The Alpine Journey (31 page)

Dolores shook her head, the long black hair swinging at her shoulders. “I don't think so.”

Vida was at the window, scanning the beach. The breakers were crashing far up onto the sand. Vaguely, I wondered if this had been an exceptionally high tide.
Haystack Rock and its surrounding crags looked more isolated than usual. When the tide was at low ebb, beachcombers could walk around the outcroppings, exploring pools and crevices that sheltered sealife and birds. Now the smaller rocks had disappeared, and Haystack itself was partially submerged.

“How long has Gordon been gone?” Vida asked without turning around.

Dolores had assumed her post on the arm of the sofa. “Urn … an hour? I'm not sure. Maybe longer. I didn't get up until eight-thirty.”

Vida swiveled around to pinion the girl with sharp gray eyes. “Was he gone then?”

“I think so.” Dolores flinched under that hard gaze. “Yes. Derek said his dad had gone out, so it was okay to use the shower. It's stupid to have to ask permission,” she added with a pout. “This isn't a detention place, it's a house.”

But not a home
, I thought, wondering at Dolores's choice of words. Maybe she didn't understand the concept of
home.
Despite her belligerent manner, I felt sorry for the kid.

“It's going on ten,” Vida said, glancing at a captain's clock on the mantel. “Gordon should be back by now.” She prowled around the room, pausing occasionally to study some of the accumulated objets d'art and just plain junk, which included Ruth Pickering's metal sculptures.

Dolores continued keeping watch. She kept silent as well, until I asked if she liked her job. Giving a little shrug, she said it was all right. The other employees were nice enough, and the restaurant served good food. Sometimes, especially during tourist season, she got good tips. The information came not all at once, but only after a series of questions on my part. Vida kept prowling.

“The tide's so far in, how can you walk on the beach?” she demanded. “
Where is he?
”

“I think there's always some dry sand,” I said. “You can't see it from here because of the dunes and the grasses.”

Vida went out through the front door. “I'm going down there,” she called over her shoulder.

I started after her, then thought better of it. I still wasn't entirely comfortable walking for very long. “Dolores,” I said, giving the girl my most motherly smile, “would you mind if I got myself a bowl of cereal?”

She didn't mind, but she followed me into the kitchen. “Go ahead and do whatever you were doing,” I said, still smiling. I didn't feel like having her watch me slurp up cornflakes.

“That's okay,” she said, pulling herself up onto the counter. “I'm just kicking it this morning.”

I felt like telling her that she might try housecleaning. The Imhoff residence was becoming more cluttered and less tidy by the day. Through the door to the living room I could see one of Ruth's metal sculptures, which—maybe—depicted a spear-carrying hunter. A pair of Jockey shorts was dangling from the spear.

“Did you know Mrs. Imhoff very well?” I asked. As long as I was stuck with Dolores, I might as well try pumping her.

“Kind of.” Dolores toyed with the long strands of hair, then picked up a headband and put it on.

I began eating my corn flakes. “Did you like her?”

“She was okay.”

That hadn't been the question. “Did you spend much time here before … while Mrs. Imhoff was alive?” I amended.

“Some.” Dolores's dark eyes sparked for just a fleeting second. “You're treating me like a criminal. How come?”

“I'm a journalist.” The job covers a multitude of sins. “Prying is my business.” I tried to resurrect my smile.

“Derek's mom usually wasn't around when I came here,” Dolores said, removing the headband and shaking out her hair. “She was at the shop or on the beach or hauling some old person around. If you want to know the truth, Mrs. Imhoff didn't like me. She thought I wasn't good enough for her son.”

“I heard she thought you were too young to get married. That's not the same thing,” I noted.

“Whatever.” Dolores rolled her eyes. “She wanted Derek to go to college. She thought I'd stand in his way. I wouldn't, and I won't. But he doesn't want to go. Not now, anyway.”

“There's no point in him going if he hasn't decided on a career,” I said, finishing the cereal. “I don't imagine he wants to work in a grocery store forever, though.”

“He can do lots of things,” Dolores said airily, “without going to college. My oldest brother's an auto mechanic. He makes real good money.”

