The Alpine Recluse (15 page)

“How so?”

Vida began ticking off reasons on her fingers. “Tiffany’s reaction. The attitude of her parents. Beth’s manner. Dot and Durwood, not to mention anyone else who shows up and makes us wonder why.”

“You’re referring to suspects we haven’t suspected?”

Vida shrugged. “Something like that. Still,” she added quickly, “I think finding Old Nick is important. If not the killer, then he may be a valuable witness.”

I considered Vida’s proposal. “It’s a memorial service, right? It won’t go on forever, right?”

“Well . . . it
is
at the Lutheran church. Some of them tend to be quite long-winded, though Pastor Nielsen isn’t too loquacious. He’s Danish, I believe. It’s the German Lutherans you have to worry about. Of course, the problem with you Catholics is that your clergymen give rather short sermons. You get very restless if anyone speaks for over ten minutes.”

I couldn’t argue the point. My brother, Ben, had counseled Adam about long homilies. Ben recalled that when he was in the seminary a priest had insisted that each of his students deliver a sermon while holding a twenty-pound squirming pig. This, the veteran priest asserted, was the equivalent of a parishioner trying to control a baby while attending Mass. It was a lesson my brother never forgot, and one that, I gathered, Adam had taken to heart.

“I can’t promise,” I told Vida, “but maybe I’ll look in. Okay?”

Vida seemed satisfied. I spent the next hour working on my Wild Sky Wilderness editorial, urging the state’s congressional delegation to unite across party lines and get the bill passed. The issue had been pending for some time. The vast area, with some of the oldest forests in the state, was north of Highway 2, and included Mount Baldy and the north fork of the Skykomish River.

I got so caught up in seeking the right verbiage to move lawmakers that I lost track of time. It was five after ten when I glanced at my watch. Vida had already left around nine-thirty, presumably to make sure she got an excellent vantage point in the church.

She needn’t have worried. The church seats approximately four hundred people, but no more than fifty were scattered among the comfortably padded pews. Vida was in the third row on the aisle. Her broad-brimmed black hat with the white daisies was easy to find.

Not wanting to be noticed as a latecomer, I kept to the rear. The Wailers sat a few rows in front of me, like a trio of vultures. At the moment they were mercifully silent, perhaps in deference to Beth Rafferty, who was on the altar, speaking of her brother.

“Tim heard many people’s troubles over the years,” Beth was saying. “That’s part of the job when you work in a restaurant.”

I noticed she didn’t say “bar.” Maybe that was because some of the mourners were anti-alcohol. At least a dozen of those present weren’t known to me, even by sight. I assumed they were relatives or friends who lived out of town. But I knew many quite well. Dot and Durwood Parker seemed to have shrunk since I’d last seen them. They sat very close to each other in the second pew, right in front of Vida. Tiffany was with her parents. I couldn’t see anything but the back of their heads. Poor old Mrs. Rafferty was sitting next to Al Driggers. I hoped she didn’t know what was going on. I also spotted Dwight Gould in attendance, wearing his civvies. He was probably doing double duty. Not only had he known the Parkers quite well, but Milo always attends a funeral involving a homicide or else sends one of his deputies to observe.

Beth was still talking. “. . . the radio where Tim made many new friends . . .”

Sure enough, Spencer Fleetwood was sitting off to one side. He was wearing an earpiece. I noticed that Beth wore a microphone. Damn all, Spence was broadcasting the service live over KSKY.

Well, I thought, Tim had been Spence’s employee. Why not? I scrunched farther down in the pew as Beth continued: “. . . his love of baseball and his memorabilia collection. Tim hated to part with any of it, but he wanted to share with other fans so he . . .”

Tiffany was shifting around in her seat. Her back probably bothered her. It was a good thing she didn’t attend St. Mildred’s, where the old fir pews are as unyielding as steel and no pastor has ever suggested replacement or padding.

Beth had finished. The organ was playing “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.” Pastor Nielsen returned to the middle of the altar. The Wailers were wailing. I tried to shut them out, but it was impossible. They covered the scale from deep, dark moans to high-pitched, shattering shrieks.

