The Alpine Xanadu (2 page)

“Right.” I realized my reporter looked puzzled. His absence from Alpine seemed to have left him out of the loop when it came to my relationship with Milo. This didn’t seem like the right time to enlighten Mitch. “There are so many people with emotional problems,” I said. “Your wife has had her share and that’s hard on you. Maybe we should all be in RestHaven’s psych unit.”

Mitch hung his head. “Maybe so.” He shrugged and walked away.

I was considering going to the hospital to check on Tanya when the phone rang. It was the city librarian, Edna Mae Dalrymple. “Emma, dear,” she twittered in her chickadee-like voice, “I must
congratulate you on standing up to Dixie Ridley last Thursday about the attempt to suppress
Tom Sawyer
from the high school curriculum. I meant to call you sooner, but I’ve been so busy. Did you write that editorial about it?”

“I did, but naming no names,” I said. “You’ll see it when the paper comes out today. I reminded readers that Samuel Clemens was related to Carl Clemans, despite the difference in the spelling of their last names.”

“Oh, excellent! No one in Alpine will dare criticize the original mill owner or his kin. He’s a legend here for being fair and generous. Dixie, as a football coach’s wife, should be the last one to quibble. You should hear how some of those players talk on the sidelines!”

“Shocking, I’m sure,” I said, wanting to get off the phone.

“If you think that’s shocking,” Edna Mae rattled on, though she’d lowered her voice, “have you heard about the pornography that was found in two of the basketball players’ lockers?”

“No. When did that happen?”

“Over the weekend when they played Granite Falls. Oh, dear—I shouldn’t tell tales.”

I made a note. “I don’t suppose you know any specifics?”

“I wouldn’t want to know,” Edna Mae asserted.

“Of course not,” I said. “Thanks for the heads-up, though.”

“You’re not putting it in the paper, are you?”

I hedged my bets. “The paper’s printed. Got to go. Thanks again.”

I put on my jacket and grabbed my purse, but stopped at Mitch’s desk to relay Edna Mae’s porn rumor. “Check with Principal Freeman. He’ll probably stonewall you, but you can deal with that. Keep track of Blackwell’s latest attention-getting stunt. I’ve got to run an errand.”

Vida was on the phone, looking vexed. She stared at me as I rushed past her. Behind the reception desk, Amanda Hanson’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her pert face alarmed.

“Family emergency,” I said, half stumbling out the front door.

The rain was a mere drizzle, so I walked the two blocks uphill to the hospital. My response to Amanda had come unbidden. Tanya wasn’t family—not yet. But she would be when Milo and I got married.
If
we ever got married, I thought dismally. The new year had not treated us kindly. Not only had we narrowly escaped death, but trying to blow up a county sheriff and a newspaper publisher made regional news. We’d been pestered by the media, which had asked for everything from personal interviews to the possibility of a made-for-TV movie. Neither of us wanted our private lives invaded. We’d hunkered down in my snug little log cabin as much as our jobs would allow. Between KSKY’s Spencer Fleetwood and my own media contacts, we’d discouraged most of the snoops without Milo resorting to the strong-arm tactics he swore he’d use if needed. I’d cringed at the thought of the sheriff decking a big-shot Seattle TV reporter or one of my former
Oregonian
colleagues.

Mavis hadn’t a clue about Skykomish County’s sheriff, I thought as I waited for a Public Utility District truck to go by at Pine Street. Behind that often laconic exterior, a volcanic personality lurked in his imposing six-foot-five-inch frame. My only regret was that it had taken me fifteen years to realize how much I loved him. Mavis was right on one count—I’d been bat-blind when it came to men. Milo had finally woken me up, though I was no Sleeping Beauty and he wasn’t Prince Charming. The words “Milo” and “charm” in the same sentence would have to include “not even close.”

I was panting with exertion by the time I reached the hospital. Jenny Bjornson sat behind the front desk. She and I had a bit of a history, but her father worked for Milo part-time as a handyman.

“Ms. Lord!” she cried. “Are you here about the sheriff’s daughter?”

Unable to catch my breath, I nodded and leaned on the desk.

“She’s still in the ER,” Jenny said, apparently not holding a grudge. “They got here about an hour ago.”

I took a deep breath. “Where’s the sheriff?”

Jenny made a face. “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him.”

Milo couldn’t be in the ER. Maybe he was outside smoking.

“Which doctor is on duty?” I asked. We only had two in Alpine.

“Dr. Sung,” Jenny replied. “He pulled night duty and was just leaving when the sheriff arrived. I think Doc Dewey is over at the clinic.”

