! I see you have some of the same cranks we have at
The Advocate
! Certain persons seem to have nothing better to do than bother the local law-enforcement agency and the weekly newspaper.”

Vida, who probably had half of Alpine’s phone numbers memorized, referred to the usual bothersome calls we received during the week. Some criticized our grammar, some objected to our content,
some simply wanted to complain about something. And then there was Averill Fairbanks, who was always sighting a UFO in his backyard, atop Mount Baldy, or up his rear end. My staff and I knew the various types of pests, and accepted them as part of the job. Sometimes they were a nuisance; often they were amusing; only rarely were they helpful, though I held a secret theory that many journalists actually enjoyed the calls and letters because they added spice to what is often routine.

Vida was still studying the list. “Darla Puckett must have hardening of the arteries—she never used to be so silly.… Ellsworth Overholt is always insisting there’s a cougar roaming his pasture—that’s ridiculous this time of year.… Now, whatever is Elmer Kemp calling about? That one beats me.…”