The Alpine Menace (35 page)

“Bad timing,” I murmured. “Henrietta told all of them the truth about your birth. She may have made demands.
Money, perhaps, or simply that she be acknowledged. It sounds as if your adoptive mother went off the deep end. She'd already suffered through having you form an attachment with Carol. Now Carol was gone, but another woman had claimed you as her own. I think your mother snapped and went out to see Henrietta this morning. I also think she'd called on Carol earlier, after receiving a letter from Maybeth Swafford. Maybeth overheard Henrietta and Carol arguing about which one of them was your mother.”

Kendra shuddered. “A month ago,” she said, her voice dragging. “It was right after I moved out. Mom was so upset about me leaving—she thought I was too young to be on my own. I came back to the house to get some more of my stuff one afternoon just after the mail delivery. Mom was white as a sheet. I asked her what was wrong—she said that the store had made a mistake on the bill for the new drapes and that Dad would be furious if he thought she'd actually spent that much. It sounded typical, the way they fought over the house all the time, so I didn't think anything about it.”

I nodded. “It was probably Maybeth's letter, which sent her rushing off to see Carol. I don't know how Carol would have handled the situation. Maybe she didn't believe what Henrietta had told her about your birth. I suspect that both Kathy and Carol would have been into denial. They may even have formed some sort of bond.”

“Mom never mentioned it,” Kendra said dully.

“The visit to Henrietta turned out differently,” I said, speaking softly. “Either Kathy called on Henrietta more than once, or she was working at the hospital on earlier attempts. But today, everything went wrong. Henrietta must have rebuffed her, or maybe she was insulting, angry, unmoved by your mother's pleas. Whatever the cause, your mother—your adoptive mother—hit her with a bowling trophy and killed her. It may even have been
self-defense. We'll have to wait and see when Kathy regains consciousness.”

Kendra was slumped against the back of the sofa. “This is a nightmare,” she said in a hoarse voice.

“I know. Your adoptive mother's at a difficult age. Some women have terrible emotional problems during menopause.”

Again, Kendra was silent for some time. “So she killed Carol, too? I can't believe it. I can't believe any of it.”

I shook my head. “You don't have to believe all of it. I don't think Kathy killed Carol.”

Kendra stared at me. “Then who did?”

“Henrietta,” I said, then added, “I know, because of the dog.”

B
UDWEISER HAD PLAYED
his role in the murder of Carol Stokes. While both Henrietta and Maybeth had complained about the dog, Henrietta had been the most vehement. Perhaps too vehement, because she'd made an effort to soften her stance on Buddy by mentioning that she thought it was cute when Ronnie had put a funny hat on the dog. The remark had struck a false note at the time.

Ronnie had tied Buddy up outside before he left for the bars on the night of Carol's murder. Apparently, the police had never checked Henrietta's alibi, but I was certain that at some point she'd left the hospital. A sixteen-hour shift is unusual, though Henrietta mentioned something about a nurse who didn't show up. Still, it was only a twenty-minute round-trip from there to the apartment building. Carol, who must have been in a foul mood after the fight with Ronnie, may have telephoned Henrietta at work to have it out with her. Arriving at the apartment, Henrietta would have heard Buddy barking. The dog drove her crazy, so she cut him loose.

“I have a feeling he was tied up with an old drapery cord that Ronnie had taken from the Dumpster out back,” I told Kendra. “Henrietta brought it with her into Carol's apartment. The women quarreled. Carol may have been tough and capable of beating up on men who didn't feel it was right to fight back, but Henrietta was a
big, strong woman. She strangled Carol, and then returned to the hospital.”

“Crazy,” Kendra said in a small voice. “They're all crazy. And why? It's my fault. They were all fighting over me.”

“Not you, specifically,” I said. “They were fighting for the right to be a mother. The maternal instinct is very strong, sometimes overpowering. Look at nature—a lioness or a bear or any kind of female animal will do everything she can to protect her young.”

