Mary Daheim - The Alpine Advocate

The lively ferment of a life in a small Pacific Northwest town, with its convoluted genealogies and loyalties [and] its authentically quirky characters, combines with a baffling murder for an intriguing mystery novel.
M. K. W REN

Editor-publisher Emma Lord finds out that running a small-town newspaper is worse than nuttyits downright dangerous. Readers will take great pleasure in Mary Daheims new mystery.
Carolyn G. Hart

If you like cozy mysteries, you need to try Daheims Alpine series. Recommended.
The Snooper

[A] fabulous seriesFine examples of the traditional, domestic mystery.
Mystery Lovers Bookshop News

By Mary Daheim
Published by Ballantine Boots:

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

To all those who lived the real Alpine story, and in the process, created a legend. These courageous men and women embodied the spirit of the Pacific Northwest.

T HE TOWN OF Alpine no longer exists. But from the early part of the century until the late 1920s, it was a small but thriving mill center off Stevens Pass in western Washington. The mills owner, Carl Clemans, was a relative of Samuel Clemens (a.k.a. Mark Twain), though a discrepancy in spelling the family name had arisen between the two branches early in the nineteenth century.

Alpine, which saw the doughboys pass through during World War I, was consumed by such patriotic fervor that sales of victory bonds far exceeded the quota for any other community in the state. Old Alpiners still take pride in their contribution to Over There.

My mother grew up in Alpine and returned as a bride when my father took a job with the mill. When the logging operation was shut down, the town was intentionally burned to the ground so that transients off the freight trains wouldnt start forest fires. In over sixty years, the second stand of timber has obliterated all signs of the town.

But since Alpine anecdotes have played a large part in my life, I felt this rustic, picturesque place deserved to be revived. Thus, the background is genuine Pacific Northwest history, and now the town lives again in more than just the memories of those hardy souls who embodied the spirit of Alpine.

I N MY DREAM , Vida Runkel had her clothes on backward. In real life, Vida only wore her hat the wrong way to. Obviously, the poor woman had regressed in my subconscious. Maybe people who spend a lifetime working on small-town newspapers tend to deteriorate in every possible way. Maybe, I thought hazily, as the phone rang, that will happen to me.

Emma Lord here, I mumbled, trying to make sure I wasnt talking into the earpiece. Who died? A call at two A.M . had to be bad news. Unless it was my son.

It was. Nobodys dead, Mom, replied Adam, his usually strong young voice sounding a bit reedy over the five-thousand-mile cable between the shining sands of Honolulu and the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. What are you talking about? You working on a story for the paper?

I sat up, fumbling for the light switch on the lamp next to my bed. Why else would you be phoning in the middle of the night unless there was a disaster? Are you in jail?

Adam laughed, and I relaxed a little. Hey, everythings fresh. Its not the middle of the night. Its only eleven oclock. How come youre asleep so early?

Single mothers, married mothers, even stepmothers are basically a patient lot. They have to be or they would devour their offspring early on, like guppies. I repressed a sigh. Gee, Adam, youve only been going to the University of Hawaii for two years. When are they planning to teach you about time differences? The earth is round, remember? Youre three hours behind us, you nitwit. Are you broke again?

No. The incredulity in Adams response struck me as incredible. This was the kid who could lose money as fast as he could spend it. He could lose just about anything, if it came to that, having once misplaced his baby-sitter when he was eight. She thought it was the other way around, but it wasnt. So if Adam wasnt broke, he must have robbed a bank. Ergo, he was probably in jail after all. I finally managed to locate the light switch. Its Chris Ramirez, Adam was saying, as I blinked against the brightness of my cozy little bedroom. Hes coming home. Can you put him up at our house?

Chris? I sank back against the pillows. A cool breeze blew in through the two-inch span of open window. I could smell the evergreens and the damp earth. As always, they gave me strength, like an elixir. Why on earth is he coming back to Alpine after all these years?

Hes quitting school. Adam made it sound simple. He also made me sound as if I were simple, too. He wanted to quit even before his mom died. He registered, but he didnt go to any of the classes. He can get his money back, but its a big hassle.

My sons attitude toward extra effort rankled, as usual, but I decided not to run up the phone bill by saying so. Undoubtedly, Adam had charged the call to my credit card. Okay, when will he be in?

Let me see Obviously, Adam was consulting an airline schedule. I marveled that hed bothered to pick one up. Its a six-hour flight. Hell be there in about uh five hours. But you dont have to pick him up at the airport. Hell hitch a ride up to Alpine.

I bolted upright, clutching at the phone. What? You mean hes on his way? Hell, Adam, its over a two-hour drive to the airport! Ive got a paper to put out! Its Wednesday!

It was Adams turn to exhibit patience, a virtue he seemed to reserve only for parts on his 82 Rabbit and his considerably older, if more reliable, mother. Yeah, I know. Thats why I called now, to give you some advance notice. But you dont have to go clear into Sea-Tac. I told him itd be a cinch to find somebody driving over the Pass.

Visions of various serial murderers danced through my mind. In my opinion, hitchhiking should be outlawed not only on the freeway, but everywhere. Never mind, I said grimly. Ill go get him.

Thats up to you, my son said, and I could see him shrug. Hey, I gotta run. I got some dudes with a half-rack waiting for me, okay? Ill write this weekend and tell you about Deloria.

Deloria? But Adam had hung up.

I put the phone back and ran a hand through my short brown hair that somehow had not yet turned gray, despite a conspiracy by the rest of the world. Instead, my teeth kept trying to fall out. Thank God for Dr. Starr and giggle gas, I thought as I reset the alarm for four-thirty. The Seattle-Tacoma Airport was over ninety miles from Alpine, but at least I shouldnt run into much traffic.

Unfortunately, I was now wide awake. Even if Chriss plane was on time, I wouldnt get back to Alpine until ten. As for Chris himself, I had seen him twice, on trips to Honolulu to get Adam settled in at the university. He was dark, spare, handsome, and more moody than most young men his age. A bit of the poet about him, or would have been, if he, like the rest of his generation, didnt seem to be semiliterate. But then I was prejudiced. You get that way when you spend a lifetime in journalism and watch the circulation figures drop. I keep waiting for