The Alpine Xanadu (3 page)

That was a mistake. I hadn’t taken into account the Wailers’ arrival five minutes later. They sat down in the last row almost directly behind me. The trio of black-clad women never missed a funeral—unless it was at St. Mildred’s or Trinity Episcopal. In acts of Christian charity for the sake of their mourners, Father Dennis Kelly and the Very Reverend Regis Bartleby had banned the Wailers. They wailed, keened, groaned, and moaned at what apparently constituted the saddest moments of any service. Most Alpiners were able to ignore them. I didn’t know how to do that, still finding them disruptive.

But I was stuck. At least I’d managed to edge over to the far end of the pew. Meanwhile, I focused on the Rafferty family members who obviously weren’t going to sit in the more private mourning area. I’d come mainly for Delia’s daughter, Beth, who was the daytime SkyCo 911 operator. When Beth’s brother, Tim, had been killed, we’d formed a tentative friendship. Beth was accompanied by a man I didn’t recognize, but I assumed he was Keith Jacobson,
the recently hired Nyquist Construction foreman. I’d heard they’d been dating since November. I was glad for Beth. An early marriage had ended badly. She needed someone in her life after losing her brother and now her mother.

Tim’s widow, Tiffany, was another matter. She’d been pregnant at the time and so self-absorbed with her unborn child that I’d lost sympathy for her. She walked down the aisle between her parents, Wayne and Cookie Eriks. Cookie was rather vapid. Wayne wasn’t one of my favorite people. He’d made a pass at me once and had problems with the word “no.” Milo had fingered him as the prime suspect in his son-in-law’s murder, but I’d never gotten the sheriff to admit if he’d collared Wayne on the basis of evidence—and there was some—or because the lecher had hit on me.

I was so fixated on Wayne that at first I didn’t notice the tall, saturnine man who was following the Eriks family. It was Jack Blackwell, who sat down with the rest of Delia’s kinfolk. I was puzzled, unaware of a connection between Black Jack and the Rafferty or Eriks clan.

My rubbernecking allowed me to catch Vida moving into the second row. I hadn’t seen her come in. Maybe she’d entered through a rear door—or had descended from the ceiling like a prophet in the Bible.

Pastor Nielsen conducted a dignified service. I drifted, only being jerked back into attention when the Wailers wailed or otherwise made some ungodly noise. Near what I hoped was the ceremony’s conclusion, I noticed Milo standing across the way at the back. I decided that was my cue for making an exit.

The sheriff noticed my departure. By the time I got out into the vestibule, he was waiting for me. He didn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, craning my neck to stare up at him. The more-than-a-foot difference in height between us always made me feel as if he were looming over me.

He glanced around to make sure nobody was lurking in the alcoves
or on the stairway. “Mulehide. She’s driving up here later this afternoon. Did you buy the crab already?”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t had time. Can you come later?”

His big hands clutched at his regulation hat as if he wanted to rip it to shreds. “No. She’s staying at the house. Linda Grant hasn’t got any heat. Her furnace went out last night.”

Linda was the high school P.E. teacher and an old chum of Tricia’s. The last time Milo’s ex had come to town, she’d spent the night with Linda. “Oh, damn! Can’t you …” I stopped. “No, you can’t leave her there by herself. She’s probably worried sick.”

Milo looked as disappointed as I felt. “Maybe she’ll take Tanya back to Bellevue. If I walked out on Mulehide, it would only give her an excuse to make me miserable. She already figures I’m responsible for every one of our kids’ problems, including chicken pox. Hell, I was lucky to see them once a month after she took off. I’ll never know what godawful bullshit she told them about me and why she left.…” He winced as the Wailers let out an earsplitting cry like a dying elephant. “Jesus,” he said under his breath, “can’t I arrest those old bats for breaking an anti-noise statute?”

“Do we have one? Do you want them wailing away in the jail?”

“God, no. I’d ship them to Everett.”

We turned as Al Driggers, the funeral director, opened the double doors. I could hear the organ playing. Apparently the funeral was over.

“Hello, Sheriff. Hello, Emma,” Al said in his suitably mournful voice. “You can go downstairs to the reception hall now.”

“I stopped in for Beth,” Milo said. “I have to get back to work.”

I told Al I had to do the same. Milo steered me outside. “I’m blocking the exit, so I’d better go.” He gave me a quick squeeze. “Later.”

I watched him head for the Yukon SUV. I headed for my Honda. I knew life wasn’t fair, but that didn’t make me feel better. I’d never met Tricia. I trusted Milo, but the idea of him spending the night
under the same roof with his ex irked me. My perverse nature goading me, I purposely stepped in a big puddle. Now I could bitch about ruining my good black shoes along with everything else that had gone wrong lately.

