Mary Daheim - The Alpine Decoy

Milo stuffed the handkerchief back in the pocket of his tan pants. The deceased wasnt a local, he said in his laconic voice. According to Marlow Whipp, he came into the grocery store just before closing, about five to seven. He tried to say something, and then collapsed. Never a fast talker, Milo slowed to a snails pace. The little cluster of neighbors drew closer. His name is Kelvin Greene, from Seattle. He was twenty-seven years old and lived somewhere out in the Rainier Valley area. It looks as if hed been shot in the head. Milos long face wore a disgusted look. Marlow called us. Marlow swears he didnt shoot him, though he keeps a gun under the counter. Kelvin died before the ambulance could get here. He was black. Any more questions, or can I get the hell out of here and do my job?

By Mary Daheim
Published by Ballantine Books:

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

T HERES NO FOOL like an old fool, unless its a middle-aged fool. Like me.

The letter from the Washington Newspaper Publishers Association was very businesslike; the invitation to the seminar on advertising revenue was suitably formal. So why was my heart racing like an out-of-control dishwasher?

The answer was simple, and so was I. According to the program schedule, the panelists included Tom Cavanaugh of San Francisco, former reporter and editor, currently owner of seventeen weeklies and four small dailies throughout the western United States and Canada. According to my pudding-like head, Tom Cavanaugh was my former lover and permanent father of my only son, Adam. I hadnt seen Tom in almost two years. The prospect both thrilled and terrified me.

Your sleeves on fire, said Vida Runkel, my House & Home editor. Be careful, youre going to burn your arm.

I jumped, slapping at my beige linen jacket. Sure enough, Id scorched the fabric on the coffeemaker in The Alpine Advocates editorial office.

Damn! I exclaimed, wincing at the heat that seared my fingers. I dont exactly have a lavish spring wardrobe.

Vida was sitting at her desk, peering at me over the rims of her tortoiseshell glasses. Trim the sleeves, then roll them back. That look came in a few years ago and its still around. I ought to knowI get all the fashion handouts. She returned to her typing, a wonder of two-fingered wizardry on a machine almost as old as she was.

Removing my singed jacket and pouring a cup of coffee, I studied the WNPA letter more closely. I should send Ed Bronsky to this. Theyre holding the summer meeting at Lake Chelan.

You should hold Ed under water at Lake Chelan. I dont know why you put up with him. Hes the worst ad manager Ive ever met. Vida didnt pause in her typing.

It wasnt the first time that Vida and I had argued over Ed Bronskys ineptitude. Indeed, Ed wasnt inept so much as he was negative. In a town like Alpine, Washington, with four thousand souls held hostage by semi-isolation on Stevens Pass, Ed couldnt see any reason why local retailers needed to advertise in the first place. There was one furniture emporium, one pharmacy, one sporting goods store, one bakeryand, until the past year, one source of food. A few months back Safeway had opened to give the Grocery Basket a run for everybodys money.

Maybe the seminar would motivate Ed, I said, but sounded dubious to my own ears.

Dynamite wouldnt motivate Ed, Vida replied, and this time she did stop typing, not to concentrate on our conversation or her latest story, but because she was finished. She whipped the paper out of the ancient upright and gave me her gimlet eye. Why dont you go, Emma? Chelan is a short drive from here. Why, you wouldnt even have to spend the night if you didnt want to.

Her innocent look didnt fool me, and though I hate to admit it, I blushed. The mail had just arrived. Vida couldnt possibly have seen the WNPA invitation. It was addressed to me: Emma Lord, Editor and Publisher. I had opened it a mere five minutes ago with my own two hands. But somehow Vida knew. She always knew. It was her way.

I shouldnt take the time, I mumbled. Its in mid-June, and I was away for almost a week at Easter. That was just a month ago.

So? Its another month until mid-June. Vida shook her broad shoulders, making her lime, magenta, and white striped blouse ripple in various directions across her impressive bosom. You know its worthless to send Ed. Hell pooh-pooh any innovations. But if you go, you can collect all sorts of new ideas and insist that he knuckle down. Really, Emma, it gets my goat how you turn a blind eye to his laziness and indifference. Just because your predecessor hired Ed, doesnt mean you have to keep him.

My predecessor, Marius Vandeventer, had founded The Alpine Advocate back in the Thirties and sold it to me at the start of the Nineties. Id inherited Vida and Ed from Marius, but had hired my sole reporter, Carla Steinmetz, and our office manager, Ginny Burmeister, on my own. Carla was eager, but dizzy; Ginny was methodical, but diligent. I felt I was batting about five hundred, which wasnt bad. The thought put me on the defensive.

Ed has a wife and children, I said, resorting to my usual weary defense. With the logging business gone to hell, there are enough people out of work in Alpine without adding Ed to the list. Besides, hes improved. Really, he has.

With a toss of her unruly gray curls, Vida snorted. Thats only because you watch him like a hawk and Ginny helps so much.

Even though Vida was right, I would have argued further if Carla Steinmetz hadnt burst into the office, carrying a white paper sack from the Upper Crust Bakery.

Sorry Im late, she said, waving the sack at Vida and me. Here, its glazed twisters. Youd better eat them before Ed gets back from the Rotary Club breakfast meeting.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost ten. Ed should have returned by now. And Carla was definitely tardy.

Where were you? I asked, hoping against hope shed been out getting a hot story.

Carla passed the bakery bag first to Vida, then to me. At the doctors. You know Ive had an earache for three days. Libby, my new roommate, said I couldnt go on like this.

In all probability, neither could Libby. Carla had hardly talked of anything else since coming in Monday morning, holding her head. I could imagine how shed complained at home. LibbyLiberty, actuallyBoyd was a brash young woman who drove a Ford pickup truck, lifted weights, and had recently been posted to the ranger station at Icicle Creek. She and Carla had moved in together May first. I wondered how long the wholesome, athletic, down-to-earth Libby would survive in the company of my flighty, ebullient, comfort-loving reporter. Id met Libby only once. She struck me as long on valor, but short on patience.

Carla had swept her long black hair back and leaned forward just enough to show off the wad of cotton stuffed in her left ear. See? Dr. Flake put drops in it. I think theyve helped already.

Good, I said, not without sympathy. Earaches can be nasty.

Carla and I munched on our twisters. Vida, however, let hers sit on the desk, untouched. It wasnt like her. She was gazing at Carla, expectancy written all over her majestic figure.