Mary Daheim - The Alpine Fury

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

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.

C AROLYN G. H ART

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

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
THE ALPINE PURSUIT
THE ALPINE QUILT
THE ALPINE RECLUSE
THE ALPINE SCANDAL

T HE FROST WAS on the pumpkin, and also on Leo Fulton Walshs rear end. My new advertising manager had skidded on one of Alpines icy sidewalks, landing in Front Street, across from the newspaper office. The accident wasnt entirely Leos fault. He was from California, and unused to winter weather. If there was blame, it rested on me for hiring Leo in the first place.

The situation had been desperate. My former ad man, Ed Bronsky, had inherited a small fortune from an aunt in Iowa. His exit had evoked mixed emotions. Though Ed showed occasional flashes of enthusiasm, he usually acted as if he were being forced to walk the plank. Gloom had hung on Ed Bronsky just like his baggy raincoat. But money had done wondrous things, and Ed was now downright chipper.

He was also off The Alpine Advocates staff, which was why Id hired Leo Fulton Walsh. Eds abrupt leave-taking had put me in a bind. Leo had been available, and had come recommended by my sons father, Tom Cavanaugh. Tom is not and never was my husband, but he does own several small weeklies west of the Rockies. Ive always had faith in his judgment. Im not sure why, since twenty-two years ago he was the one who assured me I couldnt get pregnant. Adams arrival nine months later proved Tom wrong. I was beginning to think that Tom might be mistaken about Leo, too.

Hes drunk. Again. Vida Runkel, my House & Home editor, looked up from a sheet of contact prints taken at the Alpine Elementary Schools Halloween party. Im afraid Leo is an alcoholic, Emma. Youll have to do something about him.

I already did, I replied dryly. I hired him. And hes not drunk. My tone turned defensive, though I wasnt sure whether I was defending Leo or myself. Its really icy this morning. Theres a snowstorm coming. I tapped the latest wire service forecast for the central Cascade Mountains.

Hes drunk. Vidas voice brooked no argument. Neither did her gaze, which didnt blink behind the tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. As ever, she looked daunting, even sitting down. Vida is in her sixties, a big woman with strong shoulders, a formidable bosom, and unruly gray curls. She gave me her gimlet eye, then resumed squinting through a magnifier at the Halloween picture. Is Bryce Bamberg wearing a mask in this photo? I cant tell.

I glanced over Vidas shoulder. I couldnt tell, either. Bryce Bamberg, fifth grade, was one homely kid. I shuddered, and dismissed Bryce from my mind.

Leo may have sprained his ankle, I said, looking out through the small window above Vidas desk. Front Street was busy on this first Monday of November. That is, there were at least a dozen cars in sight. With not quite four thousand residents, Alpine, Washington, isnt inclined to gridlock. Indeed, the traffic was somewhat lighter than usual, due not only to the ice, but to the local economic crisis. The backbone of Alpines industry is, as I once inadvertently said in print, rooted in trees. But logging has been curtailed by environmental restrictions, and as yet, the community hasnt been able to regroup.

Cars, including Sheriff Milo Dodges Cherokee Chief, continued to trickle past the Advocate office. I gave up waiting for Vidas response. Maybe she hadnt heard me. But she hadVida can hear people even when they dont speak out loud.

She had finished choosing the Halloween pictures for the Wednesday edition. Give me something, she demanded abruptly. Im doing Scene.

Scene Around Town is our version of a gossip column. Vida writes it, but we all contribute. Rarely are these items juicy; only occasionally are they of interest. Still, Alpiners love to see themselves and their relatives and neighbors and friends in print. The column is the best-read in the paper, with the possible exception of the obituaries. When we have any.

You could use Leo, I suggested. Falling down always makes news.

Not when it involves drunkenness. Vida looked both grim and prim. So far, I only have three items: Tim Rafferty and Tiffany Eriks enjoying double-tall nonfat lattes at the new Starbucks; high school coach Rip Ridley losing his voice after the football teams 457 defeat in Sultan; and Dot Parker seeing sparrows ice-skating on her frozen birdbath. Give me something useful.

But Front Street looked very ordinary from my vantage point. Running east-west on the flat, the heavy frost which had turned to ice was almost melted by eight-thirty. The north-south streets heading up the mountainside were another matter. That was where Leo had slipped, coming down Fourth and crashing at the corner by the Alpine Building. He had walked from his apartment on Cedar Street because he was afraid to drive his new Toyota on the ice. Our office manager, Ginny Burmeister, and I had rescued Leo, guiding him the two blocks to the medical clinic where he was having his ankle X-rayed. Ginny was still with him.

My remaining staff member arrived just as I was pouring a mug of coffee. Carla Steinmetz is young, pretty, enthusiastic, and flighty. On this Monday morning, she seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn. Carlas step dragged over the threshold.

Morning, she mumbled, not looking at either Vida or me.

Vidas mouth set, and her eyes narrowed. Good morning, Carla. How are you?

It wasnt a rhetorical question. Carlas gaze slid in Vidas direction, then fixed itself on the coffeemaker. Depressed, my reporter answered in a bleak voice. She poured herself a cup of coffee and went into the front office, presumably searching for her soul mate, Ginny.

Vida was looking out the window. Francine Wells is wearing new boots. Very smart, probably not suitable for this weather. The refrigeration repair truck is in front of Harvey Adcocks hardware and sporting goods store. Maybe his bait box blew up. Cal Vickerss tow truck needs washing. Ah! Cals towing Fuzzy Baughs Chrysler! The mayor must have gone into a skid. Vida shot me a quick look over her shoulder. You see, Emma, even after going on four years, you still dont have the knack for picking up small-town news. Its the everyday occurrences that people like to read about. In Alpine, we dont need drive-by shootings and arson fires and drug raids to entertain us.