The Alpine Menace (3 page)

She regarded me with wide blue eyes. “It's disposable.”

“Not by fire. Where's the diaper pail?”

“The cats got in it. I took it outside.”

That didn't make much sense, but I didn't ask for an explanation. Danny went on bouncing.

“Do cats really suck the breath?” Amber asked, her expression now worried.

“What?”

“You know—I heard they smell the milk on a baby's breath and then they try to get at it by sucking the breath out of the baby and killing him.”

“I don't think that's true,” I replied as Danny seemed to rise on my knee and began emitting unpleasant odors. “I think your son needs changing.”

“Go ahead,” Amber said blithely. “I trust you.”

I was saved by the bell, which rang on my phone. Wedging Danny between my hip and the back of the sofa, I turned to grab the receiver.

“Hi, Emma,” said a vaguely familiar voice. “It's me. Your cousin Ronnie.”

Great. Why not the Green River Killer, asking me out for drinks?

“They let me call you, 'cause you're my next of kin.”

Great. Really, really great. “What's happened?” I felt compelled to ask.

“I remembered where I was when Carol got killed.”

Great, great, great. “Good,” I said. “Did you tell your attorney?”

“Yeah, and he said you should come down as soon as you can to help me out. See, he needs a witness.”

“A witness to… what?” Danny was trying to escape. Rheims and Rouen had finished dinner and were sitting at my feet. Amber was studying each toy in turn before she put it away in a big plastic basket.

“To where I was,” Ronnie replied, sounding as if I were the one being unreasonable.

“You mean… I'm supposed to find this witness?”

“Right. You got it. When can you get here?”

Never? “I don't know, Ronnie. Tomorrow is our deadline for the Wednesday edition. This is Holy Week, and I sort of lie low…” I stopped. Ronnie probably didn't know Holy Week from Hell Week. “Really, I've no—”

Ronnie was laughing. “My dance card's open. How about Friday? Hey, got to go.” His voice suddenly grew strained. “There's a very big, very… nice dude who wants to use the phone. See you soon.”

I picked up Danny just before he squirmed off the sofa. I held him at arm's length. I wished I could keep my cousin much farther away.

S
HERIFF
M
ILO
D
ODGE
was in love, and it galled me. On this mild Tuesday morning in April, his smile was as bright as the daffodils that bloomed in the concrete planters along Front Street. There was spring in the air and spring in his step. I wanted to avoid him, but I couldn't.

“Emma!” he called, arms outstretched even though he knew damned well I wouldn't hug him. “What's new?”

“Whatever it is, you'll read all about it in tomorrow's
Advocate
,” I responded, hoping I didn't sound as sour as I felt.

“I hear Dean Ramsey's finally found a house,” the sheriff said, hands now stuffed in the pockets of his regulation jacket. “He made an offer on the McNamara place across the street from me. The McNamaras are moving to Tacoma.”

I barely knew the McNamaras, who hadn't stayed long in Alpine, but the news was too good to be true. “Are you sure? Amber hasn't said anything about it.”

“I just heard it this morning, before I went to work.” Milo was looking over my head, apparently drinking in the soft April air and loving life. “Man, it feels like spring, doesn't it?” He actually sniffed.

“It feels like rain,” I said, resorting to my usual perverse-ness. It's the seventh of April. Unpredictable weather. Thunder-and-lightning weather. Earthquake weather.”

Milo chuckled and regarded me with his hazel eyes. “You don't seem very cheerful this morning. How come?”

Dense. The man wasn't stupid, but he sure was dense. Had it occurred to him that since he'd found a new love, I might feel at least a little irked by his uncharacteristically buoyant mood? I had been the one to call a halt to our relationship, hoping we could still be friends. It hadn't worked, not until Milo fell head over heels for Jeannie Clay, Dr. Starr's dental assistant. Maybe I would've been happier for him if Jeannie hadn't been young enough to be his daughter.

“I'm not very cheerful,” I admitted, waving at a couple of fellow parishioners from St. Mildred's as they honked and passed on by. I glanced at the courthouse clock down the street. It was almost noon. “You want to eat?”

