The Alpine Journey (17 page)

Vida finished going through drawers in the matching nightstands. We found nothing of further interest, nor did we locate a strongbox. I could tell that Vida was growing frustrated as we went into the living room.

“We're fighting the clock,” she declared. “We mustn't forget Jesse Damon. I'm convinced that even if he wasn't involved in Audrey's death, he knows something.”

I shrugged. “The police must have questioned him. Why would he tell us anything of interest?”

“Because we're not the police.” Vida fingered her chin while her eyes darted around the living room. “If you had a car, you could drive over to Salem.”

“Vida,” I began, irritated, “we've been through that before. I'm not going to Salem. And if I felt like driving any distance, I'd go home.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Vida dismissed my protest with a wave of one hand. “I checked that desk over there earlier. Nothing. The cupboards and bookcases speak for themselves.” She snapped her fingers. “The Jaded Eye! That must be where Audrey and Gordon kept their important papers. Do you think Ruth Pickering would let us in?”

For once, I was a step ahead of Vida. “Ruth can't have the only key. Have you looked here?”

“You're right.” Vida gave me a big smile. “I believe there were keys in the desk. They didn't mean anything to me when I peeked in there Saturday. Let's look.”

The dozen keys on the big silver ring weren't marked, but Vida was convinced that one of them must belong to the Imhoffs' shop. “Now, here's what we'll do,” she said, outlining her strategy like a general going to war. “Drop me off at the Jaded Eye. You go up to see Marlin and find out what he knows about the marijuana in the suitcase. You can drive that far, can't you?”

Vida had me in a bind. If I pleaded physical disability, I wouldn't be able to head for Alpine in the morning. If I agreed to call on Marlin, I might end up driving all over Clatsop County, not to mention inland to Salem. And, if I had to be honest, my aches and pains were bearable.

“Okay,” I conceded, “I'll go see Marlin.”

“Excellent. Let's check the children's rooms and then we'll be on our way.”

It appeared that Stacie and Molly shared a room with twin beds and a closet crammed so full that garments tumbled onto the floor. One of the beds was made, however, and in fact, one half of the room was relatively tidy. Judging from the cutout photos of younger teen idols on the wall, I guessed that Molly was the neater of the two sisters.

“Goodness,” Vida said in mild dismay. “Where shall we begin?”

“You begin,” I responded. “I'll check out Derek's room.” It occurred to me that if he and Dolores had moved into the master bedroom, Derek's former room might be easier to tackle.

“Very well,” Vida agreed a bit grimly. “Though I can't imagine we'll find much.”

I was turning in to the short hallway when we heard a commotion at the back door. Glancing over my shoulder, I exchanged startled looks with Vida. We both hurried into the kitchen, where we found Stacie and Molly screaming at each other.

“It's not my fault!” Molly cried, her voice full of tears. “It's everybody's fault! Why do I always get the blame?”

“Because you whine,” Stacie shouted. “You always want everything your way! Why can't you just shut up and chill?”

Sensing our presence, they turned at the same time and
saw us in the kitchen doorway. Both sisters stared, and Molly began to blush furiously.

“What are you doing here?” Stacie demanded, catching her breath.

“We came to help you clean,” Vida replied, not missing a beat. “You need to pay bills, too. I don't suppose you have a checkbook?”

The routine question seemed to calm Stacie. “No. Derek and I've talked about opening an account, but we haven't gotten around to it.”

“I thought you had an attorney in Seaside,” Vida said, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table. “Do sit, girls. We have some important things to discuss.”

Molly removed a maroon backpack from her shoulders and hugged it to her chest. “I don't want to discuss anything. I'm tired of discussing things. I'm going to my room.” She stalked off into the hall.

“Bratfinger,” muttered Stacie. “I just tried to tell Molly that if we're going to make it on our own, she's going to have to stop acting like a baby. She's spoiled, because she's the youngest. No matter what she gets or gets to do, it's never enough. Sometimes she made my folks crazy.”

Such as it was, the admission was the first hint of sympathy I'd heard from Stacie for her parents as a unit. “Most kids are like that,” I said, recalling Adam's constant badgering over the years.

