The Alpine Scandal (9 page)

“We know,” Vida said impatiently. “Jessica Wesley took over but stayed only one day. She resigned yesterday morning for reasons that don’t satisfy her parents.”

“I didn’t know that,” Scott said, looking apologetic. “Anyway, the only one I knew was Bree Kendrick.”

“Kendall,” Vida corrected, edging a few inches along the front of the desk.

“Oh.” Scott shrugged. “Sorry. Anyway, I knew her because she lived at Pines Villa and knew Tammy from the UW. They were in the same sorority.”

“Ah.” Vida looked pleased and moved to the corner of Scott’s desk. “So your bride and Bree are friends?”

“Not exactly,” Scott said, using a paper napkin to wipe some of the apple substance from his fingers. “Tammy and Bree were three years apart. I don’t know much about the Greek sorority and fraternity scene, but Tammy felt she should at least ask Bree to dinner. That was before we were married, when Bree first got here. They’ve seen each other a few times since and going in and out of the apartment, but I wouldn’t call them close. We had Bree to our place a year or so ago and told her to bring a date.” He paused to take a sip of coffee.

“Did she?” I asked, noting that Vida was now at the side of the desk.

Scott nodded. “She brought Carter Nystrom.”

Vida stopped just short of the coffee and baked goods table behind Scott’s chair. “Scott! You should have told us this sooner!”

“I didn’t know it mattered,” he said. “Honest, I’d kind of forgotten about it. The dinner wasn’t a social highlight on our calendar. Tammy didn’t even invite Bree to the wedding. At least she wasn’t there. As I recall.”

“Men!” Vida shook her head and snatched up a pear boat. “I’ll save this for later,” she murmured, wrapping a napkin around the pastry. “Emma, we must talk to Tamara. Or,” she continued, looming over Scott’s chair, “can you tell us if this was a serious romance between Carter and Bree?”

Scott was looking annoyed. “They weren’t pawing each other, if that’s what you mean. How would I know?”

Ginny, who had been observing the exchange, lifted her hand as if asking permission to speak. “I saw Carter and Bree once having dinner at the ski lodge last summer. They looked friendly but not what I’d call in love. I told Rick I thought Carter was kind of a stick. He said Carter was a nice guy and always very pleasant when he came into the bank. In fact, he always asked for Rick to help him instead of going to one of the tellers.”

“No doubt Carter’s carrying a box full of money,” Leo put in, finally finishing his cigarette and coming toward the baked goods. “Those orthodontists make a killing.”

“Ginny,” Vida began, “you must tell Rick I’ll be coming by for a private chat.”

Kip, who had been silently munching away, announced that he felt left out. “I don’t know Carter Nystrom or any of these people. Except Elmer, I mean, and he’s dead.”

“That’s the problem,” Vida asserted. “Not Elmer being dead—which he is, and that’s a different sort of problem from what I intended to say. It’s that nobody really knows the Nystroms except on a professional level. That’s very odd, since they’ve lived here forever.”

Leo gave Vida his crooked grin. “You can cure that, Duchess. I have faith in you.”

But for once Vida seemed uncertain. “I’m not sure I can. I don’t think the Nystroms want to be known.”

Vida, however, was as good as her word. As soon as the Bank of Alpine opened, she headed off to talk to Ginny’s husband, Rick Erlandson. I called Tamara Rostova Chamoud to set up a lunch date. She couldn’t take a break until one, as she had to meet with some of her students after her eleven o’clock class.

After Ginny delivered the mail at around ten, I left for the sheriff’s office. It was a mild January day with fog that would lift by noon. The damp air was invigorating despite the smell of diesel trucks and the faint but unpleasant odor of pulp from the only surviving mill in town, Blackwell Timber.

The law enforcement staff seemed to be holding an informal meeting behind the curved mahogany counter that separated the public from the employees. Dustin Fong, Jack Mullins, and Doe Jameson were huddled around Lori Cobb, who was seated at her console. None of them looked happy.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Jack Mullins, who had seniority among the group, gave me a woebegone look. “The sheriff’s sick.”

