The Alpine Recluse (9 page)

Leo cocked his head at me. “Are you sleuthing?”

I sighed. “I suppose I am. Everybody’s jumping to the conclusion that Tim was killed by a burglar or that recluse, Old Nick. It seems too pat.”

“It also seems reasonable,” Leo pointed out. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“My contrary nature,” I retorted. “And I don’t like easy answers. Most of all, I hate it when someone like Tim is treated like a nobody. He
was
somebody. Maybe I feel guilty because I always dismissed him—and Tiffany, too—as unimportant. That’s not right, it’s not fair.”

“Emma Lord, Champion of the Underdog.” Leo smiled. “I’m not kidding. You championed me when I was down and out.”

It was true. I’d met Leo by accident when I was visiting in Port Angeles. He was suicidal, up from California, but definitely down and almost out. Tom, who had been his former employer, had recommended him. Ed had just come into his inheritance from an aunt in the Midwest, and I needed an ad manager, but I’d had my doubts about Leo. On the other hand, anything had to be better than Ed, with his distressing aptitude for
not
selling ads. Leo had more than justified Tom’s advice.

Oren returned with our drinks. “Hey there, Leo. Is it hot enough—” The bartender stopped and laughed in embarrassment. “Never mind. Shall I run a tab?”

Leo shook his head. “This is just a pit stop. We’re on the pay-as-you-go plan.” He pulled a ten out of his wallet.

“You can’t afford to treat me,” I said as Oren took the bill and went off to the bar to get change.

“It makes me feel like a big spender,” Leo said. “So what are you thinking? Tim just didn’t like to work or he was making enough money so he didn’t have to?”

“Why not say so?” I responded, declining Leo’s offer of a cigarette. “I gather Tim liked to brag. I’m wondering if he really was sick. Sometimes, I’m told, men whose wives or girlfriends are expecting don’t like mommy and baby getting all the attention. Maybe he was feigning illness. Or maybe he really was ailing, but it was psychosomatic.”

Leo licked beer foam off of his upper lip. “Tim’s always seemed to be the dominant one in that lash-up. Tiffany’s the clingy type.”

“Yes,” I said. “She seems semihelpless. Tim’s always been very protective. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be jealous of the baby. It happens.”

“Oh, I kind of remember that with our kids,” Leo said with a shake of his head. “Especially Katie, the first one. Liza couldn’t talk or think about anything else. She read every expectant mother and baby book that was in print. Old Dad is bound to feel left out. Our work is done, and suddenly we’re in the background.” He wore his wry off-center grin. “Maybe Tim fell off his mountain bike to get some sympathy.”

“He had a fall?” I said in surprise. “When was that?”

Leo and I both looked up and waved at Skunk and Trout Nordby, who owned the local GM dealership. “About a month ago,” Leo responded. “Right after the Fourth of July, I think. I should have given it to the Duchess for ‘Scene,’ but I forgot. Don’t tell her.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I’m already in trouble for one of my omissions. Was Tim badly hurt?”

Leo shook his head. “Just banged up. I think he was kind of klutzy by nature.”

“Oh. I was wondering if he was too debilitated to defend himself against whoever killed him.”

“Doubtful,” Leo responded. “I don’t think he even went to the doctor.”

I was halfway through my drink. It was going on six. The bar was filling up. It looked as if many Alpiners were seeking air-conditioned sanctuary.

“Do you want to eat here?” Leo asked.

I considered the suggestion. “Sure. I wouldn’t dream of turning on the stove. Just as long as I get home in time for
Vida’s Cupboard.
”

“Me, too,” Leo said. “Let’s order now.” He signaled to Oren.

Our conversation changed after we’d perused the menus. Leo requested the pork sandwich; I chose the crab Louie. It was a pleasant hour, and I was back in my stuffy log cabin by a quarter to seven.

After opening both doors and raising the windows as far as the screens would permit, I started to turn on my laptop computer. Before I could hit the
START
command, I rethought my open-house policy. Maybe there
was
a burglar loose in the neighborhood. Maybe it was an arsonist. Maybe Old Nick was still hanging around, just a few yards away from my home.

Swearing silently, I got up from the sofa and closed both the front and the kitchen doors. Security wasn’t usually a consideration in Alpine. But I’d had one break-in already during the last year. I didn’t feel like being a victim again.

