Authors: Mary Daheim
Mitch looked puzzled. “But the guy’s locked up. Are you intending to file more serious charges against him?”
“No. I hope spending overnight in a cell will teach him a lesson. As far as I know, he doesn’t live at the Nelson house. It’s no big deal.”
Mitch didn’t look convinced. “I know you’re married to the sheriff, but still … it seems like more than a drunken prank. You’ve had trouble with those Nelsons before, right?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Their two younger kids tried to set my house on fire last December while you were gone. But they’re locked up, and so are the father and the eldest son. They were the maple tree poachers.”
Mitch was like a dog with a bone. He didn’t let go easily—an attribute of a good reporter. “Do you know this Moro other than from when he showed up last night?”
“No, but he used to be married to the mother of the missing Johnson girl.” I suddenly realized where Mitch was going with his questions. Or at least in what direction I could steer him. “Moro supposedly left town after Mrs. Johnson divorced him. Maybe you could do some checking. I think he’s being released today. What did Mullins tell you?”
“He was waiting for Dodge. You’re sure the guy’s not a threat?”
I frowned. “I think it was retaliation. Laverne Nelson filed a complaint against me about all the construction noise. I don’t think she knows Milo and I are married. I suspect Vince Moro was showing the Nelson women what a macho stud he is.
Maybe he’s more dangerous than I think. See if he’s got a rap sheet.”
Mitch went away with a gleam in his eyes, the kind that serious journalists have when they smell a story. He’d mastered his craft with twenty-five years on the
Detroit Free
Press. While his moodiness might be irritating, he was the only seasoned reporter I’d ever had on the staff. The others had all been young and relatively fresh out of college. If there was any spare cash in the
Advocate
account, I’d give him a raise.
As soon as he left, Vida tromped into my office. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I thought I was helping with coverage of the runaways.”
“You are. You’re doing background. Hard news takes away from your House & Home page.” Thinking fast to dig myself out of a hole, I continued: “My intruder last night was Vince Moro, Wanda Johnson’s ex. You mentioned that she and your Meg were close at one time. Now that you’ve talked to Mrs. Ellison, do you have time to call on Wanda?”
To my surprise, Vida didn’t look appeased. “If I do, I’ll phone,” she said. “By the way, I’ve invited Helena Craig, the high school counselor, to be on my radio program tonight. I shall be asking her some questions about the problem of runaway teens.”
I tried to keep my tone light. “Good. Just remember the rule: no news that should appear first in the
Advocate
.”
Vida’s face was expressionless, but her gray eyes were cold. “I’m not responsible for what the people on my program say.” She turned around and made her imperial exit from my office.
By noon, I was tired of talking to callers and reading letters and emails—even if a slight majority was in favor of the mayor’s proposal. The phone calls had ended up fifty-fifty so far, with several on the fence. Of course, the undecided asked questions I couldn’t answer, so I directed them to Fuzzy’s office.
Predictably, the letters tended to be against the idea, while the emails, from computer users, favored change.
At a few minutes after noon, the newsroom was empty. On a whim, I opened the phone directory for Sultan listings—and realized I didn’t know Ruth Heppner’s married name. I recalled that her husband was Phil. Sultan’s population wasn’t much larger than Alpine’s. It didn’t take long to find Philip and Ruth Bowman. The hard part was figuring out what I’d say.
Inspiration struck when I scanned the latest edition of
The Monroe Monitor
. I dialed the number and, as I hoped, a woman answered. “Ruth?” I said. “This is Emma Lord at
The Alpine Advocate
. I don’t suppose your husband, Phil, is around, but I have a question for him that maybe you can answer. How close to being done are they on Highway 522 outside of Monroe?”
“Well … about halfway, I guess.” Her voice was wary. Maybe she’d never heard of me. “Phil’s not working on that. He’s tied to a desk these days. Do you want his number?”
“Yes, thanks,” I replied. “There was another big pileup here this week. We keep hoping the state will make this stretch less hazardous. Did Sam mention the wreck?”
“No,” she said. “I haven’t talked to Sam lately.”
“That’s okay. Say, I heard he took some time off. Do you know what his plans were? We always do a feature on Alpiners who take trips out of town. Last month one of the other deputies went to Cabo San Lucas.” That was an outright lie, but Ruth wouldn’t know it.