This was shocking news. Milo never got sick except for the occasional cold that he always toughed out in his usual macho fashion. “What’s wrong with him? Why didn’t Scott tell me when he checked the police log?”

“The boss man was okay then,” Jack said, his customarily puckish face as grave as I’d ever seen it. “It happened about half an hour ago. He had terrific chest pains, and Dwight Gould took him to the hospital.”

“A heart attack?” I gasped, leaning against the counter to steady my suddenly weak knees.

Doe Jameson, Milo’s recently hired deputy, shrugged her broad shoulders. “We don’t know. Dwight’s still there with him. Both Doc Dewey and Dr. Sung are checking him out.”

Milo wouldn’t allow himself to be taken to the hospital unless he thought he was dying. Even then, he was the type of bearlike man who’d prefer to crawl into his cave and let nature take its course.

“I can’t believe it,” I said faintly. “Are you sure this pain was sudden?”

Dustin Fong shed his lost-child demeanor long enough to answer. “I didn’t think he seemed quite right when he came in this morning. He hardly talked at all, just went straight into his office.”

Lori nodded in agreement. “I haven’t worked here long enough to know Sheriff Dodge that well, but he looked kind of…what my grandma would call ‘peaked.’”

“Is Dwight still at the hospital?” I asked, putting some steel into my spine. I, too, could be tough—or at least in control of my emotions. God knows, I’d had plenty of practice.

Lori nodded again. “He told us he’d call when he found out anything.”

My cell phone rang inside my handbag. Could someone be calling me from the hospital? Had Milo asked for me in his final hour? I excused myself and took the call a few feet away from the counter.

“Hey, Sluggly,” my brother said in his most chipper voice, “want some grease for lunch? It’s your turn to treat. I’ll let you off easy at the diner or the Burger Barn.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Milo’s in the hospital with chest pains. I’m going over there now.”

“Damn!” Ben’s tone changed immediately. “I’ll meet you there. How bad is it?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“You don’t know much for a newshound. See you.” He clicked off.

I didn’t bother saying goodbye to the sheriff’s employees. I raced out the door, terrified that I might have to say a permanent goodbye to the sheriff.

Chapter Seven

T
HE HOSPITAL WAS
on Pine, only a block uphill from the sheriff’s office. I walked hurriedly across Front Street. Through the drifting fog, I spotted Vida down the block, coming out of the Bank of Alpine. I thought of calling to her, but she had turned in the opposite direction, apparently going back to the
Advocate
office. She wouldn’t be pleased to find out that I hadn’t told her about Milo’s catastrophe right away, but I was in a panic.

The emergency room was virtually empty except for a couple of older people I didn’t recognize and Grace Grundle, whom I intended to ignore.

But Grace wouldn’t let that happen. “Emma,” she called to me, struggling to get out of the waiting room chair. “Are you under the weather, too?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s this terrible cough. I can’t get rid of it. I’ve had it since before Thanksgiving. Doc Dewey gave me some kind of medicine, but really, I don’t think it helped a bit. I was awake half the night coughing and coughing. My poor kitties couldn’t get any rest, either. It’s not fair to them to have to put up with me.”

I was trapped and tried to calm myself enough to be civil. Grace was the kind of senior citizen who spent half her time at the doctor’s for herself and the other half at the vet’s with her cats. As far as I was concerned, the Grace Grundles of this world share the guilt for the high price of medical premiums. I know that elderly folks get lonely, and if people like me would take time to visit them once in a while, we might alleviate the problem.

“These germs seem to hang on forever,” I said rapidly, watching Grace as she rummaged through her well-worn purse. “Excuse me, but I—”

“Just a moment, Emma. I have something to show you.” She kept rummaging; I shifted from one foot to the other. “I stopped to pick up my Christmas pictures from Safeway on the way over here. You must see them. You might want to run one in the newspaper. They are absolutely adorable!”