“They weren't protecting me,” Kendra protested. “They were ruining my life.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I didn't say that mothers—or would-be mothers—are always right. Sometimes it's the concept of motherhood. It can be thought of as endowing a woman with an automatic halo. Even the very real sacrifices are made not so much for the child as for the martyrdom the mother achieves. Being a mom is not just about giving— it's about giving up and letting go.”

Perhaps the little homily was aimed at me as much as it was at Kendra.

“I haven't heard so much guesswork since the junior-high spelling bee,” Vida declared the next morning on the way back to Alpine. Our quarrel was forgotten. We both knew that we'd been under a terrible strain. I could never stay mad at Vida, and, fortunately, she could never stay mad at me. “Still,” she went on, “all we can do is guess what really happened. With Henrietta dead, there's not much proof, especially about Carol's murder.”

“Enough to spring Ronnie, I hope.” After spending the night at Kendra's apartment, I'd visited him that morning before we left Seattle. As usual, he'd been vague and uncertain. “At least,” I said as we approached I-5, “he remembered that the rope he used to tie up Buddy
might
have been a drapery cord.”

Vida rearranged herself in the passenger seat. She'd ended up going home with Sam to the house on Ash-worth and sleeping on a handsome but uncomfortable bed in the spare room. “Sam admitted he'd gone to see Carol the night of the murder rather than that afternoon,” Vida said, readjusting the seat belt over her bust. “He'd been afraid that he'd be considered a suspect if he confessed he'd been there so close to the time she was killed. Sam thought that it was Carol instead of Maybeth and Henrietta who was upsetting Kathy so badly. He and Carol got into an argument, of course, which is what Maybeth overheard.”

“So Maybeth never heard Henrietta quarreling with Carol before the murder,” I mused. “I suppose the TV was on too loud.”

Vida lifted one wide shoulder in what I took for agreement. “After strangling Carol, Henrietta took Kendra's graduation picture off the refrigerator. Of course she'd want that. It's such a milestone in a child's life.”

“And one which no parent can do without,” I noted.

“Someone at the hospital surely will remember if Henrietta disappeared for half an hour or more,” Vida said. “Particularly if she got a phone call from Carol that sent her racing off.”

“I hope Kathy comes out of that coma,” I remarked as some idiot cut me off in the right-hand lane of the freeway.

“Poor Sam.” Vida sighed. “Poor Kathy. Maybe it was self-defense. Henrietta had killed before. And Darryl—I only hope that his work can help mend him. He's suffered more than anyone.”

“Except for the people who are dead,” I remarked. “Kendra's had no picnic, either.”

“She's young, resilient, and has some sense,” Vida replied. “At least I think she does. I'd like to think that Maybeth will tell us what she knew now that her life's no
longer threatened. But if she was blackmailing Henrietta or the Addisons or even Carol, she'll be afraid of the police.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror, not to see if we were being followed, but as a symbolic farewell to the city behind us.

Vida must have read my thoughts. “I feel safer already,” she declared. “This has been a terrible few days. Typical, I suppose. So much violence.”

I said nothing.

“And such an incredible coincidence,” Vida went on. “Imagine, Henrietta living next door to Carol Stokes. I find that almost hard to believe.”

“Vida,” I said with a small smile, “we have coincidences like that all the time in Alpine.”

“That's because it's so small,” she said. “Thank goodness.”

“But a city like Seattle isn't so much different in some ways,” I said. “It's really a bunch of clearly identifiable neighborhoods tied together. Henrietta Altdorf probably worked and lived all her life in the Ballard-Greenwood area. She'd know all sorts of people from way back, almost like you do in Alpine. Her circle would be quite small. Believe me, it happens all the time. I've even heard of neighbors who lived next door to each other for years and then found out by chance they were second cousins.”

“They should have known that to begin with,” Vida asserted. “You see? Families become estranged in the city.”

Again, I didn't argue that point specifically. “Families are strange.”