I tried to focus on my immediate surroundings and ignore the Wailers. It was impossible, of course, but movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I saw a side door open ever so slightly. Through a pane of frosted glass, I could make out a curly dark head I thought I recognized. I scooted out of the pew and went over to the side aisle. The door closed quickly. I kept moving, if only to escape the Wailers.

I wasn’t really surprised to see Toni Andreas going toward the main entrance.

“Toni!” I called to her. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

Toni blinked several times. “You have? Why?”

“Did you get Adam’s e-mail about moving to Alaska?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “He asked me to talk to you about it.”

“I—” She stopped, lowering her gaze. “I have to go outside. I can’t breathe in here.”

The foyer hadn’t yet grown stuffy from the morning heat, but I pretended to agree with her. “I don’t blame you. I can’t stand listening to those Wailers.”

I helped Toni push the heavy door open. She seemed not only agitated, but weak. Maybe she really was sick.

“It was nice of you to come to Tim’s service even though you’ve been ill,” I remarked as we stepped outside. “I didn’t realize you were close to the family.”

Toni stared across the parking lot to the nursing home where Mrs. Rafferty now resided. Her long curly black hair made her look even more waiflike. “I knew Tim,” she said softly.

“Oh?”

“I used to talk to him at the Venison Inn.” Toni continued to stare.

“He must have been a good listener,” I remarked.

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” She finally turned slightly but didn’t look at me. “Better.”

“Flu? Or just this awful heat? It can make people sick, you know.”

“Yes. It must be the heat.”

“Why don’t we go over to that bench? We can sit under the shade of the horse chestnut tree.”

Toni didn’t move. “I really should go.”

“Why? You just got here, didn’t you?”

“Well . . .” Toni looked in every direction, her movements jerky. “I really don’t like funerals.”

“Nobody does,” I said, “except people like the Wailers.” And Vida, who considered such occasions as sources of unfettered gossip. People, she once said, let their defenses down when they were mourning.

“I should go,” Toni muttered, glancing anxiously at the front entrance. “The service must be almost over.”

“They’ll be going to the reception in the church hall,” I said.

Toni shifted from one foot to the other. “Not everybody will stay.”

The sun was getting in my eyes. “Is there someone you don’t want to see?”

“I’m going now.” Toni turned her back on me and started walking toward the street. I followed.

Toni crossed Cedar, moving toward John Engstrom Park. I saw an older dark blue Nissan parked in the middle of the block. I’d seen it often outside of the sheriff’s headquarters, and figured it was her car. Sure enough, she jaywalked to the driver’s side. I did the same, reaching her just as she slid behind the wheel.

The window was halfway down. I leaned against the door. “Come on, Toni. Don’t act like a goose. Adam asked me to help you with your move to Alaska. What’s wrong with you?”

Maybe it was the hint of maternal concern in my voice—something that I thought might be missing from Toni’s life in recent years. God knows it’s hard to keep a long-distance relationship going, even when you try. I wasn’t sure how hard the ex-Mrs. Andreas was trying. Second marriages can create problems with children of all ages.

“Why do we have to talk now?” Toni asked in a petulant voice.

I noticed that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Because you’re not working at the moment and I’m taking a break. Let’s go get a cup of coffee somewhere.”

“No.” She shook her head defiantly.

“Then,” I said, “let’s sit in the park. It’s cool with all those trees.”

Toni stared straight ahead through the windshield. A minute passed. I heard voices in the distance. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a half-dozen people coming out of the Lutheran church. Apparently, Toni had spotted them in the rearview mirror. She looked in the direction of the park with its statue of John Engstrom, one of the Alpine Timber Company’s early and much loved superintendents.

“Okay.” She seemed defeated, as if her will had been sliced in two by a buzz saw.

She got out of the car on the passenger side, scurrying into the park like a hunted animal. I followed at a more leisurely pace. The mourners who were leaving had gone straight to the parking lot. As far as I could tell, they weren’t paying any attention to us.

Two curving benches flanked the life-size statue. We sat under a big maple tree. Its leaves didn’t stir in the still, warm air. Only the sound of water rippling over rocks into a small pond offered any sense of coolness. But the grass was green and lush, watered regularly by Fuzzy Baugh’s command.

“Let’s talk about Alaska,” I said. “It’s huge, you know, and very different from Alpine.”

