The Alpine Uproar Part 24

Kip was the type who noticed such things. "I don't know what to tell you, Mr. Hanson. I'm sorry. Let me know when she shows up."

"Um ... yes, I will. I ... sure."

Walt definitely sounded upset. I almost suggested that he call the sheriff's office, but being an hour and a half late wasn't enough to qualify as a missing person.

"Please do call me," I repeated. "Maybe she ran into a friend. I'm sure she must be fine."

"I hope so," Walt said. "Thanks." He hung up.

I sat on the sofa for a long moment, knowing that neither of us believed the last few words we'd spoken.

SEVENTEEN.

BY TEN O'CLOCK, WALT HANSON HADN'T CALLED BACK. MY anxiety grew, though I told myself that if Amanda had shown up, the couple had probably scurried off to Derek and Blythe Norman's house. Walt could have been in a rush and forgotten he'd promised to keep me informed.

I finished an e-mail to my brother, Ben, who was again coming off the bench to sub for another priest. Father Jimbo, as Ben called him, was doing research on St. Leo the Great, the fifth-century pope who had guided the church through some rugged years of chaos. During a six-month leave of absence, Jimbo planned to study the Vatican archives for evidence of St. Leo's influence in Gaul. Ben, however, figured he was actually studying menus, wine, art, and really crazy Italian drivers on the Via Veneto. My brother's current a.s.signment was in Boston where he was doing some studying of his own, mainly of American history, the Boston Red Sox, and the MTA.

My next dose of pain medication was due at eleven, so I had almost an hour to go. Restless, I wandered over to the front window and looked out into the October night. All was quiet, with only the amber glow of house and streetlights blurred by the thickening fog. A car slowly pa.s.sed by and turned into Val and Viv Marsden's driveway. My brain went into overdrive as I suddenly remembered that Val worked with Walt Hanson at the fish hatchery. Maybe the Demerol had addled my mind. Feeling like a moron, I hurried through the front door.

The Marsdens had parked in their garage, but had to come back outside to enter the house. I called to them as I ran across the yard.

"What's wrong?" Viv shouted in alarm.

"Nothing," I a.s.sured her, reaching the fence between our properties. "That is, nothing with me. Were you at Blythe and Derek's house for dinner tonight?"

"Yeah," Val replied, laughing and shaking his head. "That was more fun than bunions."

I cut to the chase. "Were the Hansons there?"

"Not exactly," Viv said. "They came, they saw, they tried to kill each other. And that was before they ever got inside the house."

I was relieved that apparently Amanda was alive and well, but curious about the behavior of both Hansons. I posed a question that might've been considered bad manners for anyone who didn't live in a small town or work on a newspaper. "What were they fighting about?"

Val shrugged. "No clue. They came in separate cars, arriving at the same time." He glanced at Viv. "When was that? Around seven-fifteen?" His wife nodded. "Anyway," Val went on, "they started to fight. Yelling, screaming, the whole nine yards. Amanda finally got back in her Miata and took off. Walt came inside but wouldn't talk about it. He had one drink and left."

"Walt didn't even finish his drink," Viv put in. "He just stood around, fuming and looking as if he'd punch out anybody who spoke to him. But he did mutter some kind of apology before leaving."

I noticed that Viv, who was wearing a bejeweled angora cardigan, had begun to s.h.i.+ver. "You're cold," I said, also feeling a damp chill setting in. "Go warm up. We can talk later."

Val didn't require further persuasion, but Viv hung back. "How's Amanda working out for you?"

"Okay." I wouldn't criticize Ginny's sub. Viv enjoyed gossip-peddling as much as most Alpiners. "Walt called to ask me if she was working late. She wasn't." I was s.h.i.+vering, too. "We'd better warm up before we get pneumonia."

Viv didn't argue. I went back to my snug log cabin, wis.h.i.+ng I'd built a fire. The reason for Amanda's tardiness wasn't as important as the ruckus that had followed. Val and Viv had already told me the marriage was in trouble. Maybe the Hansons had reached the end of their rocky road. Selfishly, I wished that if they were having a marital war, it wasn't on my watch. Very few people-except perhaps Vida-could close the door on serious problems before going to the job.

The following morning, Vida picked me up at ten to eight. "Why," she demanded after I told her about Amanda and Walt, "didn't you call me? I got home from the anniversary party before nine. Those Palm Springs retirees have no stamina. Far too much sun."