By the time I returned to the living room, it was almost seven. I switched on the radio, poured a Pepsi over ice, and sat back down on the couch. Spence—or whoever was at the studio’s controls—was playing some of the golden oldies that always led into Vida’s show. The music seemed appropriate.

The sound of a creaking door announced Vida’s entrance after the hour turn.

“Good evening from
Vida’s Cupboard
to everyone in Alpine and the rest of Skykomish County,” she began in her slightly strident voice. “We’ve had another hot day here in our beautiful part of the world, but not to worry—it’s a mere month until autumn begins and we can welcome the rain.”

Only in the Puget Sound basin would the promise of less sun and more rain be good news. Like the indigenous trees and plants, natives in particular need their roots watered. Vida went on to talk about garden care and summer suppers.

“Lloyd and Jean Campbell are hosting an ice cream social Sunday for family and visiting friends from Fargo, North Dakota. Lloyd is going to make the ice cream himself with his special blackberry recipe. The berries are in season right now, ripe for picking all around Burl Creek, Second Hill, and the areas west of the fish hatchery. Just be careful that the bears aren’t feeding, too. You all remember what happened last year to Scooter Hutchins when he didn’t leave that Mama Bear alone. Scooter, by the way, is looking much better now that he’s finished a series of operations on his nose, which were done by a very skilled Seattle cosmetic surgeon.”

Vida reminded her listeners that they could read all about the Campbells’ gala in next week’s
Alpine Advocate.
She did not give the name of Scooter’s surgeon, although it would have been helpful just in case some other local decided to go one-on-one with Mama Bear this year. But she cautioned that berries and bears were not a safe combination during August.

Vida continued with her chatty tidbits until the commercial break. Leo got his way about the Harvey’s Hardware ad; Vida read it live, and with much enthusiasm.

“I know,” Vida intoned, beginning the final segment of her broadcast, “that I promised Delphine Corson would visit us this evening to give some fascinating tips on late summer floral arrangements. But due to recent events in town, I’ve asked Delphine if she can postpone offering her wonderful ideas until next Wednesday. Thank you, Delphine, and all your helpers at Posies Unlimited. We anxiously await your colorful advice.”

There was a very brief pause. I leaned closer to the radio. Vida continued. “Due to the tragic events surrounding the death of Tim Rafferty, a popular fixture on KSKY-AM, I’m enlisting the help of all Alpiners to investigate leads in the unfortunate homicide and arson case. Our hearts and prayers go out to the Rafferty, Eriks, and Parker families at this time. Of course, we know how hard Sheriff Milo Dodge and his able deputies are working to solve this heinous crime. However, we also know that the sheriff’s office has limited personnel.”

I frowned. Was Vida treading on Milo’s toes?

“One of the potential witnesses is a recluse known to many of you as Old Nick,” she went on. “It appears that he has been living in the vacant house on Fir Street near Fifth, next to the cul-de-sac where the Rafferty tragedy occurred. First, let me give you an eyewitness description of Old Nick, who was last seen Sunday night.”

I noticed that Vida didn’t identify Wayne Eriks by name. Perhaps she didn’t want to make him a target in case Old Nick really was on a rampage. As she described the recluse, she spoke slowly, having urged her listeners to take notes.

“It is very likely,” she said, “that Old Nick has returned to the woods. During the summer we have many able, strong young bodies with free time. One of our fine college students is organizing a search party to help find Old Nick in order to assist the sheriff’s department in its investigation. Dear listeners, let me introduce my grandson, Roger Hibbert, who will lead this crime-solving crusade.”

I almost fell off the sofa. What was Vida thinking of? I was aghast, appalled, amazed, and anything but happy.

“Roger,” Vida was saying, “can you tell us about your plan?”

There was a pause. Vida must have provided notes. Roger was probably trying to read them.
If
he could read.

“Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock we’ll meet by the picnic tables at Old Mill Park,” Roger said in a voice that had grown surprisingly mature since I’d last spoken with him. “Anyone between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one is invited to join us in our search for Old Nick. We’ll have trail maps available. Snacks will be on hand before we start because we want to be well nourished. Please bring a bottle of water and wear sturdy walking shoes.”

