The Alpine Xanadu (15 page)

“That’s a shame,” I said after Vida ran out of breath. “I forget—are their children still in town?” Frankly, I wasn’t sure they had children.

“You mean their daughter and her family? No. Martha married an engineer who works in one of those dreadful emirates. Something to do with oil, I believe. Imagine bringing up two children in a place like that! All that sand! How do you keep your house clean? If they
have
houses.”

I gathered Vida had never seen pictures of some of the emirates. Except maybe for the beaches. “Selena must have family somewhere.”

“She’s from South Dakota,” Vida said. “Most of her relatives are still there. Goodness, people live in such peculiar places. Black Hills, indeed. I can’t imagine Selena moving there after so long in Alpine. Speaking of relatives, I saw my niece Marje at church. Do you remember Clarence Munn?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

“Clarence owned one of the smaller mills Jack Blackwell bought out several years ago. The Munns moved away a year later, to Anacortes, I think. His wife died just before Thanksgiving. His niece is Julie Canby, who’s working full-time at the hospital. Oh, you know that. I had it on my page right after New Year’s. Julie had Clarence put in RestHaven. Marje found that out from Doc Dewey. Clarence’s mind hasn’t been quite right for some time and he couldn’t live alone anymore.”

I barely recalled Vida’s short piece, having being too overwhelmed
with my own problems at the time. “That’s kind of Julie. Is she paying for Clarence’s care?”

“I don’t know, but Jack paid him a goodly sum for the mill. Clarence is a skinflint, which is probably why the Munns had no children. They can be an expense. I must run. It’s Ted’s birthday. I’m helping with the party. I offered to bake a cake, but Amy said she’d do it.”

“Very kind of your daughter,” I remarked, wondering if Vida had actually baked a cake in the last twenty years. I hoped not. “Have fun.”

“I will. Roger is bringing Ainsley. Young love is so sweet!”

On that note, Vida signed off. I wondered if this would be the last family gathering that included Diddy at Amy and Ted Hibbert’s house in The Pines. Tomorrow Rosemary Bourgette would probably make her announcement about Holly Gross being out on bond and possibly taking back her children. I realized that Vida had seemed more like herself the past few days. Or maybe she was whistling in the dark.

But as the days ahead would prove, so were the rest of us.

M
ILO CALLED AROUND FIVE TO TELL ME HE’D BE HOME
between six and six-thirty, depending on traffic. The message was terse. Not surprisingly, he sounded like he was in a bad mood.

I’d spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out what to feed the sheriff and decided to dig out my chicken lasagna recipe. I hadn’t made it for so long that I’d forgotten it required three ingredients I didn’t have. After a quick trip to the Grocery Basket, I put the recipe together, made a green salad, and buttered some French bread to heat later. I didn’t put the lasagna in to bake until six. By six-thirty, Milo still wasn’t home, so I turned the heat down. Sunday cross-state traffic over the pass was always heavy, both ways. I paced the living room, with a glance every few minutes to see if the Yukon was pulling into the driveway.

Ten minutes later the sheriff finally arrived. I met him at the door. His kiss was perfunctory. He headed straight for the kitchen and the Scotch without saying as much as hello. But he did make a drink for me while I impatiently waited for him to speak.

“Here,” he said gruffly, handing me my glass.

“Thanks.” I kept silent while he settled into the easy chair and lit a cigarette.

“Why in hell did I ever marry Mulehide?” he asked, staring not at me but at the beamed ceiling.

I didn’t say a word.

Milo finally looked at me. “I swear to God she’s never going to stop trying to make my life miserable. She insisted I meet her for lunch at a restaurant near Bellevue Square. ‘So we can talk privately,’ ” he said in his grating imitation of his ex’s voice. “Michelle—sorry, she prefers Mike, being a lesbian, after all—came up from Portland and is at the house. Tanya was supposed to go back to Bellevue in a couple of days, but she didn’t want to leave Alpine. That’s why she tried to commit suicide. She hates everything about Bellevue and the Eastside since Buster shot her and offed himself.” He paused to sip his drink.

“Is that true?” I asked.

“Yes.” His hazel eyes were hard, the same look he gave mulish suspects.

“So why not move? She’s in her thirties, a college grad—she could go anywhere.”

“Tanya only feels safe in Alpine. With me.”

