The Alpine Journey (22 page)

“Stick to your guns,” I urged, for lack of anything more helpful. “It's not like going to Europe is a necessity.”

“Hell, I've never been to Europe,” Milo grumbled. “The only place I've ever been except for the West Coast is Vietnam, and that was at government expense.”

I couldn't blame Milo for begrudging his son a continental tour. But I had to get in touch with Leo. “I'll call you when I get home,” I promised, and rang off.

Luckily, Leo was at his apartment on Cedar Street, no doubt eating the same kind of TV dinner that Milo had served. I felt a pang for the sheriff and my ad manager: both were casualties of broken marriages, and in each case, their ex-wives had remarried.

“Carla got some great shots of the fire,” Leo informed me. “She may not be able to write a decent story, but she's a damned good photographer.”

“What about the cows?” I inquired.

“We got a break there,” Leo replied. “Ellsworth Over-holt took some pictures of his own, just in case the train ran over Bossy or Bessie. I talked him into dropping off the roll at Buddy Bayard's studio so it could be developed and we could use one of the shots.”

“And Darla Puckett's garden statuary?”

Leo laughed. “That one intrigued Carla. She got some wild hair to juxtapose the headless Bo-Peep next to the photo of the stray cows. You know, run a cutline that said, ‘Little Bo-Peep has lost her head, Overholt cows have left their shed.’ Or something like that.”

I gritted my teeth. “You dissuaded her, I trust?”

“Uh … You don't like it?” Leo sounded taken aback.

“It's dumb.” I wasn't in the mood for whimsy. “How's the issue shaping up so far?”

“Good. Fine.” There was a pause; I sensed that Leo was mentally redoing the page with the Bo-Peep and cow pictures. “We've got the fire with two pix, the college-related stories and photos, a three-car pileup on Highway 2, that story you did about the land exchange between Weyerhaeuser and the forest service, and whatever else comes in at the last minute. Or fits what we have left over.”

The summary sounded satisfactory. “So everything's moving along okay?”

“Sure. I can ride herd over Carla, you know. So to speak. We've got cow fever, I guess.” Leo laughed again.

“Leo, are you drinking?”

“What?” He sounded genuinely shocked. “No. And
what if I had been? I almost never have more than two these days.”

I knew that, and was chagrined. “Sorry. I'm not exactly myself.” I stopped before I started making excuses. “I should be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

“Don't push it,” Leo said, and I thought I detected a note of concern. “We're doing fine. Hell, babe, you've only missed one day. What do you expect us to do, shut the place down and party? Carla's cute, but she's not my type.”

Leo was right. In terms of work, I'd only been absent today. Somehow, it seemed much longer. The past three days had stretched out in my mind, as if distance could alter time.

“Thanks for everything,” I said. “Make sure you proof all of Carta's stuff. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up, feeling vaguely disappointed. Leo and Carla were getting along without me. And without Vida. Though it shouldn't have, the thought rankled.

Vida and Stina were halfway through their entrees by the time I returned. My panfried oysters had grown a bit cold, but they tasted good anyway. Oddly, Vida didn't inquire about
The Advocate.
She was still wrapped up in Audrey's murder.

“Stina was telling me that Audrey was moody,” Vida said, giving me an arch little look. “I was wondering if she was on medication. Or something like that.”

Under the influence of a third martini, Stina's own mood had grown expansive. “I heard she was always moody, even as a kid. Maybe it was her folks. They fought a lot, and he was a drinker. Look at Marlin—would you call him normal? I figure the whole family's out there in cuckooland.”

“Not the
whole
family,” Vida said with a hard stare. “I
was thinking more of a nervous condition. Perhaps Audrey suffered from depression. Or perhaps she was simply … high-strung.” The stare softened, but it stayed in place.

Stina wasn't about to be lured into self-revelation. “I don't think so. I don't know much about mental instability, but in Audrey's case, it came down to selfishness. The world revolved around Audrey, in an off-the-wall kind of way.”

Vida frowned. “You mean she wasn't a … braggart or a blowhard?”

Stina grinned. “That's right. It was as if it was her right to get her own way, to be the center of attention. She didn't work at it. She didn't have to. It just
was.
And always had been.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice.

“That's very hard on children,” Vida remarked. “And husbands,” she added, as an afterthought.