Finally she took out an envelope and began removing the photos. One by one. The first three were so dark, I couldn’t see much except for glowing feline eyes. Or so I assumed.

“This one is much better,” Grace informed me. “I remembered to use the flash button.”

A fat gray cat wearing a Santa Claus hat stared malevolently at the camera. “Cute,” I said. “Very cute.”

“That’s Snickerdoodle,” Grace said. “He’s almost four. This next one is Tiddlywinks. What do you think?”

Tiddlywinks looked feral to me. The cat was baring its teeth, and its eyes were wild. Clearly, he didn’t seem to like the mistletoe that was tied around his neck with green and red ribbon.

“Colorful,” I said weakly, suddenly realizing that Grace hadn’t coughed once despite her bountiful flow of words.

“I rescued him last spring, poor thing,” she informed me. “He was out in the backyard, eating a crow, and I—”

Ben came through the double doors. “Emma.” He spoke softly, but his voice was urgent.

Grace shut up and turned to stare at my brother. “Oh! Aren’t you…uh…”

Grace wasn’t Catholic and probably didn’t recognize Ben in his Levi’s and parka.

Ben smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m that priest from out of town. Also known as Emma’s big brother. Could you excuse us for a moment?” He steered me away from Grace. “How’s Milo?” he asked in a whisper.

“I wouldn’t know,” I retorted. “I haven’t had a chance to find out.”

At last, I was able to approach the reception desk. I gave a start. Sitting warily in wait was Bree Kendall. She didn’t look very happy to see me. Maybe she thought I was being committed to the mental ward. If Alpine had had one.

“Can I help you?” she asked frostily.

“I’ve come to inquire about Sheriff Dodge. My brother is a priest.” I turned to look at Ben, but he wasn’t behind me.

“What brother?” Bree inquired, looking as if she wished she had a straitjacket at hand.

I moved a few steps away, spotting Ben on the floor, where he was helping Grace pick up some of the cat photos she’d apparently dropped. I realized Bree couldn’t see him from her seat behind the desk.

“There,” I said, pointing out of her range of vision. “He’s helping Ms. Grundle.”

Ben stood up. Bree saw him. “Did the sheriff request a priest?” she asked, her query sheathed in ice.

“No. My brother and I are friends of his. The deputies told me he’d been brought here with chest pains.”

Ben finished helping Grace and joined me at the counter. “I don’t want to offer up prayers for Sheriff Dodge unless I know what’s wrong with him,” he said quietly to Bree. “After all, this is the feast day of the baptism of our Lord, Jesus Christ.”

I didn’t know that, and I’m sure Bree had no idea what my brother was talking about. But the frost melted slightly. “He’s stable,” Bree said, “but that’s all I know.”

At that moment Dwight Gould came out through the double doors that led to the two examining rooms. He was scowling, but Dwight was negative by nature.

I hurried over to the deputy. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“Damn it, Emma, are you putting this in the paper?” Dwight growled.

“The paper’s already printed,” I snapped. “How’s Milo?”

“What do I look like?” Dwight retorted. “Dr. Kildare?”

Dwight looked more like Dr. Killjoy to me, but I tried to be patient. “Well?”

Again, Ben was covering my back. “Does anybody know anything yet?” he asked.

“Hi, Padre,” Dwight said, his attitude softening slightly. “You been fishing since you got here?”

Ben shook his head. “I’d like to, but I have to leave Sunday. How about you?”

“Caught a ten-pounder over the weekend near where the Tye comes into the Sky,” Dwight said.

“Nice,” Ben commented. “The river looks off-color today, though.”

Dwight shrugged. “You can’t always tell by that. The steelhead can’t tell, either, if you ask me.” He chuckled.

