Mary Daheim - The Alpine Obituary

Table of Contents

Praise for Mary Daheim and her Emma Lord mysteries

THE ALPINE ADVOCATE

An intriguing mystery novel.

M. K. WREN

THE ALPINE BETRAYAL

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

THE ALPINE CHRISTMAS

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

The Snooper

THE ALPINE DECOY

[A] fabulous series... Fine examples of the traditional, domestic mystery.

Mystery Lovers Bookshop News

THE ALPINE FURY

An excellent small-town background, a smoothly readable style, a sufficiently complex plot involving a local family bank, and some well-realized characters.

Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine

THE ALPINE GAMBLE

Scintillating. If you havent visited Alpine yet, it would be a good gamble to give this one a try.

The Armchair Detective

THE ALPINE ICON

Very funny.

The Seattle Times

THE ALPINE JOURNEY

Seattle super mystery writer Mary Daheim is back again in The Alpine Journey, a very compelling tenth entry in the wonderful Emma Lord series.... A dark and complicated plot is a great addition to this winning series.

Mystery Scene

THE ALPINE KINDRED

Witty one-liners and amusing characterizations.

Publishers Weekly

THE ALPINE LEGACY

Daheim writes... with dry wit, a butter-smooth style and obvious wicked enjoyment.... Kick off your shoes by the fire and get cozy with the latest by Mary Daheim.

Portland Oregonian

THE ALPINE MENACE

This is good, solid storytellingmarvelous escapist entertainment.

Tacoma News Tribune

Chapter One

TUESDAY, NINE-FIFTEEN A.M., publication day for The Alpine Advocate. Coffee and a croissant smeared with boysenberry jam. A quiet September morning with the sun filtering through the small window above my desk.

Quiet, that is, until my House & Home editors hat fell off. She jumped from her chair, ignored the hat, snatched up a couple of sheets of paper, and stomped across the newsroom into my office.

Ive never seen the like, Vida Runkel huffed, slapping the handwritten sheets on my desk. Believe me, Ive seen my share of outrageous obituaries during my years with the Advocate, but this one beats all. She crossed her arms over her imposing bust and tapped an agitated foot.

As the weekly newspapers editor and publisher for the past eleven years, Id printed some real pips, including leads that read PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE, ARLO, GEORGIE-PORGIES EATING HEAVENS PUDDING AND PIE, and AGATHA LEFT HER PIANO TO HER NIECE, BUT TOOK HER ORGANS WITH HER.

I began to read out loud.

John (Jack) Augustus Froland died Monday night (Labor Day) at home in Alpine after a long illness. Jack, as he was known and loved by all, had turned 80 years young last month. Born Aug. 12, 1920, right here in Alpine, Jack was the son of Augustus (Gus) and Violet (ne Iverson) Froland. Jack graduated from Alpine High School in 1938 and went to work at the Tonga-Cascade Timber Mill until his retirement in 1985, when the mill was shut down due to pressure from the tree-huggers.

So far, so good. Well, maybe not very good, but at least not outlandish. I continued as Vida fumed.

After serving with the Seabees during WWII, Jack returned to Alpine and married June Grandorf in 1948. Their daughter, Lynn, preceded Jack in death in 1967. A son, Max, lives in Seattle. Jack will be remembered as a hardworking, fun-loving man, especially to what he called his boys at Mugs Ahoy Tavern. Funeral services are set for 11 A.M. Friday, Sept. 8, at Faith Lutheran Church. Burial will be in Alpine Cemetery. A viewing of Jacks remains will be held at Driggers Funeral Home, Thursday, Sept. 7, between 7 and 8:30 P.M.

COME SEE JACK-IN-THE-BOX!

I laughed. Not loudly, not uncontrollably, and not for long. But at least I laughed. I hadnt laughed much in the past fourteen months, and with good reason.

We cant run this, Vida huffed. Its too ridiculous. Its even worse than when Emily Trews wrote her own obituary and viciously attacked most of her relatives and half the congregation at First Presbyterian Church. And though Vida hadnt laughed, she didnt chastise me for doing so. Vida may work for me, but her seniority in years, employment on the Advocate, and august demeanor give her the right to take any one of us to task.

We have to run it, I replied. Ever since we started charging for space on the Vital Statistics page at the beginning of the year, weve promised to run items word-for-word except for spelling and grammatical corrections. And libelous material such as Emily Trews submitted.

Vida grabbed up the handwritten sheets, stomped out to her desk in the editorial office, and sat down with a thud. You take full responsibility then, she called to me, whipping off her glasses and vigorously rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hand. Ooooh, she wailed, it must have been June who wrote this up. Jacks wife never did have any sense.

Most people didnt havemuch less usesense as far as Vida was concerned. I smiled in that vague, hesitant manner Id developed over the past year and more. Of course Ill take responsibility. I said from the doorway to my cubbyhole of an office. Im the publisher, remember? Sometimes it seemed that Vida forgot.

I suppose Ill have to go to the funeral, Vida grumbled. Ive known the Frolands forever.

Vida had known everybody in Alpine forever, and in a town of under four thousand citizens, she was related by blood or by marriage toby my estimateat least ten percent of them. Nor would she miss a funeralor a wedding or a christeningunless it was some poor soul who had only recently moved to Skykomish County.

My phone rang, recalling me to my desk.

Emma Lord here, I said in my acquired robotlike manner.

Im going to Rome next month. Want to join me?

It was my brother, Ben, calling from Tuba City, Arizona, where he is a missionary priest to the Navajo and Hopi tribes. The energy in his crackling voice forced another smile.

Rome? I said. Why are you going there? Is the pope in trouble?

The popes always in trouble with somebody. Ben replied. I felt like I wanted to get away from here after the summer dust storms settle and before the ice shows up on the roads. Thus, Im attending a conference on the home missions the third week of October. Im serious. You could drink buckets of Chianti and put grape leaves in your hair and swim naked in the Trevi fountain while Im meeting with a bunch of other priests who dont know what the hell theyre doing, either. Then we could spend a few days in Paris or London. Take your pick.

I knew that Bens offer wasnt for his own sake, but for mine. Without his hardheaded counsel in recent months, I might have gone over Deception Falls without a barrel.

Youre serious, I said.

Sure. Why not? You havent had a vacation in ages.

I noticed that he wasnt specific about the length of time. But in a generic way, he was right. It was almost two years since Id taken any real time off from the newspaper.

You think I should go, dont you, I said, not a question, but a statement.

Yes, I do. Bens tone was solemn.

I dont want to go to Paris, I responded.