“Gordon's too soft.” Stina finished her martini. “He was a sap to marry her in the first place.”

“They were very young,” Vida allowed.

“She conned him.” Stina removed the tiny plastic sword from her discarded olive and snapped it in two. “She told him she was pregnant.”

My eyes widened. “Was she?”

Abruptly, Stina straightened her shoulders and stared at me. “I don't know. All I hear are rumors.”

“Which,” Vida remarked idly, “you despise.”

“Yes.” Stina gazed into her empty glass. “So let's talk about something else. We went to New Zealand last winter to visit Stu's family. It was my first trip Down Under. I loved it. His family was something else.” She made a puckish little face. “What about you two? Any kids, grandkids?”

While usually delighted to talk about her grandchildren, Vida exhibited mild reluctance. But we both realized that Stina wasn't going to say any more about Audrey Imhoff. The dinner wound down, after I'd flashed a photo of Adam, and Vida had shown off her three daughters, their husbands, and the grandchildren, which included the reprehensible Roger. If ever there was an indication that bad blood ran in the Runkel family, Roger was it. Now entering his teens, he suffered from the Three S's: spoiled, surly, and selfish. Worse yet, Vida doted on him.

Stina expressed what appeared to be genuine interest in our progeny, but may have been part of her professional bag of tricks. Still, I thought I detected a slight wistfulness in her expression when she looked at Adam's baby picture.

Vida offered to give Stina a ride home, but then realized that only two could fit into the pickup's cab. That was all right with Stina—she could walk. The Kanes lived by Whale Park, only a couple of blocks away.

We wondered what kind of reception she would get from her husband. “I'm guessing that Stuart blows hot and cold,” Vida said as we climbed into the pickup.

“Short fuse, quick recovery?” I replied. “Maybe. Did you believe Stina when she said it was Stu who was having the affair with Audrey?”

“I don't know.” Vida was having trouble with the gears again. “She's candid, but not necessarily truthful. If you know what I mean.”

I did, sort of. We finally pulled away from the curb, and it occurred to me that we weren't heading back to the motel. “Now where?” I sighed.

Vida didn't answer directly. “Such a nuisance, not having two cars. Really, you must get another rental tomorrow.”

“I am. I'm taking it to Alpine.”

Vida ignored my statement. “I want to make sure the Buick's been towed. You can show me where the car went into the tree.”

I started to repeat my intentions to leave in the morning, but a sudden thought struck my brain. “How old was Audrey?”

Vida paused, apparently calculating. “Forty-three. I believe she had a June birthday.”

“And Derek, the eldest child, is what—nineteen, twenty?”

Vida nodded. “He'll be twenty in November or December. I don't recall which.”

“Which means,” I went on as Vida drove out of town toward Elk Creek Road, “Audrey was twenty-three when she had Derek. Either she wasn't pregnant at the time of the wedding, or else they weren't as young as everyone says they were when they got married.” In small towns, especially two decades ago, a twenty-three-year-old single girl would have been considered a virtual old maid.

“You're right,” Vida said. “How strange that I hadn't figured that out for myself. But that's Rett and Rosalie's fault for not keeping up with the rest of the family.”

I didn't bother to correct Vida's attempt at self-defense. “Who told us they married young in the first place? Stacie?”

“I think so, yes.” As Vida turned onto the road that led to Marlin's place, she grew thoughtful. “Of course Stacie was repeating what she'd heard from her parents. At least from her mother. Frankly, I don't recall the precise context.”

I didn't either, yet the apparent discrepancy bothered me. There wasn't time to discuss it further, however: we were approaching the tree that had sent Vida's car off to
the body shop. Night had fallen, and it was difficult to see.

“There,” I said, pointing to the left side of the road. “I'm sure that's it, where the ferns and underbrush are beaten down. The Buick's gone.”

“Good. I'll call the repairmen tomorrow to see if they're getting started on the job. I suppose they'll have to wait until they get a check from Brendan Shaw.” Vida had braked by the tree and was peering up the road. “Goodness, where do 1 turn around?”

I grimaced. “There really isn't a place until you get to Marlin's.”

The pickup moved ahead after another struggle with the gears. A couple of minutes later we could see the lights in Marlin's house through the trees.

Then we saw Marlin. He was standing in the doorway of his so-called pad, with the bow and arrow aimed at Randy Neal and Charles St. James.