“So how’s Dodge?” my brother asked, having bonded with a fellow fisherman. Fishing, after all, was almost as good as religion when it came to male relationships.

“Doc’s doing some tests,” Dwight replied. “Dodge is pretty pissed.”

“Then he’s not dying,” I said.

“Hell, no,” Dwight replied. “It could be a heart attack, but Elvis Sung isn’t sure. I’m going back to the office.”

Dwight stomped through the waiting room, but not before Grace stopped him, brandishing her cat photos. “Not now, Miss Grundle,” Dwight said, though his tone was more kindly with Grace than it had been with the Lord siblings.

“Thank you again,” she called after him, “for saving Chubbins last fall when he got wedged in the fence.”

“No problem.” Dwight hurtled out through the door.

Ben drew me over by the aquarium, as far as we could get from the others without climbing out a window. “Now what?” he asked.

“We wait?”

“That could be quite a while,” Ben pointed out. “Believe me, I know. I’ve had to sit with plenty of anxiety-ridden parishioners in emergency rooms and hospitals in my time.”

I knew Ben was right, but I couldn’t leave without making sure that Milo wasn’t in danger. Dwight might describe his boss as “pissed,” but I’d expect that of the sheriff on his deathbed.

“I’m going back there,” I declared, waving in the direction of the examining rooms.

“Okay.” Ben came with me. Bree called out to stop us, but we ignored her.

“What’s with her?” Ben asked as we went through the double doors.

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “She must be temping.”

“What?”

“Later.”

Constance Peterson, LPN, was coming out of the room on the right. She saw us and frowned.

“May I help you, Ms. Lord?”

“I come with clergy,” I said, taking Ben’s arm. “I’m inquiring about Milo Dodge. This is my brother, Father Ben.”

“Oh.” Constance’s frown eased a bit. “I remember you. When your church’s organist became ill a year or so ago, you came to visit.”

“Yes,” Ben replied. “I was filling in for Dennis Kelly.”

“Sheriff Dodge isn’t a Catholic,” Constance said.

“That’s not a problem,” Ben said dryly.

“I mean…” Constance’s usual professional aplomb teetered a bit. “I thought maybe you came to…do whatever priests do when somebody’s…very ill.”

“We’re here as friends,” Ben said. “How is he?”

“He’s stable,” Constance replied, resuming her usual efficient manner.

“Is it his heart?” I asked.

Constance’s round face was expressionless. “The doctors are doing tests.”

Ben sensed my frustration. “Nurse Peterson,” he said quietly, “can you assure us that Sheriff Dodge is in no immediate danger?”

“I don’t know. Medical personnel don’t own crystal balls, Father,” Constance replied primly. “As I’ve already told you, the most I can say is that the patient is listed as stable. I’m in no position to second-guess Dr. Dewey or Dr. Sung. Excuse me.” She glanced above the door on the right. “The light is on, summoning me. I must go.”

Nurse Peterson opened the examining room door only enough to allow her to slip inside. I couldn’t see a thing; neither could Ben.

“Foiled again,” Ben murmured.

I scowled at the closed door. “If Milo’s in that examining room, what kinds of tests are they taking? Shouldn’t he be where they have the specialized equipment?”

Ben shrugged. “Some of it’s mobile these days. You’d know more about what Alpine Hospital has than I would.”

“They don’t have as much as they need,” I said. “Like everything else in a small town and a small county, they’re short of the expensive new high-tech stuff. I’ve written plenty of editorials about those problems, from the sheriff’s office, to the hospital, to the highway and transportation departments.” I turned as Olga Bergstrom, RN, bore down on us from the far end of the corridor.

“Ms. Lord,” she called out. “You can’t wait in this part of the emergency area.” She studied Ben for a brief moment. “I know you—you’re Father Lord.”

Ben nodded. “I’ve been here so long, I feel like Grandfather Lord. Is the sheriff going to be released or hospitalized?”

