The Alpine Uproar Part 14

"Any day now," Ed replied. "s.h.i.+rl hopes she can start subbing before the holidays. She's waiting for me out front." He grimaced. "We only have one car now."

I was well aware that the Bronskys had been forced to sell one of their two Mercedes-Benz sedans. It was a miracle that they hadn't been reduced to a bicycle built for two. "Good for s.h.i.+rley," I said, picking up my handbag and hoping Ed would take the hint. "Have a good weekend."

"Uh ..." He hesitated. "Sure. Thought we'd drive by the old place and see how the ReHaven renovations are going. That's big news, and I have the inside track on the project. You know those East Coast types-they play it close to their chests, but they know all about me."

I took a couple of steps and tried to smile. "Right. Got to go."

Ed glanced out into the newsroom. "Where's Leo? Think I should mention my project to him?"

"Not now. He's officially off the clock."

"Hey-was I ever off the clock?" Ed retorted. "Advertising's not a nine-to-five job."

"It wasn't for you," I said, wanting to add that his job had been more like nine-to-ten, eleven-to-noon, two-to-four, and out the door. Trying to circ.u.mvent Ed's bulk, I b.u.mped into the filing cabinet and dropped my big handbag.

"I'll get it," Ed volunteered, bending down to grab the shoulder strap. He picked up the handbag, let out a howl of pain, and doubled over. "My hernia!"

The handbag fell back onto the floor. "Are you okay?" I asked, fumbling around him to retrieve my purse.

"No!" He remained bent over, clutching his groin. "You got bricks in there?"

"I do carry a lot of stuff," I admitted. "Can you stand up?"

"Not sure." He moved a bit, moaning and groaning, but didn't seem able to upright himself. "Get s.h.i.+rl."

Leo, who apparently had come out of the back shop, appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Ed," he called, "you need a hand?"

Huffing and puffing even more than usual, Ed managed to get a grip on the edge of my desk. "Yeah ... yeah. I ... do. Ooof!"

Somehow, Leo got an adequate grip on his predecessor's girth and eased him into a semi-standing position. Red-faced and panting, Ed took several deep breaths while still holding his side.

"Hernia," I informed Leo. "s.h.i.+rley is waiting for him outside."

Leo nodded. "Okay, Ed. Let's see if I can get you out to your car. s.h.i.+rley's driving, right?"

Ed nodded weakly. Leo tried to position Ed so he could lean and walk, but my ex-ad-manager's extremities seemed to have turned into Jell-O. He flipped and flopped like a flailing fish.

"I'll get Kip to help," I said, and squeezed past the pair to exit my cubbyhole.

Kip was putting on his all-weather jacket when I reached the back shop. "First Ginny," he said when I told him what was happening, "and now Ed? Jeez, what's going on around here?"

"Don't ask," I urged him, "and don't you dare ask why Ed came in the first place. Just get him the h.e.l.l out of here and into his car."

I watched from the newsroom as Kip and Leo finally managed to haul Ed out of my office. I followed them out to the front door, where I spotted the Mercedes parked a couple of s.p.a.ces down from Kip's red pickup. Despite much moaning and groaning from Ed, Leo and Kip dragged their burden outside and down the street. I stood in the doorway until they stuffed Ed into the pa.s.senger seat. s.h.i.+rley, who was behind the wheel, let out several squeals and squawks that I translated as dismay. His task accomplished, Kip headed directly for his pickup, but Leo joined me. "What's up with the man who almost put the Advocate out of business single-handedly?" Leo inquired as s.h.i.+rley started the Mercedes and pulled onto Front Street.

"I don't think he's given up trying," I said as we went back inside so Leo could get his briefcase. "Somebody ratted us out about the online project."

"News travels too d.a.m.ned fast in Alpine," Leo said. "I'll pa.s.s on asking what Ed was doing here. I'd like to face the weekend without hearing his latest harebrained scheme."

"I'm going to try to forget all about Ed." I had a sudden idea. "Could you endure another dinner with me? The sheriff stood me up in favor of his ex-wife."

Leo laughed out loud. "G.o.d, I didn't know she was still on the planet. How come?"

I explained about their daughter's upcoming nuptials. "So I'm stuck with two fresh crabs," I concluded.

"And I'm stuck with one old crab," Leo said ruefully. "I'm driving down to Monroe to meet a longtime pal who's visiting his wayward son at the state reformatory. I hope we'll go to a restaurant instead of the prison dining hall."

"I take it your buddy doesn't live around here?"