“Oh, shit!” I cried.

Milo showed the first glint of humor since he’d arrived. “You got it.”

I held my head. “What happened next?”

He heaved a big sigh. “I tried to level with Mulehide, but she kept interrupting me. She insisted she didn’t believe we were getting married and said I was mad—I sure as hell was—and I’d make a scene in this very chic bistro, where she’d spotted a couple of friends. I told her in that case, we’d better take a boat out in the middle of Lake Washington—or head to the house. Then I asked for the check, paid the bill, and left.”

“You went to the house, I assume?”

Milo nodded. “All that back-door stuff pissed me off. Tanya was due to go back to her job at Seahawk headquarters March first, but she’s not ready. I suggested since she wasn’t able to strike
out on her own, why didn’t she stay with Mike for a while in Portland? Mike said her partner was living with her. I didn’t know she had a partner.” He paused again to run a hand through his hair. “I asked about the shrink she’d been seeing and why she seemed turned off by him. Tanya danced around that one, saying it was more about just being in Bellevue.”

I held up a hand. “Help me out here. How much of this is Mulehide trying to manipulate both of you?”

“I don’t know. Sure, I realize Tanya appreciated having me with her for the three weeks after she got shot. She seemed to enjoy being up here with me, too, even though I wasn’t around during most workdays. I never knew how much of a father figure Jake the Snake was to her. He liked to
act
as if he was Good Old Dad in Residence, but I always felt it was more for my benefit than because he really gave a rat’s ass. After he ran out on his first wife, he hardly ever saw his own two kids when they moved to the Tri-Cities. I’ve talked to Bran about him, and he said Jake was okay—for a step-dad.”

“Where was Bran today?”

“He and Solange—the girlfriend—went to some artsy deal in Seattle. Solange may have a weird name, but I kind of like her. She seems to have her feet on the ground.”

“How did everything wind up?”

“Inconclusive. I finally was able to make my point about us, I think. At least with Tanya and Mike. And I showed them the application for the marriage license. I took it along with me as backup.”

I glanced at the end table, where I’d last seen it. “I knew something was missing when I saw your note, but I was too upset about what you wrote to figure out what it was. Did that convince your daughters?”

“Maybe. It didn’t faze Mulehide, though.”

“Ben insists I have to meet her.”

Milo leaned back and looked up at the ceiling again. “Good God.”

“I’d rather not, but Ben has a point. He thinks maybe I can convince her I’m a decent person. We need her help with the annulment. Of course, my brother doesn’t know what Mulehide’s like.”

“I didn’t, either, when I married her.” He finished his drink. “She always was headstrong, but she was nice about it. Then gradually she changed. Hell, I know a lot of it was my fault—the job, the calls in the middle of the night, the cancelled vacations, the whole nine yards. She had too much responsibility on the home front. Somehow it gave her a sense of superiority over me. That’s when she started ragging on me, even in front of the kids. Then I’d go fishing and she’d really get pissed off.” He passed a hand across his forehead. “Sometimes it seems like a hundred years ago. Other times, like now, it seems like yesterday.”

I got off the sofa. “I made lasagna,” I said, leaning against his chair and putting my hand on his shoulder. “It won’t taste like it came from a chic bistro in Bellevue, but I think you’ll like it. Let’s eat.”

Milo lifted my hand and kissed it. “Where were you in 1972 when I met Mulehide?”

My smile felt ironic. “On the Mississippi Delta with Ben, bearing my illegitimate son. Where were
you
nine months before that happened?”

The first call I received Monday morning was from Rosemary Bourgette, asking me to come to the courthouse. I knew the reason from the tone of her voice. Luckily, Vida was on the phone when I went through the newsroom. I told Amanda where I was heading but asked her not to let Vida know. Our office manager instinctively understood.

The courthouse—which is also city hall—is a block beyond the sheriff’s headquarters on the opposite side of the street. The original had been a small wooden two-story building on the same site but was moved in 1933 to a vacant lot on the corner of Front Street and Alpine Way. The Great Depression had caused construction to grind to a series of halts. Completion of the new building with its brick facade and dome hadn’t taken place until 1939. Seventy-five years later, the courthouse was still the most imposing edifice in town, though the harsh winters had dulled the red bricks to a dun brown and earthquakes had shaken the dome, so it listed slightly to the west.

