Mary Daheim - The Alpine Uproar

A LSO BY M ARY D AHEIM

The Alpine Advocate
The Alpine Betrayal
The Alpine Christmas
The Alpine Decoy
The Alpine Escape
The Alpine Fury
The Alpine Gamble
The Alpine Hero
The Alpine Icon
The Alpine Journey
The Alpine Kindred
The Alpine Legacy
The Alpine Menace
The Alpine Nemesis
The Alpine Obituary
The Alpine Pursuit
The Alpine Quilt
The Alpine Recluse
The Alpine Scandal
The Alpine Traitor

O N T UESDAY , O CTOBER 5, S KYKOMISH C OUNTY S HERIFF Milo Dodge arrested Clive Berentsen, forty-one, in connection with the death of Alvin De Muth, thirty-eight. Dodge and Deputy Sam Heppner took Berentsen into custody at eleven-twenty-five PM . The timing was almost perfect, allowing me to include the story for The Alpine Advocates weekly deadline.

I know KSKY has the news, I said to my production manager, Kip MacDuff, the next morning, but at least we got it in this weeks edition.

Kip, who was pouring coffee from the urn behind my new reporters vacant desk, grinned. There are some wars you cant win, Emma.

I know that, too. I paused, contemplating our coverage of the homicide down the road. I suppose Clive Berentsen will plead self-defense. Do you know Clive or Alvin De Muth?

Kip shook his head. Only by sight. Clives been a long-haul trucker for years. De Muth has done some work on our trucks, but I hardly ever talked to him. I guess he was the strong, silent type. Kip smiled at me. I dont hang out at the Icicle Creek Tavern. Never was my style. If I want a beer, I go to Mugs Ahoy or our fridge at home. Im a respectable married man, remember?

I smiled back at Kip. Hed worked for the Advocate since his high school days, starting out as a carrier and eventually taking over the papers production. He was now in his early thirties; Id designated him my heir apparent if and when I ever retired.

You deserve a raise, I said on impulse. If we crunch some numbers

Whoa. Kip held up a hand. I know the numbers as well as you do. The profit margin is pretty lean. Nobody here expects to get rich.

True enough. I glanced over at my House & Home editors empty chair. Wheres Vida? Its ten after eight.

Shes got the bakery run, Kip replied, heading for the door to our back shop. She traded with Mitch this morning. He had a problem at home and called to say he might not get here until eight-thirty.

Mitch Laskey was my latest hire as the Advocates sole reporter. Nothing serious, I hope?

Ask Vida. He chuckled. Shes the one who knows everything, he added, then disappeared into his high-tech domain.

Kip was right. Vida Runkel was the source of all knowledge in Alpine and the rest of Skykomish County. No secret was safe, no slip of the tongue went unnoticed, no vow of secrecy was sacred to my redoubtable House & Home editor. She could be annoying, contrary, and even infuriating, but Id be lost without her. I owned the Advocate, but Vida held Alpine in her heartand the palm of her hand.

Id retreated to my cubbyhole office when she burst into the newsroom five minutes later. No maple bars! she cried. No sugar doughnuts! Whats going on at the Upper Crust?

I rose from my chair and went to my almost-always-open door. They cant make everything every day, I pointed out.

Vida, who was wearing a toque plastered with artificial autumn leaves, tromped over to the table where the coffee urn was located. True, but my mouth was set for a maple bar. She began arranging the pastries on a tray. Cinnamon doughnuts are good, so are the frosted kind, but I prefer raised sugar. Oh, well. She finished her task and snatched up a blueberry Danish.

Whats going on with Mitch? I inquired.

His wifes loom broke, Vida replied en route to her desk. Brenda has deadlines, too. Shes weaving a rug for someones mid-October birthday in Kalamazoo.

I perused the bakery goods. So what do you think of Mitch?

Vida shed her new green raincoat; the hat remained atop her unruly gray curls. Competent. Pleasant. Good writing, fine pictures. Most of all, hes mature, which was not true of his predecessor.

Youre right, I agreed. Were lucky to get Mitch. I was afraid wed get stuck with another recent college grad. The scary part about hiring Curtis Mayne last spring is that he was the best applicant.

A disaster, Vida murmured. So irresponsible, a borderline mental case. She sat down in her chair. I listened to KSKY this morning. Spencer Fleetwood reported that Clive Berentsen will be charged with first-degree manslaughter.

Standard for a tavern brawl, I said, selecting a cinnamon-sugar doughnut. How come you dont know everything there is to know about either the victim or the alleged killer?

Vidas expression was disdainful. As youre aware, I dont associate with the type of people who spend Saturday nights at the Icicle Creek Tavern. Lowlifes, virtually all of them. I dont understand why Milo didnt arrest Clive on the spot.

He wanted to be sure, I said as my ad manager, Leo Walsh, came into the newsroom. You know Milohe always goes by the book.

Leo made a mocking bow to greet Vida. She made a noise that sounded like a growl. During all the years theyd worked together, the pair had conducted what might seem to casual observers like a simmering feud. I knew better. Beneath the gibes and jeers, they liked and respected each other. When Leo had almost died in July, Vidas concern had been genuine. Indeed, she hadnt criticized him for smoking when he returned to work two weeks later.

Leo turned to me. You talking about Berentsen whacking Whatshisname?

I nodded. It sounds like the good old daysor bad old days, depending on how much you enjoy an old-fashioned tavern brawl.

Dreadful, Vida remarked. Yet part of Alpines history as a logging town. You both arrived too late for the timber industrys heyday. Her glances at Leo and me seemed almost pitying. Unfortunately, it occasionally brought out the worst in some people.

Leo, who was getting his coffee and a plain doughnut, chuckled. Oh, yes. Harrowing tales of Saturday nights at both the Icicle Creek Tavern and Mugs Ahoy. Regular knock-down, drag-out affairs, especially at Icicle Creek. Wasnt there another murder at one of those saloons a few years back?

Vida and I exchanged quick glances. We both remembered the victim, a young man who may or may not have deserved killing. Yes, ten, twelve years ago, I said. If youre really interested, you can read all about it in back copies of the Advocate.

Leo shook his head. No thanks. I used to work in the LA area, remember? He turned back to Vida. How long did they keep the windows boarded up because they couldnt afford to replace them every month or so?

Vida heaved a big sigh. At least a year after one fracas. On the weekends, whichever deputy was on night duty would cower outside in the patrol car, too frightened to restore order. Then there were the bikers whod roar into town thinking they could win a victory over the loggers. So foolish. The bikers were overmatched.

I caught a hint of pride in Vidas tone. As a native Alpiner, even the worst behavior couldnt dim her high opinion of the towns citizens.

Leo paused on his way to his desk. I have to askdid you ever go to the Icicle Creek Tavern on a Saturday night, Duchess?