Leo shook his head. "Jim's from San Mateo. He's a retired radio-TV ad rep. Our paths used to cross fairly often. It was a friendly rivalry, right down to seeing who could drink the most double martinis. He blames himself for his son's life of crime. Between work and booze, Jim was't home much. Unfortunately, I understand too well how that goes."

"Your kids stayed out of jail," I pointed out. "What did Jim's son do to end up in Monroe?"

"Drugs," Leo replied, putting on his snap-brim cap. "The kid ... no kid by now, Pete must be at least thirty. Most of the trouble he's gotten into was pretty small-time, but the stretch at Monroe is for dealing. This is the first time Pete's been in jail."

"That's too bad. Is his mother still around?"

Leo nodded. "She didn't give up on Jim. Tough lady. They had three daughters who turned out just fine. But Angie refuses to see her son in a prison setting, so she stayed home."

"That can't be easy," I murmured, wondering how I'd feel if Adam were behind bars instead of serving his paris.h.i.+oners in an isolated Alaskan community. Ironically, there were times during the dead of winter when I felt as if my son actually was in a prison. Although Adam had chosen his life, I had nightmares when he talked about such harrowing adventures as confronting angry bears or clinging to a rope in blinding snow to avoid a fatal misstep.

"I'm off to dodge Friday-night Highway 2 traffic," Leo said, interrupting my reverie. "I wish those folks in Olympia would read your editorials and do something about that road to the next life."

"Me, too," I murmured, leaving the newsroom with him. Amanda had returned to her desk, having been absent during Ed's traumatic departure. She was talking on the phone. "See you Monday," I called to her as Leo and I went out the front door. We parted company to reach our respective cars.

I was behind the wheel of my Honda when I saw Vida walking briskly to her Buick two parking s.p.a.ces away. I rolled down the window and shouted at her. "Any news?"

She gave a start, searching for the source of my voice. "Oh. There you are." She tromped over to the Honda's driver's side. "Not really," she said. "Fred Engelman checked in for his weekend at the jail just before I left. He seemed quite chipper."

"Maybe Milo has some ch.o.r.es for him," I said.

"Milo left just before Fred arrived." Vida's gray eyes flickered up and down Front Street, taking in the vehicle and foot traffic. "Tricia came to meet him at the office."

The light dawned in my brain. "Oh? How is she?"

"Gone to fat," Vida replied. "She's gained at least twenty pounds since she lived in Alpine. Those dreadful Eastside suburbs-how can you get any exercise when everybody lives right on top of everybody else and you spend most of your time driving those horrid freeways?"

"Were you able to visit with her for very long?"

"Long enough," Vida replied, waving at Harvey Adc.o.c.k as he crossed the street at the corner of Fifth and Front by his hardware store. "Tricia's become a stranger. This wedding is an extravaganza, just showing off. I don't blame Milo for being upset. The flowers will cost over two thousand dollars and the cake is half of that. It's being made in the shape of Seahawk Stadium because that's where Tanya and her fiance met. Honestly!"

"Maybe they should get married on the fifty-yard line instead of at Marymoor Park," I said.

Vida sniffed. "Tricia actually told me that the park isn't that far from Seahawk headquarters. Tanya works for the team, you know."

"I didn't. Milo never mentioned it."

"She handles season ticket applications," Vida replied. "I must dash. Enjoy your crab."

I'd intended to tell her about Ed's visit, but she was obviously in a hurry. I smiled a bit weakly. "Enjoy your ... evening with Buck."

Waiting to pull out into traffic, I figured that Vida's excuse for going to the sheriff's office was to see Tricia, not her nephew Bill Blatt. Sly boots, I thought. She must've guessed that Milo wouldn't want his ex to meet him at what used to be their home. Tricia probably wouldn't approve of his random housekeeping habits. And of course Vida would want to see how Tricia looked and acted after so many years away from Alpine.

Just as I was about to put my foot on the gas pedal, I had another brainstorm. I got the cell phone out of my handbag and dialed Marisa Foxx's work number. As I expected, she was still at work. Marisa was diligent, and her law practice forced her to keep long hours.

"Do you like crab?" I asked without preamble. Marisa also didn't like to waste time on chitchat.

"Of course," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

I explained. She accepted.

I suddenly remembered I'd forgotten the rest of the sandwich I hadn't gotten around to finis.h.i.+ng. I turned off the engine, jumped out of the car, and went into the office. Amanda was staring intently at her computer monitor. For a split second, she looked startled to see me. "I was looking at the cla.s.sifieds and legal notices," she said, speaking faster than usual. "Kip told me to make sure they were entered properly."