“Sam didn’t tell us what he was going to do.” She paused, and I suspected she was about to ring off. “He hardly ever leaves the area,” she said to my mild surprise, “but I guess he’s gone somewhere this time. I tried to call him last night and he wasn’t home.”
“So I understand from the other deputies,” I said. “That makes his vacation story all the more interesting. Is there any
chance he went back to Toppenish to visit old friends and family?”
“No!” Her voice had turned sharp. “That’s the last place he’d go.” Another pause followed. “There’s someone at the door. Sorry I can’t help you.” She rang off.
Ruth wasn’t half as sorry as I was.
I decided to eat lunch after all, so I headed for the Burger Barn. Once inside, I wondered if the sheriff had nipped across the street from his office to refuel. As usual, the restaurant was busy during the noon hour. My husband was nowhere in sight, so I got in the take-out line behind three teenaged boys—and suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder.
“What are you doing, little Emma?” Milo asked.
I slumped against him. “You scared me. I was looking for you.”
He put his arm around me. “I ate a late breakfast, so I wasn’t hungry until now. Let’s grab a booth.”
We found one toward the rear that had just been vacated. “I did something on a whim,” I said a bit sheepishly.
Milo waited for the pretty redheaded waitress whose name was Cindi to bus our table. “Okay,” he said. “Will it make me mad?”
“Well …” I took a deep breath. “I called Ruth Bowman.”
The sheriff looked puzzled. “Ruth …? Oh, you mean Sam’s sister?” He grimaced. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I was tired of dealing with responses to Fuzzy’s plan and fighting an urge to can Vida’s ass, that’s why.”
Milo paused again, this time for Cindi to bring mugs and pour our coffee. “Jesus,” he said after we were alone again, “maybe you should fire her. That’s about the only thing you can do that’ll make her stop acting like a horse’s ass. She’d
have to finally choose—between the
Advocate
and Roger. If there’s one thing she loves as much as that jerk, it’s having her own platform in the paper.”
“She’s got ‘Vida’s Cupboard’ and she’s hosting the high school counselor tonight about the runaways,” I said. “I already warned her to make sure to avoid hard news that should go in the
Advocate
before it’s broadcast over KSKY. She was snarky about that, too.”
“It’s your call,” Milo responded. “Vida’s always acted as if she runs the paper. I don’t know how you’ve put up with her all these years. Sure, I know you like her, but lately …” He shook his head. “I don’t give a shit what she thinks about me. I know you two have been friends from the get-go. Do what you have to. I shouldn’t give advice. I’ve got my own crew to run. Tell me why the hell you called Ruth. That
is
my problem.”
I couldn’t answer right away because Cindi returned with our cutlery and napkins to ask for our orders.
“I told you,” I said as Skunk and Trout Nordby, the GM dealership owners, acknowledged us from across the aisle. “It’s a story. I mean, if Sam doesn’t show up.”
Milo leaned closer and lowered his voice. “It’s not a story. It’s an internal problem. Now Ruth may figure I put you up to it. The last thing I want is for Heppner to think I’m prying into his private life. That was a damned stupid stunt for you to pull.”
The sheriff was right. I’d acted on a whim. Milo had confided in me not as the local media, but as his wife. It was one of the many pitfalls in our professional lives. I’d crashed and burned on the first stretch of the learning curve.
“I’m sorry. Really,” I said. “If it helps, I don’t think Ruth knew who I was. Even if she did, would she know we were married?”
Milo considered. “Maybe not. Sam isn’t the type to talk about stuff like that. He’s even worse than Dwight when it comes to being interested in other people. For all I know, he still thinks I’m married to Mulehide.”
The hint of humor in my husband’s voice made me feel a little better. “I won’t do it again.”
“Yes, you will. It’s your nature.” He shut up as Cindi delivered his cheeseburger, fries, and salad and my plain burger with the same sides.
“I mean it,” I asserted after Cindi had left us. “I really will try.”
“Hell, Emma, you can’t. It’s built into your own job. Just don’t expect me to like it.” He took a bite out of his burger that would have done justice to a shark.
“Ruth told me he’d never go back to Toppenish.”
Milo’s hazel eyes snapped. “She did?”
I nodded. “I wonder why.”
“See? That’s what I mean. You can’t help it.”