From under the blonde hair that covered most of her forehead, Stacie gave me a disbelieving glance. “I'm not. I always knew there were limits, especially with Mom. And Derek—well, Derek would say okay, and then do what he wanted anyway and hope he didn't get caught. Derek's a jerk sometimes, but at least he doesn't whine like Molly. Molly acts like she's some kind of whipped
puppy. ‘Poor Molly,’ ‘poor me,’ that's her line. It gets real old.”

Vida was nodding sagely. “We need to talk about your future.” My House & Home editor gave me a sidelong look. “My car keys are in my purse, Emma dear. Go ahead and take them. I'll be here when you get back.”

The dismissal was underlined by the “Emma dear.” Vida had never called me that in all the years I'd known her. With a faint sigh, I started to look for her purse. Then I remembered that she'd probably left it in the girls' bedroom.

Molly didn't respond when I first knocked. I called to her and received a belligerent “What?” Gently, I opened the door.

“Your aunt left her purse in here,” I explained with a smile. “She was going to … ah … make Stacie's bed for her.”

Molly was curled up on her own bed, her face turned to the wall. “Stacie's a slob.”

“You're not,” I said, spying Vida's purse next to the pile of clothes that had been disgorged by the jammed closet. “How was school?”

There was a pause, as if Molly was trying to decide if the question was worthy of an answer. “Okay. We got out early.”

That explained the Imhoff sisters' unexpected arrival. “Nice. What's your favorite subject?”

“Math.” Molly still hadn't turned to look at me.

I sidled up to the foot of the bed. “I hated math. I'm still not very good at it. I liked history best.”

There was no comment. I was scarcely surprised that Molly wasn't interested in my long-ago academic pursuits. At fourteen, Adam hadn't been interested in anything that went on outside of his adolescent self-absorption.

“So,” I said brightly, “you and Stacie plan to go on living here together?”

“I guess.” The answer was muffled; Molly had now stuck her face in the pillow.

“What about Derek and Dolores? Will they get married and find their own place?”

“I guess.”

I took a deep breath and went for it. “I saw your dad today.”

Molly's chunky little body went rigid. I waited. Finally, laboriously, she rolled over and peered at me from under her hand. “My dad? You couldn't have!” The denial was a sudden shriek. Molly jerked into a sitting position and beat her fists on her thighs. “No! He went away! He's gone!”

“Hey!” I scooted between the twin beds and sat down next to her. “He's fine. In fact, we had a car wreck. That is, we hit each other. But nobody got hurt.”

It took several moments for my words to sink in. “No,” Molly repeated, but this time without conviction. “He left. It must have been somebody else.”

“It was your dad,” I asserted. “He was very kind. He wanted to make sure I wasn't injured.”

Molly raised a pale, apprehensive face to me. “Where is he?” Her voice was almost inaudible.

“I think he went to see your grandmother, but I'm not sure where he is now.” I attempted a reassuring smile. “You'll probably hear from him soon.”

“No!” Molly's vehemence made her cough. Then the cough turned to tears, and the tears bordered on hysteria. “No, no, no! He can't! He's got to go away again!”

Her outcries had brought Vida and Stacie to the bedroom door. “What's this?” Vida exclaimed.

“See what I mean?” Stacie was angry. “Molly's a
mess. She's always a mess. Shut up, bratfinger! All you ever do is cry and whine!”

With a hand on Molly's shaking shoulders, I turned to Stacie. “She has a right to be upset. I was telling her about your father.”

Stacie looked puzzled. I assumed Vida hadn't yet informed the older girl about my unconventional meeting with Gordon Imhoff.

“What about him?” Stacie asked, her tone defensive.

“He and I were in a car wreck this morning. He's okay.” I kept my voice neutral. “Have you talked to him?”

Stacie's eyes rolled up like Venetian blinds. Then she fainted.

“THE
TROUBLE
IS,” Vida said, pouring hot tea into mismatched mugs that were a far cry from her own English bone china, “these children are overwrought. They're trying to carry on, and very bravely, too, but it's all been too much. They need some stability in their lives.” She sighed and looked straight into my eyes. “That's why I must ask for a leave of absence. I intend to remain here until they get on their feet. Emotionally speaking, that is.”

My initial reaction was a selfish one: how on earth would I put out
The Advocate
without Vida? Nightmarish visions of Carla at the Burl Creek Thimble Club and the John Knox Quilting Bee and the Daughters of Norway Lutefisk Eating Contest danced through my head with leaden feet and horrific typos.