"Good," I said, noticing that Amanda had turned in her chair so that I couldn't see the monitor. "Do you want me to check, too?"

"No." She gave me a thin smile. For a brief moment, I caught the heading at the top of the screen. I saw what looked like "Journeys of the Heart." My initial reaction was that Amanda was trolling on an online dating site. "Thanks anyway," she said, and turned away.

"Okay." I continued on to my office where I retrieved my half-sandwich from the small cooler I kept by the filing cabinet. As I went back through the newsroom and into the front office, Amanda had turned off the computer.

"I'm going home now," she said. "See you Monday."

"Have a nice weekend," I responded.

Driving along Front Street, I wondered if Amanda was seeking a romantic partner in cybers.p.a.ce-or a real-life potential lover. It was none of my business, as long as she didn't let her explorations interfere with the job.

When I arrived at my little log house, once again there was only junk mail. But I had a call on my answering machine: "You should be home by now," Rolf Fisher's voice said. "Imagine a russet-and-golden autumn along the Loire. Imagine enjoying it with me." I heard him heave a sigh that I a.s.sumed was of feigned longing. "Vive la France! Au revoir, ma cherie."

"d.a.m.n!" I said aloud as I hit the Delete b.u.t.ton. The message had come in just a few minutes after I'd talked to Rolf at the office. It was now almost five-thirty, the middle of the night in Paris. I was sorely tempted to call him back and wake him up. But I wasn't a vengeful teenager. Or was I? With my hand on the receiver, I grappled with an adolescent urge. After a full minute, I left the phone in place and went into the kitchen. Marisa would arrive a little after six. She was always an interesting, intelligent companion. We would talk about many things, but Rolf Fisher wouldn't be one of them.

Marisa showed up at six-ten. As ever, she was well groomed in her simple, tailored manner. Every short blond hair was in place, there were no wrinkles in her gray Max Mara suit, and the maroon satin blouse added a perfect accent of color. There was no indication that she'd probably put in a grueling day at the office. I hadn't changed from my usual sweater and slacks. My brown hair didn't look at all like Stella's professional version, and I hadn't bothered to add a dash of lipstick.

"I brought beverages," she said, holding a plastic bag from the state liquor store. "Canadian for you, a Pinot Blanc for me."

"Great!" I took the bag from her and started for the kitchen. "You sit, I'll pour," I said.

"Sounds good to me. I had a horrendous brief to put together this afternoon. I'm beat." Marisa removed her suit jacket and sat down in one of my armchairs.

"I'll let you decompress," I said, heading for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, I returned to the living room, handed Marisa a gla.s.s of wine, and sat down on the sofa. I raised my highball gla.s.s. "Here's to the working girls."

"Amen," Marisa said. "I'll be working part of tomorrow. When I first arrived in Alpine, I made sure my weekends were sacred. But as the population increases slowly but surely, so does litigation. Not to mention," she added with a rueful smile, "the crazy kind of cases you find only in small towns. I turned down the last one. Maybe you heard about it." She inclined her head toward the west side of my lot.

"The Nelsons?" I laughed. "Is this about Luke and his wife's new baby?"

"Yes. I'm not breaking client confidentiality because I'm not representing them and I don't know what lawyer in his or her right mind would take them on. Anyway, the family wants to sue Cindy and Richie MacAvoy for allegedly stealing their baby's name."

"I heard something about that," I said. "The Nelsons have never been my favorite neighbors. The kids were always out of control growing up, and the parents never bothered to discipline them. What sort of grounds did they have for even thinking a lawsuit was possible?"

"Luke's mother, Laverne, is a cousin of Richie MacAvoy's mother," Marisa explained. "The cousins' grandmother was named Chloe. When Richie and Cindy got married and had a baby last winter, they named her Chloe. But the Nelsons insisted they had dibs on the name because they'd made a deathbed promise to name their first girl Chloe after Grandma. Luke and his fiancee, Sofia, had a girl at the end of July and got married in August. Instead of simply calling her Chloe, too, they wanted to sue the MacAvoys for usurping the name. The Nelsons insisted they had it in writing, but couldn't find the paper they'd supposedly signed. I told them they had no case." Marisa shook her head. "I was almost afraid to come here tonight for fear the Nelsons might be hiding in the bushes next door, lying in wait to attack me."

