The Alpine Betrayal (21 page)

“And Dani?” I spoke quietly, not quite sure what motivated me to ask.

Reid Hampton stared, then broke into a huge smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, Dani! She’s luminous! I’ve been in her corner all along. Major talent, major star. This is a breakthrough picture for both of them. If
Blood
doesn’t encourage Dani to go on, nothing ever will.”

He turned away abruptly, his attention drawn by his cinematographer, who appeared to be verging on an aneurism. I waited for at least two minutes; then, as Matt Tabor started shouting about the inadequacies of wardrobe and the
assistant director announced that the stunt man was missing, I gave up and headed back to
The Advocate
.

I was startled to find Dani Marsh waiting for me, her cheeks stained with tears. Closing the door to my office, I sat down and offered Dani coffee. She declined.

“I’m being persecuted,” she sniffed, using a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. “My mother warned me not to come back to Alpine. I should have listened.”

“Who’s doing the persecuting?” I asked, noting that even with smeared makeup and reddened eyes, Dani still looked beautiful.

“The sheriff. He came to see me this morning at the ski lodge, but I’d already gone down to Front Street to start shooting. Reid didn’t need me for a while, so I went over to Dodge’s office.” She gestured in the direction of Milo’s headquarters, two blocks away from
The Advocate
. “Why is he raking up the past? What has that got to do with Cody overdosing?” She was perilously close to shedding more tears.

My initial reaction was to utter a disclaimer on her theory about Cody’s manner of death, but I didn’t see any point in arguing. Yet. “Did Sheriff Dodge ask you about Art Fremstad?”

Dani shifted in the chair, obviously trying to compose herself. “Yes. I don’t know anything about Art. I mean, I knew him, I’d seen him around town, but he graduated from high school before I got there. The first time I really talked to him was … when … when he came to our place after I called for help.” The thick lashes dipped over the big brown eyes. Dani didn’t seem to be able to say the words out loud:
when my baby died
. I didn’t blame her.

“Did the sheriff ask what Art did or said while he was at your house?”

“It was a trailer, out where those new town houses are now. I don’t remember a thing,” Dani asserted, her voice cracking. “How could I? It was all so horrible!”

Posing tough questions is part of my job. But I either
lack the nerve or am too softhearted to always go for the jugular. My editor on
The Oregonian
used to tell me I was gutless. I preferred to think of myself as kind. But this was one of those nasty situations where I knew I had to seize the moment or very likely never know the truth.

“Dani,” I began, keeping my voice firm and determined, “are you absolutely certain your baby died from SIDS?”

Her head jerked up, the honey blond hair floating like a soft cloud around her shoulders. “Of course! What are you saying?” The agony was back in her eyes, her voice, every fiber of her body. “Why? Why? You, the sheriff, everybody … I can’t take this!” To prove her point, she flew out of the chair and ran from my office.

Vida gaped from behind her desk, Ed stumbled on his way back from the coffeemaker, and Roger put the straw from his Slurpee up his nose.

“What was that all about?” demanded Vida.

I started to explain, but Vida suddenly noted the time. “Oh! It’s five to! We’re going to be late. Come along, Roger.”

Roger expelled the straw into the coffee mug Carla had left on her desk. After grandmother and grandson left, I took the mug out to Ginny Burmeister who was in charge of coffee.

“Roger’s a caution,” she remarked, finishing up the particulars for a new classified ad.

“Actually, he seemed a little subdued today,” I said. “He hasn’t tried to set any fires or blow anybody up. For Roger, that’s good.” I paused, glancing at the list of classifieds Ginny had taken for the next issue. It wasn’t impressive, but that was typical for early August. Many people were on vacation, it was too soon for end-of-summer garage sales, and the housing market wouldn’t move for at least another week. “Say, Ginny, you don’t recall talking to Curtis Graff before he left Alpine five years ago, do you?”

Ginny, in her conscientious manner, frowned in recollection. “I did, as a matter of fact. I ran into him one morning on my way to the Burger Barn. I bused tables there that
summer. He said he was going to Ketchikan and get rich fishing.”

“That’s it?”