Yet I had to acknowledge Vida's perceived responsibility, even though it didn't strike me as her problem. She hardly knew these Runkels. My only demurral, however, was to suggest that Grandma Rosalie might perform the task instead.

Vida scoffed. “Rosalie is probably a decent sort, but I don't think she's particularly competent. Besides, she smokes. That doesn't make for a good role model.”

Since I had smoked off and on during my tenure at
The
Advocate
, I felt put in my place. Nor was this the time for an extended argument: Stacie had regained consciousness almost immediately and was now lying on her unmade bed. Vida picked up the mugs and took them in to the girls. Molly was sitting like a statue, staring blankly into space.

There was a small table between the twin beds. Vida set the mugs down and put a hand on Stacie's arm. “Drink this, dear. I've added milk and sugar. It'll perk you up in no time.”

“I hate tea,” Stacie declared. “I'd rather have coffee or a Coke.”

“Tea has caffeine and is more bracing,” Vida asserted. “I must insist. Please take at least a few sips.” She turned to Molly. “You, too. You're looking very peaked.”

Stacie grimaced, but obeyed. Molly picked up her mug and blew on it. “I like herbal tea sometimes,” she allowed. “This is different. I can't smell any herbs or spices.”

“It's Earl Grey,” Vida said. “A great favorite of many, though I drink Red Rose. Now, Stacie,” she said, regarding the older girl, “what upset you so?”

Stacie's lip was curled over the tea mug. “I thought he was dead.”

“I see.” Vida remained nonchalant. “So you fainted from relief.”

“Relief?” Stacie seemed puzzled. “Well… I guess.”

I was standing at the foot of Stacie's bed. “You thought your father had been killed?”

Stacie sighed and nodded. “Why not? It made sense. Somebody might have wanted to get rid of both my mother and my father.”

Vida frowned. “Now, who would want to do such a thing?”

Stacie didn't have to search for an answer. “Mr. Kane.”

Vida perched on the edge of Stacie's bed. “Why would Stuart Kane do such a thing?”

“Because,” Stacie replied, sitting up and brushing the long hair off her face, “he was jealous. He wanted to end my dad's affair with Mrs. Kane and get her back.”

“That's no reason to kill your mother,” Vida pointed out.

“Yes, it is,” Stacie asserted. “If they were both dead, Mr. and Mrs. Kane could get the shop.”

“The shop?” Vida's frown deepened. “You mean the Jaded Eye?”

Stacie nodded, the hair falling back over her face. “The Kanes have been trying to buy the shop for the past year or so. It's a good location, right in the middle of town. Their office is on Pacific, near the beach. It's off the beaten track. Visitors don't go by it unless they have a reason.”

I asked if the Kanes had made an offer to Audrey and Gordon.

“Yes,” Stacie answered, “but Dad wouldn't take it He said it was too low. Besides, he didn't want to sell. He loved the Jaded Eye.”

I was skeptical. “A commercial site on Hemlock doesn't seem like a motive for murder. There must be other good locations. Besides, your father is alive.”

My words seemed to calm Stacie. But Molly began to tremble. “I want him to stay away,” she said in a gulping voice. “It isn't safe for him to be here. If you see him, can you tell him that?” The appeal was to me; maybe she thought I was going to take to die road and collide with him again. I didn't know what to say.

Vida did. She leaned across the narrow space between the beds and took one of Molly's quivering hands. “Tell
me—do you honestly think your father killed your mother?”

Molly's eyes grew very wide and then she squeezed them shut. “Yes. Yes, I do. But it wasn't his fault.”

Molly pulled her hand free and turned back to face the wall.

There wasn't much more that we could do for the Imhoff sisters at the time. Convinced that they were no longer in a combative mood, and that even the young must struggle alone with their special demons, we resurrected our original plan. I drove the Buick and dropped Vida off at the Jaded Eye, but waited until I made sure that one of the keys on the ring she'd purloined would fit the store's lock. The next to the last one she tried opened the door, and with a wave, she sent me off to Martin's so-called pad.

When I pulled into the restricted space that served as a turnaround, there was no sign of my would-be host. I waited a few minutes, then realized that Martin would have seen the Buick and assumed that Vida was driving. I got out of the car and went up to the shack he called home.

The smell of pot hung in the air. I knocked on the door, which may have been the sturdiest part of the house. After a long pause I heard various bolts and locks being opened.