“I’ll check in at the ER nurses’ station,” I said.

I’d gone into the corridor when I saw Milo exit the pharmacy.

“Emma!” he exclaimed, sounding relieved.

I ran toward him and fell into his arms. “What’s happening?”

He didn’t answer right away, but held me tight. I could feel his heartbeat close to my ear. “She’ll be fine, the dumb shit.”

I craned my neck to look up at him. “Where can we talk?”

“Maybe we could find an empty bed.”

I giggled, but Milo had already let go of me. “Let’s try the waiting room. It’s quiet around here. It may be empty.”

The sheriff was right. We sat down on a well-worn faux leather settee. “Screw it,” he said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“Yes, but there’s no ashtray.”

“Use the rug. It’s beat up, like everything else in SkyCo. The hospital’s as desperate for money as my operation is.” He lit the cigarettes and handed one to me. “Tanya seemed better, except for the nightmares. I was leaving for work and didn’t know she was in the can. When I opened the door, she was shoving pills in her mouth. I grabbed her, saw she had more in her hand, and tried to shake out the ones in her mouth. The bottle was empty. I didn’t know she was taking the stuff.”

“What did you do then?” I asked as he took a drag on his cigarette.

“I hustled her into the SUV and hauled her ass over here. She was loopy and couldn’t make sense. I knew about the Valium but
not the Celexa. The pharmacist here says it’s for depression.” He sighed. “She’ll be okay, but Sung’s keeping her overnight. Can I come home?”

I saw the wistful look in his hazel eyes. “Oh, please do,” I said, leaning against him. “I’ve missed you so much, it hurts.”

He put his arm around me and kissed my forehead. “Tell me about it. When you stop by the office, I want to grab you and … damn it, Emma, this is a hell of a start to our life together. We’re starting it apart.”

“Except for having you and Tanya to dinner, I’ve hardly seen you.” I ran my finger down his cheek. “Did something set Tanya off?”

He shrugged. “She saw an old pal last night, Kristy Olsen. She seemed okay when she got back, but we didn’t talk much.”

“Have you told Tricia?”

Milo winced. “No. Mulehide will say it’s my fault. If a cloud of locusts invaded, my ex would blame me for that, too.”

“Can I do anything?”

Milo looked as if I’d missed “c-a-t” in a spelling bee. “Are you nuts?”

“I mean other than that. What do you want for dinner?”

“I’ve been eating pretty well. Tanya’s a better cook than her mother. Is crab in now?”

“I’ll check.” I took a last drag on my cigarette just as Milo finished his. “I’ll dump the butts. I haven’t smoked since you were living with me.”

The sheriff stood up. “I don’t smoke much around Tanya. She disapproves. She’d rather do heavy-duty drugs.”

I was also on my feet. “What are you going to do now?”

“Check to see if they found a room for Tanya. Then I’ll head to the office. I’d kiss you, but I might not be able to stop. I’ll wait until tonight.”

I smiled a bit weakly. “That’s fine. See you then.”

Milo mussed my hair. “Go away. I have to stay focused on Tanya.”

I was still smiling as I headed for the women’s restroom. And realized I hadn’t smiled much at all in the last two weeks.

Vida was agog. “My nephew Billy told me Tanya overdosed.”

I plopped into her visitor’s chair. My ad manager, Leo Walsh, looked up but kept quiet. “You were on the phone when I left,” I said. “Why didn’t you grill Mitch? He told me what happened.”

Vida frowned. “My phone kept ringing. I’ve no idea why my fellow Presbyterians think I can resolve our problems. That’s for the elders. Mitch left before I could ask him. I had to call Billy on a family matter.”

My evil self hoped that Roger had been arrested—again. But I shoved the thought aside and related what I knew about Tanya to Vida, Leo, and Kip, my back-shop tech wizard. I suspected that Amanda, our replacement for the dithering Ginny Erlandson, was practically falling out of the receptionist’s chair to eavesdrop.

“Kids,” Leo remarked. “They never stop needing parents, do they?”

Vida shot him a sharp glance. “Are you reconsidering your retirement and a move to California?”

Leo shrank back in his chair as if he expected Vida to pounce on him. “Hey, Duchess,” he said, using the nickname she claimed to hate, “I don’t know if Liza wants me back in the fold. She’s leaning that way since she dumped the guy who filled in for me while I stepped out of the house for the past sixteen years.”

Vida stiffened in her chair. “Another divorce?”