The direct question seemed to catch Olga off guard. “I don’t know. That’s up to the doctors. Really,” she went on, “you must go into the waiting room.”

We had no choice except to move on. But there wasn’t much point in sitting around looking at the rest of Grace Grundle’s cat photos. “We’ll go out the back way,” I said.

“Fine.” Olga stepped aside to let us pass.

We exited on Cedar Street, catty-corner from St. Mildred’s. Ben decided he might as well go back to the rectory and catch up on any messages from East Lansing. We agreed to meet for dinner at the diner, since I already had a lunch date with Tamara Chamoud.

I steeled myself before entering the newsroom. The only staff member present was Vida, with her steely gray eyes fixed on me as if I were an enemy target and she were a bombardier.

“Well?” The single word shot out of her mouth like a bullet.

“Marje Blatt?” I said, moving slowly toward her desk.

“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “You could at least have called me from the hospital. How is Milo?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, standing by her in-box. “They’re running some tests. Did Marje know anything?”

Vida’s lips were pressed tightly together. She shook her head. I waited. “All she could tell me,” Vida finally said, “was that Doc Dewey had been called away from the clinic to tend to Milo. It’s a good thing I have reliable
relatives
to keep me informed.”

The reproach stung, as it always did when coming from Vida. Marje was Doc’s receptionist and Vida’s niece. I was surprised that Bill Blatt hadn’t alerted his aunt from the sheriff’s office. But maybe Bill wasn’t on duty that morning.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Frankly, I panicked.”

Vida sighed. “Yes, perhaps you did. Word is getting out. Ginny’s telling callers that we have no information. That’s very galling for a newspaper to have to admit.”

It was even more galling for Vida to admit such a thing. I eased myself into her visitor’s chair. “Did Rick Erlandson have anything interesting to say at the bank?”

“No,” she retorted. “Bankers! So closemouthed! It was as frustrating as dealing with the Bartlebys.” She paused, her eyes darting up to the window above her desk. Vida kept watch on that window, able to identify most pedestrians by their feet and legs. “It was what he didn’t say that intrigued me.”

“Which was…?”

“Reading between the lines, Carter Nystrom wasn’t making large deposits to the Bank of Alpine,” Vida explained. “He has a checking account there but apparently doesn’t deposit much of his income. That’s very puzzling, since it’s the only bank in town.”

“But not the only bank in the area,” I pointed out. “Sultan, Monroe, Snohomish—they all have bank branch offices. Who knows? Maybe Carter’s using a Seattle bank he set up during his student days.”

“That’s not very wise,” Vida declared. “He’s from Alpine, he lives here, he has his practice here. I’d consider his banking elsewhere as disloyal.”

Naturally. “Well, maybe. But it could be more convenient for him. Anyway, what I’d like to know most is what Rick thought of him—and his family.”

Vida literally rolled her eyes. “The same old story. Elmer and Polly have banked with BOA forever. Lovely people. Or at least Elmer is.
Was
. Polly apparently didn’t handle the money. I’m not surprised. She’s one of those helpless females who’s probably never written a check in her life and now will have to hire a CPA to keep her accounts balanced. Ninny.”

I held my head. “This is getting tiresome. Let’s face it, somebody didn’t think Elmer was so lovely or kind or decent or whatever. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten his head bashed in with a shovel.”

Vida frowned at me. “A shovel? Did you hear that from the sheriff’s office?”

“No. I’m guessing. It could’ve been a brick or a board or…who knows?”

“We certainly don’t,” Vida asserted. “We know very little.”

I remembered to tell her about Bree working behind the emergency room desk. “Temping, maybe,” I suggested.

“Or it’s her new job.” Vida looked thoughtful. “Who’s been at the desk in recent months? They seem to change personnel quite often. Stress, I would think. That is, I wouldn’t find it stressful, but so many people take the problems of others to heart. It’s not a healthy approach. One should keep a certain amount of distance. That’s far more sensible in dealing with demanding situations.”