Amanda greeted me with a friendly smile. “I didn’t think you’d get back so soon. Mayor Baugh wants to meet with you Friday morning.”

“Why doesn’t the old coot just wander in the way he always does?”

“He said this was official business.” Amanda shrugged. “Don’t ask me. He sounded very formal. He forgot to use his Louisiana accent. Is he really from down there in the Bayou?”

“Yes,” I said, wiggling my toes inside my damp shoes. “The Baughs moved here thirty years ago. Their son married a girl whose family owned a dairy farm by Monroe. The senior Baughs moved nearby, but later, he and Irene split up. The farm was sold and his son’s family moved to Edmonds. After Fuzzy and Irene reconciled, they came here and he ended up as mayor.”

“He must be eighty. Does he
do
anything as mayor?”

“It’s mostly ceremonial.” I removed my jacket. “He does have a rare brainstorm. Eleven is okay. If he’s too windy, I’ll say I have a lunch date.”

“Will do,” Amanda said, making a note. “How was the funeral?”

“Fine, except for the Wailers. And before you ask, I still haven’t heard from Ginny. I sense she isn’t coming back. With three kids, she’s got her hands full. Maybe she should stay home and play mommy. I’m just glad you were freed up from your holiday duty at the post office.”

“So am I,” Amanda said. “With Roy still recovering from going off his rocker over his missing mama, it was more chaotic than usual. I hear he’s doing better. Doc Dewey prescribed some meds that work for him.”

The saga of Roy’s mother, Myrtle Everson, had gone on for sixteen years after she disappeared without a trace. Every time anybody found some bones, Roy and the rest of the family would get them tested to see if they belonged to Myrtle. I had my own theory about what had happened to her, but there’d been no opportunity to prove or disprove it. Roy’s obsession with Mama had landed him in the hospital after Christmas.

“Maybe,” I said, “when you have your baby in July, Ginny can fill in for you. Unless you think you’ll want to be a stay-at-home mom, too.”

Amanda turned serious. “Walt and I’ve talked about that. Over the years when I worked part-time, I’d get antsy.” She offered me a quirky smile. “But a baby takes up a lot of time and I hope I’ve changed for the better. You know my pathetic history.” The smile broadened. “I can’t believe I actually considered taking up with Jack Blackwell back then.”

I’d forgotten about their near fling. “Funny you should mention him,” I said. “He was at the funeral with Beth and the Eriks gang.”

Amanda looked sly. “I hear he’s been seeing Tiffany since he broke up with Patti Marsh. Can you believe it? He must be almost sixty!”

“True,” I said. “But Tiffany’s not as young as she looks. I figure her for mid-thirties. That’s still a huge age difference. But Tiff may be looking for a sugar daddy. She didn’t do very well as a wife.”

Amanda turned somber. “I didn’t do so well for a while, either.”

I smiled. “You rectified that situation. Skip the regrets.”

Her own smile came more slowly. “The baby did that.” She paused, and her smile grew brighter. “There wouldn’t be a baby on the way if Walt and I hadn’t decided to grow up before we had kids. Playing the blame game on each other for not having a child almost ruined our marriage.”

I nodded. “That’s what grown-ups do—they move on. Then you got lucky—and pregnant.”

I left Amanda with a smile on her face. For the next half hour I went over the backgrounds of RestHaven’s staff. Shortly before three, Mitch asked if I’d checked his latest installment on the new facility. I told him I had, and only some minor tweaking had been necessary.

“Good,” he said. “But I’d like to know how Fleetwood scoops us on some of the RestHaven news. I had the radio on when I went to the ranger station to get the trail openings schedule. KSKY’s on-air guy said Dr. Woo eventually plans to add another unit for Alzheimer patients. How do we keep getting beat on that stuff?”

This was at least the fifth time Spence had broken a RestHaven item first. “I’ve no idea. Verify it and we’ll put it on the website.”

“I did,” Mitch replied. “Kip’s putting it up now. But damn, it’s annoying. There’s a leak somewhere. Have you asked Spence about it?”

“No. He wouldn’t tell me. We share some ad revenue, but not news sources.” Seeing Vida stomping through the newsroom, I gestured at Mitch. “Stand back. Our House & Home editor looks fit to spit.”

“I cannot believe what ninnies those Eriks people are!” she exclaimed, almost elbowing Mitch out of the way. “Dot Parker told me Tiffany’s moving in with Jack Blackwell! Doesn’t that beat all?”

“Amanda said—” I began, but Vida hadn’t run out of steam.