“We have snow,” Toni replied. “We have rain. I don’t mind bad weather.”

“Do you want to live in a city?”

“I think so. Fairbanks, maybe. Or Anchorage.”

“Anchorage has about a quarter of a million people,” I said. “Do you want to live in a city that large? Fairbanks is much smaller, maybe twice the size of Monroe.” I was guessing about the comparison, but figured I was close enough to show Toni the difference.

She surprised me. “I looked up Anchorage on the Internet. They have over three thousand more men than women.”

That, I gathered, was Toni’s main interest. “You’re assuming that all three thousand of them aren’t losers?”

“There’s bound to be some good ones,” Toni replied. “They can’t all be like the men around here.”

“How’s that?”

For the first time, she looked me right in the eye. There was no sign of tears now. “You’ve never gotten married. How come?”

“I was engaged. You know what happened.” I couldn’t keep the bitter note out of my voice.

“But the guy was married,” Toni said. “I mean, he was married for a long time. Adam’s dad, right?”

“Yes. Tom couldn’t leave his wife. She wasn’t well.”

“I’ll bet he told you he’d leave her.”

I sighed. “Sometimes he did. But I knew he never would. He felt a great responsibility toward . . . his wife.” I still found it hard to say Sandra’s name out loud.

“They’re all like that, I guess.” Toni shifted around on the bench, gazing at a bed of petunias, pansies, and lobelias. “Maybe they’re different in Alaska. It’s a different kind of place.”

“It is at that,” I agreed, angry at her, angry at myself for letting the conversation turn to Tom. “You sound as if you’ve been burned.”

It was an unfortunate choice of words. Toni’s body convulsed, as if I’d hit her in the stomach. “How can you say that?” she cried, covering her eyes with her hands. “Oh, my God!”

I was tired of playing games with Toni. “It’s Tim, right? You were in love with him.”

She was sobbing, shoulders shaking, hands curled into fists against her eyes.

“Toni,” I said, more softly, “I understand. You just said so yourself. I lost my lover to an early death. Please, talk to me.”

She kept crying. I was afraid she was about to have hysterics. Firmly, I grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re making yourself sick. I understand. Truly. I had to be hospitalized after Tom was killed. I felt like I’d died, too. I wished I had. Come on, Toni. Be brave. Show some courage.”

It seemed to take forever, but finally Toni began to compose herself. I’d used up almost an entire packet of Kleenex on her tears, sniffles, and coughs. Depleted, she leaned against the back of the wooden bench and closed her eyes.

“I really loved him,” she whispered.

“I’m sure you did.” A pair of boys went by the park on skateboards. I waited until they were out of hearing range. “Did Tim tell you he wanted to leave Tiffany?”

Toni sniffed several times. “He never wanted to marry her in the first place. But she got pregnant. I mean, she told Tim she was pregnant. She must have lost the first baby. Or she lied. They would have been married a year by the time this one comes.”

“Were you seeing Tim before he got married?”

She shook her head. “Only to talk to, at the Venison Inn. He was always so nice. Tim was the most sympathetic person I ever met.”

That might be true as far as Toni was concerned. Apparently, he was a good listener in his bartending guise. My own perception of him was that he was shallow and self-absorbed. Maybe he came off differently to someone like Toni, a member of his peer group, holding similar values, and speaking the same glib, cliché-ridden language.

“I take it Tim wasn’t happily married.”

“He was miserable.” Toni shook her head sadly. “All Tiff could do was think about the baby. It was as if Tim didn’t exist. He was just a paycheck to pay for baby things. Poor Tim felt like he was worthless. It seemed to him that all Tiff had ever wanted was to have a baby. She used him for that. He had no self-esteem. It was really tragic. He said he might have killed himself if I hadn’t been there for him.”

“He told you that?” I tried not to sound incredulous.

Toni nodded solemnly. “Often. I was like his . . . his safe harbor, he called it.”

“Did Tiffany know about the two of you?”

Toni shrugged. “I’m not sure. If she did, she didn’t care. All she could think of was the baby, the baby, the baby. Unless,” she added with sudden bite in her voice, “Tiffany did care.”

My patience was wearing thin. “Well? Do you think she did?”

“If she did,” Toni said, looking me right in the eyes, “then she killed him.”