Leo sighed. “I didn’t know until I went down to Santa Maria on Thanksgiving that they were never married. After we divorced years ago, she told me they’d tied the knot. But Liza’s a good Catholic girl and she wanted to keep up appearances of a legal union.”

“Oh, how ridiculous!” Vida exclaimed. “Some Catholics,” she went on, darting a look at me, “don’t care what people think.”

The conversation was going downhill fast. I stood up, shrugging out of my jacket. “Did Bill mention Blackwell’s latest allegations?”

“No,” Vida admitted. “But if someone wants to kill him, it’s Patti Marsh. I can’t believe they parted after so many years of … doing whatever they did together. There must be another woman. Jack was her meal ticket. They’re no spring chickens. Milo probably hopes someone will shoot Blackwell. They’ve never gotten along.”

“That’s Jack’s fault,” I said, edging toward my office. “Back when the sheriff was elected, Jack ran against Milo because he didn’t like the way the murder investigation of Patti’s former son-in-law was being handled. He got his rear end kicked at the ballot box.”

“It goes further than that,” Vida declared. “Those two have gone head-to-head since Milo got back from Vietnam.”

I stopped backpedaling. “How so?”

Vida lifted her chin. “If Milo hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to talk about it. You know I don’t gossip.”

And beavers don’t build dams on Goblin Creek
, I thought. Vida’s attitude on this gloomy Wednesday was beginning to annoy me. All I needed was Amanda rushing off to throw up—again. Now that she was past the first trimester of pregnancy, I hoped that problem would go away.

“Maybe,” Kip said, finally breaking his silence, “Blackwell thinks Ed’s after him. Didn’t he want to get appointed to Alfred Cobb’s county commissioner’s post instead of Jack?”

Vida waved a hand in disgust. “Oh, there was never any chance Ed would get that job. I thought they’d let Alfred’s son stay on. He’d been doing most of his father’s work after Alfred became gaga. I suppose Myron didn’t want the responsibility. He’s in his seventies, you know.”

Leo grinned. “Ed’s too lazy to go after anything but McDonald’s takeout. I shouldn’t bad-mouth him. He makes me look good.”

“You are good,” I said. “Ed was bad. The first couple of years I thought we’d go broke. We still can, in this current toxic economy.” On that dismal note, I retreated to my office.

By noon I’d set up appointments with RestHaven’s chief of staff, Dr. Woo, and short-term care’s Jennifer Hood. I could’ve let Mitch handle the interviews, but I felt I needed to show my face. I’d already confirmed dates with the rehab unit’s Iain Farrell and Rosalie Reed, who was in charge of psych patients. Our special edition was shaping up.

I asked Vida if she wanted to eat at the Venison Inn, but she was skipping lunch. “Buck gave me a lovely box of Russell Stover chocolates for Valentine’s Day,” she explained, referring to her longtime companion, who had recently moved from Startup to a condo at Pines Villa. “I can’t resist them, which means I have to watch what I eat for a while.”

I accepted the excuse, though Vida’s weight never seemed to vary no matter what she ate. My Valentine’s Day had been passed alone, though Milo did call to tell me Tanya had plugged up the kitchen sink.

Having been rejected by Vida, I realized that I should go home and change. My caramel slacks and crimson sweater weren’t appropriate for Delia Rafferty’s funeral. I could forage for food in my fridge.

While I ate a ham sandwich, I started a letter to Mavis on my laptop. “Glad you liked the vase,” I typed. “Sorry about Ray. Hope His Royal Grumpiness is improving.” I stopped to munch on a carrot stick and think of a tactful way to tell Mavis she was off base. But my mind was blank. After three false starts, I headed to the funeral. Scandinavians and other northern Europeans have historically dominated Skykomish County, so there’d be a big turnout. The Lutherans
also ran the retirement and nursing home in the same block between Cedar and Cascade Streets. Seating would be at a premium. Vida would no doubt manage to get up front, but if the service ran long, I preferred to make a quick escape and go back to the office.

My concession to funeral attire was forest-green slacks and a matching sweater. My new Donna Karan winter jacket was black, and Francine Wells of Francine’s Fine Apparel had told me it was a real steal at her post-holiday sale. Noting that the price was still three hundred bucks, I asked her if I could steal it. She said no, but she said it nicely.

Parking was already scarce, though I found a spot not far from the lot’s entrance. It was still raining, the clouds so low that I couldn’t see more than fifty feet up the side of Mount Baldy. Avoiding the puddles that had accumulated, I entered the church, which was already two-thirds full. I couldn’t spot Vida, so I sat in the third row from the back.