It was pointless to argue with Dolores, nor did I feel as if I should. If she wanted to spend the rest of her life hustling tips while Derek carried out sacks of potatoes and chicken parts, that was up to them. I'd seen enough of that borderline lifestyle in Alpine

I was about to change the subject to something less controversial, like the abortion issue or gay rights, when Vida came staggering into the living room. I could see her from the kitchen, and rushed to meet her.

“What's wrong?” I demanded as she collapsed against a high-backed chair and gasped for breath.

“Call the police!” She was drained, her head down, her body limp.

“What?” It was a stupid thing to say. I raced to the phone and dialed 911. Dolores had come into the living room, too, and was staring at Vida. The operator answered. Panicked, I turned away from the phone. “What do I tell them?”

Vida took a deep breath and raised her head. “Gordon's dead.” She stopped, then pressed a hand against her bosom. “His body's washed up on the beach.”

Trembling, I relayed the information. “Tell them to hurry,” Vida gasped, “or the outgoing tide might carry him off.” She fumbled with the chair and finally dropped onto the cane seat.

Dolores was transfixed, her hands covering her mouth. A muffled “No!” erupted, followed by a piercing shriek. I hung up the phone, then looked to see who needed me most. Vida was struggling to regain her composure; Dolores had slipped onto the floor.

I rushed to the girl's side, but she hadn't fainted. Putting my arm around her slim shoulders, I felt her shudder convulsively. No tears fell, however, just a dry, heaving sound.

“Some other people found him first,” Vida said, her voice somewhat stronger. “It was about a hundred yards south of here. I arrived while they were trying to figure out what to do. I think they're tourists.”

I only half heard Vida, but sensed that she needed to talk. Dolores was leaning on me, still making those strange noises that were a cross between a groan and a sob.

Vida had stood up. She came toward us and leaned down. “Dolores—where was Gordon staying? Which room?”

Dolores's hands fell away from her ashen face.
“What? I … Oh!” She swallowed hard. “He slept in Derek's old room. Mr. Imhoff let us keep the big bedroom.” The query seemed to restore her. She sat back on her haunches and closed her eyes.

I rose, but didn't follow Vida out of the living room. “What happened?” I called to her. “Did anybody see anything?”

“No, not that I know of,” Vida answered, her voice carrying from the bedroom down the hall. “But then I didn't get a chance to … Ah! I thought so!” She rushed out of the room, waving a piece of paper. “It's a suicide note! Oh, good Lord! I feel sick!”

The last thing I needed was for Vida to succumb to any sort of weakness. “I'll make tea,” I said, craning to look at the note.

“Here.” Vida thrust the paper at me, then raced into the bathroom.

It didn't take long to read Gordon's last message:
I killed Audrey. I'm sorry. Take care of each other. I love you all
.

I was still leaning against the wall, waiting for Vida, when the sirens sounded on the highway. “Are you okay?” I called through the door.

“Yes. Yes. I'll be right out. I hear someone coining. Go to the back door, please.”

The familiar figures of Randy Neal and Charles St. James were the first to arrive. Right behind them came the fire department, an ambulance, the Medex unit, and a Cannon Beach patrol car with two officers I didn't recognize. I was trying to explain where Gordon had been found when Vida joined me at the door.

“I'll show you,” she said, looking drawn and upset. “Can you drive down to the beach?”

There was a road just beyond the vacant house next
door. Vida left with the deputies, and the other emergency vehicles followed. I remained behind with Dolores.

“What's that?” she asked, pointing to Gordon's note, which I still had clutched in my hand.

I didn't want to show it to her. “Let's make some tea,” I said, taking her arm. “How do you feel?”

“Awful.” She kept close to me as I put on the kettle and searched for tea bags. “Did somebody kill Mr. Imhoff?”

“I don't think so,” I said, avoiding her big-eyed gaze.

“Did he drown?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I thought he was a good swimmer. How could he drown?” Her voice sounded lost, as if it had fallen into a deep, dark hole and couldn't get out.

“We'll have to wait for the police to tell us what happened.” I felt inept, helpless. “Should we go out on the front porch and get some air? It'll take a minute for the tea water to boil.”

Dolores followed me like a lonely kitten. Outside, we could see the line of emergency vehicles moving toward the beach. “Who lives in that brown house on the other side of the summer place?” I asked.

“I don't know,” Dolores replied. “They have little kids, I think.”