Rosemary’s office was on the second floor. I smiled, nodded, and greeted a half-dozen people who were gathered in the rotunda. At least that’s what Fuzzy Baugh called it, though technically the building itself is not round. His point of reference was the old Louisiana State Capitol in Baton Rouge, with its neo-Gothic architecture and many turrets. The mayor was practically beside himself with joy when I told him that Ben and I had visited the historic edifice while I was staying on the Delta. I didn’t tell him that we thought the revivalist architecture was right up there with Mad Ludwig’s Castle in Bavaria.

Rosemary’s office is larger than mine, but the furnishings date back over half a century. I sat down in a wooden chair that Clarence Darrow might have offered his clients. She didn’t bother with chitchat.

“Holly gets out today,” she said, her pretty face disgusted. “Is it my fault for not presenting a solid case against her?”

Her tone seemed rhetorical, so I didn’t answer directly. “Milo knew from the start she could plead self-defense.”

Rosemary flipped a strand of dark brown hair behind one ear. “I know Vida will be upset, but if only she’d made a better witness … Yes, I understand the situation inside that trailer was chaotic. Esther Brant’s a tiger. I wish she hadn’t taken on Holly’s case
pro bono, but she’s well-known for siding with poor—and stupid—women. A real crusader when she’s not hauling in big bucks with her Everett practice. Esther’s the only person I know who could rattle Vida.”

“She was confused,” I said. “She told me right after it happened that she couldn’t be sure what actually went on in just a few seconds.”

Rosemary nodded. “Even Vida can be traumatized, especially when she’d just realized Roger was no angel. Holly will try to get her kids back. The two older ones are in Sultan in foster care.” She pushed a sheet of paper across her desk. “This is my formal statement.”

“Do you want editorial comment?”

Rosemary smiled, erasing her uncharacteristic gloom. “Only if you see something egregious. I have to stick to the basic legalities while making it understandable to the public.”

I scanned the three grafs and made two minor suggestions, which she accepted. “Is this your version of a press conference?”

“Right. I know the paper won’t come out until Wednesday, but I have to do it now or I’ll be in dereliction of my duties. As a favor to a fellow Catholic, I won’t alert Spencer Fleetwood until this afternoon. I held back until today because I didn’t want to ruin Vida’s weekend.”

“That’s kind of you,” I said. “When will Holly show up in town?”

“Maybe tomorrow.” She glanced at her daily planner. “Today is her official release date, but there’s a lot of paperwork involved at her end. I understand the trailer’s vacant, though I don’t know if she’s paid the monthly fees since she went to jail in Everett.”

“That wouldn’t stop her if nobody else is using it,” I said.

“Probably not,” Rosemary agreed, “but to get her children back, Holly will have to prove she has a stable home situation.
That could take some time unless she’s already made arrangements.”

I nodded as I stood up. “Now I get to be the bearer of bad news. Maybe I’ll take Vida to lunch.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that was a bad idea. A public venue was no place to discuss such a volatile matter. “No—I’ve got leftover lasagna at home. I always make too much, even for the sheriff.”

Rosemary had also gotten to her feet. “Speaking of Dodge, what’s going on with Eriks’s death?”

“You may think this sounds crazy, but I don’t know.”

Rosemary smiled halfheartedly. “Cookie Eriks is my next appointment. She wants to have the funeral on Wednesday.”

“She needs a lawyer to help her make the arrangements?”

“No.” She grimaced. “It’s a different matter. I can’t say, of course.”

“Just like Milo,” I murmured, and took my leave.

It had started to rain again when I met Mitch coming out of the sheriff’s headquarters. “Dodge is in a bad mood,” he said. “Sam Heppner thinks it’s because he’s frustrated over the PUD guy’s death.”

“He probably is,” I responded, wondering if Mitch would ever figure out the relationship between Milo and me. “No leads, no witnesses?”

“Heppner says nobody’s come forward as a witness,” Mitch replied as we ducked around rain dripping from the canopy over the entrance to Parker’s Pharmacy. “If they have any leads, they aren’t telling. They’re going to interview RestHaven staff and residents in the area today.”

“Not many home owners have a good view of the accident site. Anything of interest in the log?” I asked, passing the hobby shop.