He read the announcement well. I had to admit that when Roger had made his acting debut in an ill-fated amateur production a year and a half ago, he’d shown hints of acting talent.

“Thank you so much, Roger,” Vida said in a voice bursting with pride. “Now can you tell us how you decided to head this vital search?”

Another pause. Roger must be gathering his wits. They could be anywhere.

“That is,” Vida interjected, “how you came up with this idea
on your own
?”

“Oh—well, yeah, right.” I thought I heard a gulp from Roger. “It seems like, well, you know, like older people these days think kids don’t have any responsibility. So, well, like I figured I could show them—the older people—that we do. Have responsibility, like. So I thought we could help. Plus, I think being a detective is really cool.”

“Ah.” I could practically see Vida beaming. “You’ve had some experience,” she continued, “being a detective, haven’t you, Roger?”

“Yeah. A while ago I lost my retainer. You know, for my teeth. My folks were kind of upset ’cause those retainers cost like a grip of money. So I thought I should find it. I went back over where I’d hung out and what I was doing, and like, you know, retraced all that, and that’s how I found the retainer in the dumpster at the high school. I’d left it in my lunch bag under some Twix wrappers.”

“Brilliant!” Vida exclaimed. “A perfect example of sound logic and keen detection!”

Roger, Master of the Obvious. Even I could have figured out that the kid would take off his retainer when he ate, which occurred frequently. But at least he’d saved Amy and Ted Hibbert several hundred dollars.

“So,” Vida was stating with enthusiasm, “all of you young people out there listening have a chance to be a detective, too. Remember, ten o’clock tomorrow morning at Old Mill Park. Further instructions will await you. Before I close
Vida’s Cupboard
this evening, I’d like to thank Roger once again, as well as KSKY for the opportunity to perform this public service. Good night and a pleasant week to everyone until we take another peek into
Vida’s Cupboard.
”

The closing of the cabinet’s sound effects concluded with a gentle click, presumably keeping Vida’s gossip from running amok until next Wednesday. I sat back on the sofa and questioned her wisdom. Not to mention her sanity. Two minutes later, I was sipping Pepsi when the phone rang.

“Did you know about this?” The sheriff was yelling in my ear.

I grimaced. “Of course not. And please don’t shout.”

“Goddamn it,” Milo went on, still bellowing, “she’s making me look like a moron! She’s putting a bunch of dumb kids at risk! There’ll be lawsuits all over the county! What got into her anyway?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I responded. “
Please
stop yelling. I’m as flabbergasted as you are.” Although, I realized, I should have known. Vida had certainly behaved suspiciously when Wayne Eriks had come to the office.

“They’ll never find him,” Milo declared, lowering his voice but still fuming. “I’m going to the park tomorrow and tell them to disband. I ought to arrest Vida for interfering with the law.”

“You wouldn’t arrest her.”

“I’d sure as hell like to.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for sending them all home. That is,” I added, “if anybody shows up. Vida didn’t offer a reward.”

“Oh, they’ll show up.” Milo’s tone was bitter. “At least enough of them to cause trouble. If they go off-trail into the woods, they’ll either get shot by some jerk running a meth lab or they’ll start a forest fire or they’ll get lost and then we’ll have to search for
them.
I’m going to nip this thing in the bud. In fact, I’m going to drive over to Vida’s house right now and tell her to have Fleetwood broadcast a retraction. I hold him responsible, too.”

The sheriff banged down the phone.

I wondered if I should go to Vida’s, too. Maybe I could ease the conflict between them, which I knew could grow into a conflagration as dangerous as any forest fire.

I needed a few minutes to think. Vida might not go straight home. It was likely that she’d given Roger a ride and would have to drop him off at his parents’ home in The Pines. She might stay for a while, visiting with Amy and Ted, as well as finalizing her plans with Roger.

Still debating with myself, I turned on my laptop and checked for e-mail messages. Happily, there was one from Adam. We e-mailed each other several times a week because the phone connection between Alpine and St. Mary’s Igloo was so poor. My son’s phone line was on a radio delay, and there were always long pauses between our exchanges. The halting conversations drove both of us nuts.

“Mom,” he began, “got your package with the Starbucks coffee and the thermal socks. Thanks. Can you send more socks? I already gave mine to a couple of parishioners who need them more than I do, or will when fall arrives.”