I hoped the little kids weren't around. “Listen for the teakettle,” I said, leaving the porch. “I'll be right back.”

But Dolores followed me down the stepping-stones that led to the beach. The dozen or so cement rounds ended where the bank dipped until it reached the level sand. A well-trod path wound through the grasses and thistles and clover, ending at an accumulation of drift-wood.
I spotted the remnants of several beach fires, a single tennis shoe, a dirty towel, and assorted beer cans.

To my left, Vida and the deputies were getting out of the Clatsop County patrol car. Directly in front of them was a cluster of people, who, even from a distance, seemed uneasy as they milled around near the outgoing tide.

“Hold it,” I said, putting out a hand to detain Dolores. I had just caught sight of what I assumed was Gordon's body. It lay about twenty feet from the small crowd, and looked like a pile of old clothes. “Let's stay here,” I urged. “We'll only get in the way.”

“I saw a dead person once,” Dolores said in an awestruck voice. “He'd been hit by a car on 101, down by Arch Cape.”

I, too, had seen dead bodies during the course of my career, but I didn't feel like reminiscing. The deputies, along with the local police officers, were moving the onlookers farther down the beach. Meanwhile the medical personnel had gathered around Gordon's body.

“Let's go back,” I said, putting an arm around Dolores.

Somewhat to my surprise, she didn't seem to mind my protective gestures. Until Vida's announcement, I hadn't felt any rapport between Dolores and me. I still didn't, but I sensed a kind of mutual dependency.

Or did, until we got to the stepping stones. Suddenly she stopped and pulled away. Her gaze was on the front of the house, with its wide porch and picture windows.

“It's Derek's now, isn't it?” Dolores breathed. “He owns the house. He owns everything.” She clasped her hands and let out a little squeal of elation. “It's mine, too! I finally have a home!”

I didn't know whether to slap her or hug her. Instead, I did nothing.

St. James and Neal had taken over the investigation. Half an hour later they returned to the house with Vida. She looked weary but more composed. Naturally, she was grateful for the hot tea.

Dolores, whose euphoria had faded, was now outside, waiting for Derek to return from Osburn's. As a result of my prodding, I had insisted that she call to inform her boyfriend of his father's death. I'd also advised her to tell him that it was an accident. Derek didn't need to know all the gruesome details at once.

“You mentioned a note,” St. James said to Vida after she was seated at the kitchen table with her tea. “May we see it?”

Vida looked at me. “Where is it?” Her voice was toneless.

I produced the slip of paper, which I'd left under a canister on the counter. “Here,” I said, giving the note to the deputy.

St. James grimaced. “It would have been better if no one had touched this,” he said, with reproachful looks for Vida and me. When we said nothing in our defense, he scanned the words, then handed the paper over to Randy Neal. “I guess that settles it. We'll be taking the note with us.”

“Of course.” I gave both deputies a feeble smile. “What did Gordon do? Walk into the ocean?”

Neal gave a slight nod. “So it seems. It's not uncommon around here. You just keep wading out until a wave overtakes you. Maybe it won't be the first one, or even the second, but eventually …” His voice trailed away.

A silence fell over the kitchen. Above the ocean's roar, I could hear the captain's clock, ticking away the hours in the empty living room. I listened for the sirens that would
signal the emergency vehicles' departure, then realized there was no need for haste. It didn't matter when Gordon Imhoff got wherever they were taking him. He was already gone.

“It's rubbish, of course.”

The three of us turned to look at Vida, who was sitting alone at the table.

St. James coughed softly. “Pardon, ma'am?”

Adjusting her glasses, Vida looked at each of us in turn. “The note. It's rubbish.” She gave a nod at Neal, who still held the slip of paper in his hand. “Gordon didn't kill Audrey. I know that now. If I'd known it sooner, Gordon might still be alive.” With a mighty effort, she got to her feet, threw back her shoulders, and lifted her chin. “As it turns out, I killed Gordon.”

NEAL
AND ST. JAMES didn't know Vida, which explained their stupefaction. But I understood what she meant, and hastened to clarify the statement.

“Mrs. Runkel feels guilty,” I said in a rush, “because she's been trying to find out who killed her niece. Her efforts disturbed Gordon to the point that he took his life. But that's hardly her fault.” I shot Vida a sharp look. “It's not, you know. Gordon had choices.”