Vida harrumphed, but remained silent for several minutes. We were approaching Everett and the turnoff to Highway 2 and Stevens Pass. As I guided the car around the big curve that led over the rich farmland of Sno-homish County, Vida uttered another, bigger sigh.

“I can see the mountains,” she said. “Soon we'll be in Monroe. It won't be long then. We'll be home. Emma, don't
ever
invite me to go to Seattle again.”

I hadn't invited Vida; she'd invited herself. And though she'd never admit it, I knew darned well that she'd had the time of her life.

We went straight to the office. To my relief and astonishment, everything seemed to be under control. We had even added another staff member, if not someone exactly new, and only temporarily: Scott had called on Carla Steinmetz Talliaferro to help out in our absence.

“I've got plenty of time this week,” Carla said. “My parents were jealous because Ryan's folks spent Easter with us, so they insisted on having the baby stay with them in Bellevue for a couple of days. The college paper is still in the works. These kids are really slow.”

Carla had never been all that fast, and when she was, carelessness reigned. But I enthused anyway. “That's terrific, Carla,” I said, wondering what havoc she had wreaked since returning to
The Advocate
. “Would you like to get paid in free baby-sitting?”

“Cool,” Carla replied. “Ryan and I were talking about going out to dinner this weekend. Omar will be back with us by then. How's Saturday?”

I said Saturday was fine, though I planned on making a day trip to Seattle—alone—to check in with Ronnie. “I should be back by five,” I told Carla.

The latest
Advocate
was on my desk. Above the fold, everything looked good. Glancing below the fold, I winced at the bold black headline:

MR. ED IS NOW A PIG

Oh, well, I thought, Mr. Ed had always been a pig. It wasn't exactly front-page news.

* * *

Because there was quite a bit of catching up to do, I was late getting home that evening. It was after seven when I trudged through the side door and realized that not only was the house dark, it was empty.

There were no toys on the floor, no TV blaring from the bedroom, no sign of Amber Ramsey and her baby. Worried, I looked everywhere for a note. Finally, I checked the front porch. It would be just like Amber to forget that I often came straight into the kitchen from the carport, especially when I was carrying items like luggage.

Sure enough, there was a note attached to the screen door.

Dear Emma
, Amber had written in an awkward hand,
My dad closed the deal on the McNamara house last weekend. I forgot to tell you about it when you were here a couple of days ago. He was able to move right in, so I did, too. He bought some new furniture and the rest will come from Oregon when the family moves in later. Thanks for all your help. You've been just like a mother to Danny and me. Love, Amber
.

I thought I'd been a bitch. Well, maybe not all the time. By comparison with Amber's oddball mother and indifferent stepmother, I guess I wasn't so awful after all.

Ironically, the house felt empty, even lonely. I didn't recall that it had seemed that way before Amber and Danny moved in, certainly not since Adam had gone away to college. Bemused, I wandered from room to room, ostensibly looking for any items Amber might have forgotten. In reality, I was in search of comfort. Even the cats were gone, receiving their creature comforts from Mrs. Holmgren across the street.

The phone rang. I hurried from Amber and Danny's old room to answer it.

“Sluggly, what's up?” demanded my brother, Ben. “Where the hell have you been? Still trying to bake a cake
that can hold a file? I've tasted some of your cakes, and nobody would ever notice. Why don't you try using flour instead of library paste?”

“Shut up, Stench,” I shot back. “I'm exhausted and I don't need any crap from you.”

Ben just laughed. Funny man, I thought grimly. Hilarious brother. Zany priest. I wanted to kick his butt.

“Ronnie didn't do it,” I said, still irked. “So ha-ha on you because I found out who did.”

“Wow, I'm impressed,” Ben said sarcastically. “Tell me all about it.”

I did, because I knew that deep down, Ben
was
impressed. He was just faint with praise. I always figured that was because he didn't want to puff me up and encourage me to vanity and other forms of sinfulness. Or maybe it was just because he was my rotten brother.