Ginny was still frowning. “I think so. He seemed kind of nervous. No, not nervous, just ill at ease. I remember, because I’d had that crush on him and he’d been broken up with Laurie Vickers for a while. So I suddenly thought, hey, what if after all this time Curtis has a crush on
me?
But he didn’t. I suppose he was just in a hurry, getting everything ready to leave for Alaska. He took off kind of quick. I mean, one day he was here, and the next day, he was gone. Almost.”

“He didn’t mention anything about Cody and Dani Graff’s baby?”

“No.” Ginny slowly shook her head. “No, though it had to be on his mind. It was certainly on everybody else’s since it had just happened.”

“Did he bring up his brother?” I marveled at the lack of curiosity Ginny displayed at my questioning. But Ginny has absolutely no imagination.

“No. All he said was what I told you. At least that’s all I remember.” She looked faintly apologetic.

I was considering a tactful explanation for my inquisitiveness when Vida stormed into the front office. Her car wouldn’t start; could I drive them up to the clinic?

Doc Dewey’s office was only four blocks away. Vida was a notorious walker. She saw the puzzlement on my face and made an exasperated gesture. “Roger doesn’t feel like hoofing it. Please, Emma, we’re going to be late.”

I didn’t argue, though I knew that Roger had already hiked twice the distance and back to the 7-Eleven to get his Slurpee. But Roger was looking mulish and Vida was growing frantic. We hurried to the Jaguar, which Roger appraised with an expert eye.

“Buff,” he said, presumably in approval, and scrambled into the backseat.

Ten minutes later I returned to the office, having agreed to collect Vida and Roger at eleven-thirty. I called Milo to
ask about his interview with Dani Marsh, but he was out. For a long time, I sat with my arms folded on my desk, trying to figure out why so many people were still denying that Cody Graff had been murdered. And why Dani Marsh had become so distraught over my suggestion that her baby hadn’t died of SIDS.

My reverie was broken by the telephone. It was Milo. Curtis Graff had returned to Alpine. He was staying with Patti Marsh.

“I think he stayed with her before,” said Milo. “Hey, Emma, why do I feel as if I’m running around like a hamster in a big maze?”

“Swell,” I responded. “You’re supposed to know all the tricks of the homicide trade. I already feel as if I’ve got the second female lead in a B movie. Milo, do you or do you not think Cody Graff may have killed little Scarlett?”

I heard Milo suck in his breath before he answered. “Why don’t you ask his brother? Curtis is just pulling up in front of your cute yellow building. I saw him drive by in Patti’s car.”

But Curtis wasn’t calling on me. When I got outside, he was at the barricade, talking to Matt Tabor. Neither man looked very happy, and before I could make up my mind about approaching them, they disappeared inside the Venison Inn.

Just as well, I thought: it was smack on eleven-thirty. I drove up to the clinic and parked across the street by the gift shop. Marje Blatt was behind the desk, her face thinner and her uniform less crisp.

“Doc’s running late,” she said without preamble. “Aunt Vida and Roger will be out in a few minutes.”

I sat down in one of the venerable chairs that had served two generations of Dewey patients. The only other person in the waiting room was an elderly man with a cane who was reading a well-thumbed copy of
Business Week
.

“How are you doing, Marje?” I asked infusing my voice with sympathy.

Marje looked up from her appointment book. “Okay. How are you?”

Somehow, it didn’t seem an appropriate rejoinder. “Have you talked to Cody’s parents?” I wasn’t letting Marje off the hook, though I knew she must have already been thoroughly grilled by Vida.

“Only on Sunday.” She set the appointment book aside and scooted her chair over to a tall metal filing cabinet. “Curtis says they’re doing okay. Considering.”

The elderly man wore a hearing aid. I wondered if it was turned off; he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to us. I got up and walked over to the reception desk, lowering my voice.

“Marje, did you have any premonition about Cody?”

She glanced up from the open file drawer. It was as neat as her aunt’s was untidy. “No. Why should I?” Marje flipped through the folders, pulling a chart. “Look,” she said, meeting my gaze head-on, “you and Aunt Vida get a kick out of playing detective. Cody had his faults, like everybody else. Maybe he had more than I knew about—we never lived together. He was moody, he could fly off the handle. I don’t like ups and downs. So I thought some medication might make him more steady. That’s what you really want in a husband, isn’t it?”