“She’s going to be his housekeeper and is quitting at the Grocery Basket,” Vida continued. “Dot and Durwood are beside themselves.”

The Parkers were Tiffany’s grandparents. Cookie Eriks was their younger daughter. Her older sister, known as La-La, lived in Bremerton. Scandal had never tainted the Parker name except for Durwood’s record as the worst driver in SkyCo. His reputation as the longtime owner of the local pharmacy was unsullied.

Mitch looked skeptical. “Isn’t Blackwell older than I am?”

Vida removed her swing coat as if she were a champion boxer
about to take on a contender. “He is. It almost makes me feel sorry for Patti Marsh, but her vices are too numerous.” Her gray eyes turned to me. “You say Amanda knew about this outrage? Why didn’t she tell
me
?”

“Because,” I said, trying to sound reasonable, “she probably didn’t think it was suitable for your ‘Scene Around Town’ gossip snippets.”

“It’s not, but Amanda should have mentioned it anyway.”

“I only found out when I got back from the funeral,” I said.

“Dot confirms it,” Vida declared. “I wouldn’t blame the Parkers for trying to kill him. Maybe Milo should let Durwood renew his license.”

Mitch’s phone was ringing. “Excuse me, Vida. I’d better answer that. Detroit was never like this.” His long stride took him to his desk before the call trunked back to Amanda.

The afternoon passed quickly. I didn’t answer Mavis’s letter, but I had an insight. Vida’s weekly radio program,
Vida’s Cupboard
, was the jewel in KSKY’s crown. The chatty fifteen-minute show featured Alpiners’ hobbies, travels, and other homely subjects. SkyCo listeners stayed glued to the radio. It was all Alpine, all the time. Thus she was Spence’s star performer, with advertisers begging to buy commercials in her time slot.

“I’ve got a question,” I said, sitting in Vida’s visitor’s chair. “Have you noticed that Spence is getting the jump on us with RestHaven?”

She frowned. “Not really. But I rarely handle straight news. Perhaps Spencer’s been keeping closer tabs on what’s happening there.”

Mitch looked up from his keyboard. “Fleetwood couldn’t ferret out any more items than I do unless he checked himself in to the facility.”

Vida refused to look chastened. “Spencer only covers major stories
for his news broadcasts. Perhaps he’s able to dig deeper than we can.”

“Whoa,” Leo said, entering the newsroom. “Are we damning the competition? I just got a co-op deal with KSKY for two more businesses.”

“Hooray for you,” I said. “It’s the news side we’re discussing. Spence seems to get a lot more out of RestHaven than we do.”

Leo removed his rumpled raincoat and hung it on his chair. “Maybe that’s because he’s doing a live broadcast at Saturday’s open house. He’s hosting the chief of staff after your show, Duchess. You’re the lead-in. Doesn’t that make you feel grand?”

“Well …” Vida’s effort to look modest failed. “I’m sure Dr. Woo will keep listeners tuned in. My nephew Ross Blatt says he’s very intelligent.”

Ross was one of Vida’s many relatives, the son of Wingfield Blatt and his wife whose name was May or June or April. Wingy and Pick-Your-Month had died by the time I arrived in Alpine.

“Say,” I said to Vida, “Ross has been working at RestHaven. How come he hasn’t given you any tips about what’s going on there?”

Vida scowled. “Ross’s company, Alpine Service & Repair, is a subcontractor. If Ross heard anything, don’t you think I’d know about it?”

“Yes.” I stood up. “I guess we’re stuck with Spence beating us.”

“It’s galling to get scooped,” Mitch said.

“I do hate not knowing things,” Vida declared.

Leo chuckled. “It’s not as if RestHaven will make big headlines.”

“True,” I admitted.

Before our next deadline, we’d discover I was wrong—dead wrong.

I
SPENT THE EVENING ALONE, WITHOUT EVEN A PHONE CALL FROM
Milo. I was only vaguely miffed, knowing that he was coping with both Tanya and Tricia. But I missed him. We’d had less than three weeks living together in my little log cabin, and half the time we’d been so worn out from our own ordeal that by evening we were dead tired.

Milo hadn’t had time to assemble the new king-sized bed I’d bought during the January sale from Lloyd Campbell’s store. It had been delivered the day before Tanya arrived at his house in the Icicle Creek development. The standard-sized bed I’d bought thirty years ago in Portland wasn’t big enough to accommodate the sheriff. Even when we were a couple almost ten years ago, Milo didn’t stay over that often and neither of us ever complained. But now it was different. He’d be living here all of the time—if he could ever lose his ex and their daughter.