“Come on, big guy. You’re curious, too.”
The sheriff didn’t comment. When he spoke again, it was on a different topic. “I had to let Moro go this morning. All I could nail him for was a trespassing fine.”
“He didn’t have to post bail?”
“You filed a complaint that stated he intruded and scared you. The dink started to give me crap because I had him locked up. I told him he needed to get sober. He couldn’t argue that point.”
“Did he give you an address?”
“Yeah.” Milo looked irked. “The trailer park. It was the one on his driver’s license from two years ago when he and Wanda were still together, but my bet is he’s shacked up with the Nelsons.”
“Great. Does he know we’re married?”
“I doubt it. He didn’t look at your complaint. But I don’t want you going to the door when you’re alone. I never know when I’ll be called out, including the middle of the night, and especially now when we’re short-staffed. I don’t want to put Blatt on extra duty if he’s getting serious with Tanya. It’s good for both of them. And she’s not hanging out with us.”
“Amanda and Walt may be interested in your house,” I said.
“Oh? He makes a decent salary at the hatchery. They could afford it even if she doesn’t work after the kid gets here.” He grimaced. “Then what do we do with Tanya? Bill still lives at home.”
I looked helplessly at Milo. And wondered if we’d ever lead a normal married life. What
was
“normal”? Never having been a wife, I really didn’t know.
Back at the office, Vida seemed somewhat more cheerful. I decided to take advantage of her improved disposition by asking if she’d like to do an interview with Clarence Munn about the heyday of logging.
“Well now,” she said, “if he makes sense, that might be interesting. Shall I inquire about the less savory things that went on back then?”
“Sure. You can determine if they’re worthy of publication. They just might goad readers into realizing that a firm hand on the reins of government can prevent any repeats. After all,” I went on, trying not to sound ingratiating, “you know enough about Alpine’s history to discriminate between idle gossip and just plain fiction.”
“True,” Vida allowed, “though apparently there were some things I missed, being too young and naïve to realize the illicit activities that went on. My parents could be closemouthed
when it came to such delicate matters. Rather foolish in retrospect, perhaps.”
Rather incredible
, I thought, that Vida hadn’t learned how to apply thumbscrews at an earlier age. It was more likely that the Blatts had turned a deaf ear to unseemly behavior, though I recalled that her father was rumored to have been less than saintly, at least when he was away on business. If true, that might be the reason for discretion on the home front.
“I’ll call on Clarence tomorrow,” she said. “I have to go through the latest letters for my advice column. Spring causes romantic follies. So many people fall in and out of love, especially this year. I suspect it has to do with the lack of rain.”
“Possibly,” I conceded. “Anybody we know?”
Vida looked vaguely affronted. “We’re not supposed to know, since the letters are unsigned. But of course one can often guess.”
“Speaking of spring,” I said, “now that I’ve finished paving the way for Fuzzy’s proposal, I think I’ll do an upbeat editorial about the recent improvement in the local economy. There’ve been a lot of new jobs created by RestHaven’s impact along with the Alzheimer’s wing they plan to build and the opening of the fisheries building at the college next week. The timing on that one is especially good, since Mitch will cover the dedication. The best news is that we have the lowest number of the unemployed since I got here.”
“Indeed,” Vida agreed—and beamed. “Roger is one of the newly employed. I’m so proud of his ambition.”
I hid my surprise—or maybe it was shock. “What’s he doing?”
“An out-of-town firm is hiring delivery people in this part of the state,” Vida said. “As you know, we’ve lost at least two of our truckers in the last few months. I assume it’s rather like
a freelance job, to fill in for whoever needs short-haul trucking.”
“That sounds very good,” I stated with what I hoped was sincerity. “Does the company supply the trucks?”
“No,” Vida replied. “Amy and Ted bought him a nice secondhand van from the Nordby Brothers. He has his first assignment tomorrow. I’m glad he won’t be driving one of those big eighteen-wheelers. They can be quite dangerous.”
“Where’s the company located?” I asked. “We should do a story on it, since it’s a new service for SkyCo.”
Vida laughed self-deprecatingly. “I was so thrilled that I forgot to ask Roger. But I will. In fact, perhaps we could feature him in the story. As far as I know, he’s the only one they’ve hired from Alpine.”