How would I know?
I thought. “Wasn’t that a little risky?”

Marje shrugged. “I know what both Deweys prescribe for people with Cody’s problems. I only gave Cody a couple of sample packets.”

“But they were pills, not syrup,” I pointed out.

A flicker of emotion passed over Marje’s face, then she gave another shrug. “I suppose he got the syrup somewhere else. It’s terrible how easy it is for people to get hold of drugs these days. Young Doc Dewey is going to start a drug education class at the high school this fall. Really, it amazes me how even a small town like Alpine can have so many people who are hooked on something. I wish big cities like Seattle would keep their vices to themselves.” She had
grown quite heated, causing the elderly man to look up from his magazine. He nodded once, then resumed reading.

I was about to say that I knew Alpine had its share of drug-related problems, though I wasn’t aware of any epidemic. But the words never came out. Vida and Roger emerged from the examining room area with Doc Dewey bringing up the rear.

“You’re not keeping pace, Vida,” warned Doc Dewey. “You know darned well I’m a cautious man. Too cautious, my son would say, and he’s the one who should be seeing Roger today. But we’re doing right by your grandson, believe me.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Vida declared, her hand on Roger’s shoulder. “I expected better of you than of Gerry—your son never did have as much sense as he should have. But you’re as pigheaded as he is. I’m telling you once and for all, I won’t take this prescription into the pharmacy.” She waved a white slip of paper in Doc Dewey’s face.

“Amy and Ted will when they get back.” Doc spoke matter-of-factly, though his expression indicated he wished Vida would shut up and go away. Indeed, he brightened a bit when he recognized me. “Hello there, girlie. How’s your little reporter doing with her allergy reaction?”

“Carla’s fine,” I assured him. Doc was looking less haggard than when I’d seen him at the Icicle Creek Tavern almost a week earlier. But the fragile air remained. Perhaps he’d earned it. The man must be over seventy, and he’d devoted a half-century to healing Alpine’s sick. “How was your trip?”

“Hot,” replied Doc, turning to greet the elderly man who was struggling to his feet with the aid of the cane. “The air-conditioning doesn’t work most of the time. Well, young man,” he said to his next patient, “how’s that knee?”

Vida and I bade Marje farewell, then let Roger lead the way outside. “Doc’s daffy,” said Vida. “It’s bad enough that his son’s pouring medicine down Roger’s throat, but after only a week, they’re changing the prescription. If you ask
me, the Deweys are experimenting on poor Roger. You’d think the child was a gerbil.”

Since Roger was now climbing onto the roof of my Jaguar, I wasn’t inclined to argue. “What’s he taking?” I asked, trying to show an interest in Roger’s problems, which seemed to stem from a complete lack of discipline rather than any chemical cause. But I didn’t dare say so. Besides, I had to assume that Doc knew what he was doing. Or, it dawned on me, he’d gotten absolutely nowhere with a diagnosis similar to mine.

Vida glanced at the slip of paper while I gave Roger a frozen smile which I hoped would coax him off the car roof. “Thorazine. Roger can’t drink juice with it. Doesn’t that beat all?” She crushed the prescription and threw it into her purse. “Three freshly squeezed oranges a day is what he gets for breakfast when he stays with me. If Amy and Ted want to be such silly fools, that’s up to them.”

Roger finally dismounted, badgering his grandmother about what he wanted for lunch, which sounded like great quantities of deep-fried grease. Inside the car, I asked Vida if she knew why Doc had gone to Seattle.

“I never got a chance to ask,” she said, still grumpy. “I was too busy trying to talk sense into the old fool. But he told Marje it was for a tune-up. Every year or so I guess he checks himself into the Mason Clinic or one of those places and gets an overhaul. If you ask me, he should have his brain replaced. Maybe I should take Roger into Seattle myself and see what they think. I’ll bet they’d find out he’s just too bright for his age.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror at Roger. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was drooling. “Hey, Grams,” he said in a gurgling voice, “I’m having a fit. Double fries’ll cure me.”

Vida smiled fondly at Roger, then turned to me. “You see, Emma, the boy knows what he needs. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a doctor.”

Maybe, I thought to myself, he’ll grow up.
Maybe
.