Milo shook his head. “I can't.” Something close to regret passed across his long, homely face. “I've got to meet Jeannie at Harvey's Hardware. She wants to show me the new ten-speed she's looking at.”

And a Barbie doll and a Muffy VanderBear, I thought nastily. My reaction was not only mean, but unfair. Jeannie Clay was a very nice young woman, probably not that far from thirty. The trouble was, I wasn't that far from fifty.

“Then I'll catch you later,” I said, starting to turn away.

Milo put out a big hand. “Emma—are you pissed?”

“No,” I lied. “Why should I be? After we broke up, I always hoped you'd find somebody else.” But not a bouncy blond with a twenty-four-inch waist who could be my daughter.

“Good,” Milo said, taking the easy, masculine way out. “One of these days, we'll have lunch or drinks, okay?”

“Sure.” I forced a smile. “Next week, maybe. After Easter.”

The sheriff's lighthearted mood was restored. I crossed the street, headed for the Burger Barn. Carla Steinmetz Talliaferro was coming from the opposite direction, wheeling her four-month-old son, Omar, in a dark blue pram that looked as if it should have had an English nanny at the helm.

I greeted my ex-reporter with a warmth I hadn't always felt when she was working for me. Carla had been diligent, but disorganized and not always accurate. In fact, she had been a bit of a ditz. Now, as a wife and mother as well as the adviser to the student newspaper at the community college, she seemed to have acquired some sense of maturity. Or at least some sense, as Vida would say.

“Omar's crabby today,” she announced, the April breeze blowing her long black hair around her shoulders. “I think he's getting his first tooth.”

I looked down at Omar Talliaferro, who was as dark as Danny Ramsey was fair. “He seems happy now,” I noted.

“That's because I'm wheeling him all over town,” Carla said with a martyred air. “He likes to be driven in the car, too. Ryan and I are afraid he's getting spoiled.”

“That happens,” I said, recalling how I'd doted on Adam, some twenty-six years earlier. Unlike Omar, Adam hadn't had a father in the vicinity. I felt I had to make it up to him because Tom Cavanaugh was still married to his neurotic wife, Sandra. “Are you and Ryan and the baby still coming for Easter dinner at my house?”

Carla's hand flew to her cheek. “Gosh! I forgot to tell you, Emma. We can't. Ryan's folks are driving over from Spokane. They can't get enough of Omar.”

“That's okay, Carla. Leo and Vida will be there. Scott's having dinner with Kip,” I said, referring to Kip Mac-Duff, who kept our plant operations running smoothly.

“I think Kip has a young lady he wants to introduce to Scott.”

“One of Kip's castoffs?” Carla said skeptically. “Scott's an incredible hunk. He can do better than that.”

I agreed. Scott might not be able to tell time, but his good looks and writing ability were a welcome addition to the newsroom. I parted with Carla and little Omar, heading for the Burger Barn. In recent months, babies seemed to be a new part of my life. It was a bittersweet thought. Adam was in St. Paul, studying to be a priest. My dreams of becoming a grandmother were dead. Maybe that was just as well. Having Danny Ramsey around the house had undermined my maternal longings.

The rest of the day was hectic, as Tuesdays always were. We sent the paper to Kip in the back shop at five-ten. As usual, Scott was late with his front-page story, which called for a special election in June on the location of the new bridge over the Skykomish River. The original choice had been at the east end of town, near Icicle Creek, but after the college was built, there'd been a push to move the site to the west end, by Burl Creek and the campus. The county commissioners had dithered so long that unless the citizenry acted, the bridge wouldn't be needed because we'd all be whizzing around in space capsules.

That night, I asked Amber—who had exerted some effort at housework—if she knew that her father had made an offer on the McNamara house. She was vague about it, adding that she'd probably hear more when she accompanied Dean to Salem for the Easter weekend.

Wednesday was always our brief lull, which was broken after
The Advocate
hit the streets and the mailboxes. The phone calls would start after three-thirty, when our readership had had time to digest my editorials and call in to tell me that I was a two-headed Nazi/Communist/atheist/ pope-kissing moron.