"Those bushes are mine," I said. "I planted rhododendrons, azaleas, viburnums, camellias, weigelas-whatever will grow and block me off from the Nelson brood. Their property is a mess and the house is falling down. Thank goodness the neighbors on the other side are so nice."

Marisa's expression was mischievous. "Do you want to file a lawsuit? I've had several involving feuding neighbors."

I sipped at my drink and relaxed. "I can't afford you. Which reminds me-do you know an Everett attorney named Esther Brant?"

Marisa nodded. "She's very sharp. I've gone up against her twice. I won the first case, she took the second one. Why do you ask?"

"Clive Berentsen has hired her to defend him," I said. "I was curious, of course, a.s.suming he'd have to get a public defender."

Marisa grew thoughtful. "Esther didn't handle criminal cases until a couple of years ago. But a close friend of hers-or her family, I forget which-was charged with involuntary manslaughter. Esther felt there had been extreme provocation and agreed to represent the accused. She got him off and in the process, discovered she liked criminal practice, at least every once in a while if the case had merit."

"I a.s.sume she's not cheap."

"You a.s.sume correctly." Marisa frowned. "Who's paying?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I wouldn't think Clive could afford big bucks, though I could be wrong. He's divorced, but never had any kids according to Vida, who also mentioned that she thought his ex moved away and remarried. I suppose Clive could have stashed away some money. Truckers make a decent wage, and somehow I wouldn't think of him as somebody with expensive tastes."

"Not if he frequents the Icicle Creek Tavern," Marisa said. "A simple-pleasures sort of man."

I nodded. "He has a girlfriend, Jica Weaver, who owns an antiques shop in Snohomish. I met her the other day. She a.s.sured me Clive wasn't the violent type. Jica's not the kind of woman I would've thought he might attract. A bit otherworldly, possibly a dilettante."

"Ah." Marisa took another sip of wine. "Maybe she's paying for Esther. How well do you know Clive?"

I grimaced. "I'm not sure I'd recognize him. It's wrong to make a.s.sumptions about people. For all I know, he writes haiku."

Marisa looked thoughtful. In fact, I wondered if she'd heard what I just said. I started to remark that it was hard to read other human beings, but the words never got out of my mouth.

"I know Jica," Marisa said suddenly. "A couple of years ago, I bought an oval vegetable bowl for the Lenox china my mother gave me after I got my law degree." She paused, smiled, and shook her head. "The pattern is 'Marissa' and Mom insisted it was me. It's not, it's too fancy, it's not even spelled the same way. But I couldn't hurt her feelings. Anyway, Jica had the bowl in her shop and it cost a hundred and fifty dollars, which was probably fair enough. I told her the story behind my purchase and she seemed amused. I say 'seemed' because she sort of drifted during my recital. Maybe I bored her." Marisa shrugged. "Jica may be attracted to uncomplicated men. Some very bright, educated women are. Clive might be ordinary and therefore refres.h.i.+ng." Her gaze wandered around the room, as if she thought she might find such a catch tucked away in a corner. Or maybe she was looking for the one who got away.

"It sounds like a simple crime," I said after a brief silence. "Two beer-drinking men get into an argument and fists fly. One of them ends up dead, which was never the other man's intention."

Marisa nodded. "Under state law, intoxication isn't a factor. Drunk, sober, or in between, the charge is still-in this case-involuntary manslaughter. Unless, of course, Clive claims self-defense."

"I suppose he could," I said. "I don't know if I've heard who threw the first punch."

"It needn't be a punch," Marisa said, frowning slightly. "It could be a threat, and not necessarily to the defendant. Provocation could come in the form of menacing a loved one. Do you know what started the fracas?"

"The versions so far vary," I replied, trying to piece together witness statements, firsthand accounts, and what other people had heard about how the fight had started. "A couple of witnesses thought it had something to do with Holly Gross. Holly agreed. Do you know her?"

Marisa shook her head. "I know of her. A few years ago, she tried to make an appointment concerning child support for one or all of her kids. My secretary, Judi Hinshaw, told Holly that I didn't usually do pro bono work. Holly apparently thought I'd be delighted to take her on for free. Judi suggested that she get someone from Legal Aid."

"I don't suppose Holly mentioned the names of the dead-beat dads. I understand she's had children by more than one man."

"If Holly mentioned names, I don't think Judi pa.s.sed them on to me." Marisa smiled wryly. "The only way you can get some of those guys to pay up is to let them sit in jail on the weekends and dock their wages."

"If that happens, Milo's going to run out of cells." I stood up. "How about a refill while I get dinner on the table?"