THE
DEPUTIES
WERE trying to talk Martin into dropping his weapon. St. James stood behind a tree, halfway between his patrol car and the house, while Neal held back in the refuge of the squad car.

Vida started to get out of the pickup, but I grabbed her arm. “Don't,” I urged as all three men turned to look in our direction. “We have to take cover, just like the deputies. Douse the lights. I doubt if they can see who's inside the cab.” Martin certainly wouldn't expect his aunt to show up in a truck.

Martin's glance in our direction had been too brief to allow either deputy to make a move on him. But Randy Neal had gotten out of the squad car and was coming toward us. As the deputy crept carefully between the vehicles his over-the-shoulder glance stayed on Martin.

“You think I'm kidding?” Martin shouted. “You think I can't shoot straight?”

“I think it would be foolhardy,” St. James replied in a calm voice. “If you put an arrow through me, my partner will nail you before you can shoot again. All we want to do is talk.”

“I know who squealed,” Martin shouted. “It was that bitch who hangs out with my so-called aunt.”

I was rubbing my forehead in annoyance when Neal
reached the pickup. He stayed flat against the passenger side, and I quickly rolled the window all the way down.

“Ms. Lord? And Ms.…” Neal's startled voice trailed off.

“Runkel,” Vida snapped, leaning across me. “The so-called aunt.”

Neal cleared his throat. “Yes, I mean … yes, Ms. Runkel. You'd better leave. We have police business here.”

Vida pounced. “Is it about Audrey?”

“Ah … no.” Consternation showed on Neal's fine features.

“My car?” Vida queried.

“Your car?” Neal sounded puzzled.

“Never mind.” Vida looked peeved, then seemed to be making up her mind about something. “Let me talk to that ridiculous nephew of mine.”

Her ridiculous nephew still held the bow and arrow at the ready, and was conducting a one-sided argument with Charles St. James. “This is private property,” Marlin shouted. “Didn't you see the sign back there? I've already told you everything I know about my sister. Go away, leave me alone.”

St. James stepped out from the shelter of the tree trunk and held his hands up in front of him. “I'm not going for my gun,” he said, still calm. Then he reached inside his regulation jacket. “We have a search warrant.”

“I don't give a shit if you've got a judge and a jury. Get the hell off my property!” A note of hysteria had crept into Martin's voice as the bow and arrow wavered slightly.

At the side of the pickup, Neal was telling Vida that she shouldn't try to talk to her nephew. Vida was arguing. Neal seemed to vacillate. It was all the leeway Vida
needed. She opened the door and got down from the cab with amazing alacrity.

“Yoo-hoo! Marlin!” she called, the battered green straw askew. “Stop making a fool of yourself! Do you want to end up in prison?”

Marlin took one look at Vida, turned tail, and ran inside the house. The door slammed behind him.

“Oh, good grief!” Vida exclaimed.

“That wasn't smart,” Neal muttered.

“Marlin's not smart,” Vida retorted. “Did I hear the other deputy say he had a search warrant? For what?”

“I'm sorry, I can't say,” Neal replied stiffly. “But we're going ahead with our business. Would you … ah … mind?”

Vida was blocking Neal's path. “Mind? Mind what? I'm not stopping you. But tell me how you plan to get inside. Tear gas?” There was a derisive note in her voice.

“Ma'am,” Randy Neal said in a pleading tone, “it'd be better if you left. We can't have civilians on site while we do a search.” The deputy awkwardly managed to sidestep Vida, who was blocking his path.

I had also gotten out of the truck and wandered over to stand behind Vida. Up ahead, St. James was using a big flashlight to scour the area just beyond Marlin's house. He stopped and signaled to his partner.

“Over here, Randy.”

Vida seemed exasperated. “Well! They don't want to search the house after all. Oh, dear!” She suddenly turned on me. “You didn't!”

“Of course not,” I said indignantly. “Marlin was off base. So are you. I wouldn't rat on him. I'm surprised the authorities didn't know about the marijuana farm before this.”

“True.” Vida's demeanor changed, the signs of reproach evaporating. “Then who did?”

I sighed. “Who knows? Maybe it's a follow-up, going back to when they originally questioned Marlin about his sister's death. They might have had suspicions then. After all, his place reeks of pot and they could see the sheds for themselves.”