Around nine-thirty that evening, after returning from Holy Thursday liturgy at St. Mildred's, I was planning my Easter menu when the phone rang. I froze, wondering if Ronnie Mallett was on my trail again. Then, with a sigh of resignation, I picked up the receiver.

It was Leo Walsh, sending his regrets for Sunday. “I'm leaving for Seattle in just a few minutes,” he explained. “My son Brian and his wife are in town for the weekend. Instead of Monday, I'll take tomorrow off for my Easter break, okay?”

Unlike Scott, Leo never missed a deadline. Besides, I was happy for him that he and his three grown children had finally reconciled after his divorce.

“That's great, Leo,” I enthused. “I'll tie up any loose ends that come along for you. I'm taking tomorrow afternoon off, and I'll be in late on Monday. See you then.”

Despite the cheer in my voice, I felt glum as I replaced the receiver in its cradle. My festive Easter dinner was now down to two, Vida and me. Ordinarily, she would spend the holiday with one of her three daughters, but somehow this year they had all gotten caught in the in-law trap and were celebrating with their husbands’ families.

“Dad's picking us up at noon,” Amber announced from the doorway into the hall. “Are you sure you won't get lonesome?”

“Huh?” My head snapped up. “No, I'll be fine. Honest.” I tried to put some warmth in my smile. “I think it's nice that you're going to get to know your stepmother better.”

“She's never been real friendly,” Amber said as Danny wiggled in his mother's arms. “I used to spend weekends and holidays with her and Dad after they got married. I didn't know which was worse, my stepmother being so stuck-up, or Mom's creepy husband, Aaron.”

I'd heard the complaint many times, and it always
elicited a pang of sympathy. Amber hadn't had it easy. Her parents had split when she was four. They'd both remarried, and had shared custody. But if Dean's second wife had been cold, her mother's new husband had put the make on Amber. She'd run away and ended up in Las Vegas, where she'd been raped and gotten pregnant.

“You're a grown woman now and a mother,” I said, not for the first time. “You may never have a mother-daughter relationship with your dad's wife, but you can be friends.”

“I hope so,” Amber said, trying to hold on to Danny, who was now beginning to cry. “Sometimes I forget what it's like to have a real mom.”

I didn't doubt it. I'd only met Amber's mother, Crystal Bird Ramsey Conley, once. It was enough. She'd gotten herself murdered, and for a time I was the prime suspect. Crystal's name could still leave a sour taste in my mouth.

Amber wandered off to put Danny to bed. My glum mood brightened. I'd have the weekend to myself. It would only be the second time since Amber and the baby arrived. They'd gone to Salem in February for a family visit with Dean and the rest of the Ramsey clan.

The next morning, I informed Vida that she and I would be alone for Easter dinner.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, whipping off her glasses. “I thought you were going to Seattle. I assumed dinner was canceled.”

I stared. “No. You and I have to eat. Why would I cancel?”

Vida stared back. “But aren't you going to Seattle to help your cousin?”

“No,” I said, annoyed. “I never promised any such thing.”

Vida put her glasses back on and clucked her tongue. “You can't refuse. I'll go with you.”

“Vida…”

“Now, now. Isn't there a big Presbyterian church downtown? I can go there Sunday while you attend your services at the cathedral. St. James, isn't it? Where shall we stay? I imagine the city is crowded for the holiday. Nothing too expensive, of course. A motel. We'll share expenses. What time do you want to leave? I can be ready by one o'clock.”

My head was spinning. “What about Buck? I thought he was going to be back from Palm Springs Sunday night.”

Vida shrugged at the mention of Buck Bardeen, her sometime escort for the past few years. “That was my understanding. But he'll be worn-out, what with Easter brunch with his children and grandchildren and then the flight home and the drive from Sea-Tac. I'll catch up with him Monday night.”

Buck, a retired air force colonel, had spent the past month in a time-share condo, soaking up the desert sun and playing golf. Every so often Vida dropped a hint about the romance's progress, but so far the couple had no plans. I think Vida preferred things the way they were. Like me, she is a very independent woman.