"I didn't know anything until I talked to the Marsdens. At that point, all I wanted to do was take my pills and go to bed."

Vida harrumphed-but mildly. "Oh, yes, I realize you're not quite yourself." She paused to look around before backing into a parking slot in front of the office. "Did we get that new photo of Mike O'Toole? I must write his obituary today. I dread ..." She paused again, even though she'd negotiated the parking task. "Here comes Amanda. That red Miata certainly stands out."

"Great." My tone was dour. "Let's avoid her by hightailing it into the office first."

Vida looked surprised. "You don't want to talk to her?"

"Not right now. I need to fuel myself first."

We got out of the Buick before Amanda had finished parking. "I forgot," I said as we hurried through the front door. "She's on the bakery run today. If she remembers."

Kip had plugged in the coffeemaker while Leo and Mitch, armed with their mugs, waited patiently and tossed around ideas with Kip for making good use of our online site.

Vida, of course, wanted only water. After filling her gla.s.s, she turned to me. "Did you ask Marisa about my advice column?"

I blanched. "I forgot. I'm so sorry. I'll call her again today."

Leo stared at Vida. "Advice column? Oh, d.u.c.h.ess, that's great! When do you start dis.h.i.+ng?"

"Dis.h.i.+ng?" Vida wrinkled her nose. "Oh-you mean offering sound advice. Actually, I thought I might mention the possibility on my radio program tomorrow night."

Mitch held up his empty mug as if he were toasting Vida. "You go, girl. It'll be the best-read part of the paper."

Vida all but simpered. "Except for 'Scene,' of course. Which reminds me, who has an item for this week's edition?"

I couldn't think of anything off the top of my head. I avoided Vida's request and scurried into my cubbyhole to call Bert Anderson about when my car would be ready. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure. The tire hadn't yet arrived although he was about to start the bodywork. Bert told me to check back around noon.

A glimpse into the newsroom indicated that the coffee was made. As I was about to get out of my chair, I saw Amanda enter with two bakery bags from the Upper Crust. "Doughnuts, bear claws, and a new kind of Italian slipper with peaches instead of apples," she announced in a voice that had all the warmth of a recorded message. I held back, watching her arrange the goodies on the tray. I still wasn't prepared to face the unpleasant Ms. Hanson. Nor did it appear that she wanted to communicate with her fellow employees. Amanda moved efficiently, dismissing a comment or two from Mitch with brief responses I couldn't hear. Ignoring Leo, Kip, and Vida, she finished her task and marched off to the front office.

I went out to pour my coffee and s.n.a.t.c.h one of the Italian slippers before they all disappeared. Mitch was making chattering-teeth noises and holding on to himself as if to keep warm. "There's a cold front around here this morning," he said quietly.

Kip grabbed a doughnut and shook his head. "Weird."

"Unacceptable," Vida murmured.

"Maybe she needs a friend," Leo said softly. "I'll volunteer."

I gave him a quizzical look. "You sure?"

He shrugged. "It can't hurt."

I nodded. "Then do it. I thought anything would be an improvement over Ginny's constant complaints, but the current atmosphere around here is throwing me off-balance."

"You're not alone," Mitch said in a low voice. "Ginny's gripes were legit and we could laugh about them." He gestured toward the front office. "That one's getting disruptive."

"Agreed," I said before taking my mug and pastry into the cubbyhole.

I dialed Marisa's number. Judi Hinshaw put me through. Compared with my still-befogged state, Marisa sounded aggravatingly fresh and alert. "An advice column." She laughed. "Frankly, I marvel that Vida didn't do one years ago. I've never known anyone to hand out advice so freely, even when it's unasked for. Of course I haven't experienced it much firsthand, but Judi has talked about her aunt's ... readiness to counsel anyone, solicited or otherwise."

"So how do we keep from getting sued?"

"That's not a problem," she a.s.sured me. "If people write in asking for advice, they accept responsibility for getting it. As long as Vida doesn't overstep the bounds of anonymity or suggest something illegal, you're off the hook. Of course people will talk, guess, surmise, and wonder, but that can't be helped. The person seeking help must realize that in a sense, they're already violating their own privacy, whether or not they sign their real names. I'm anxious to see how this turns out."

"I'm just anxious," I admitted. "Okay, I can green-light her, right?"

Marisa laughed again. "How can you stop her? I mean, you could, but you'd probably need some counseling yourself after Vida reacted."

"Too true." I paused, forcing myself to keep from mentioning the Hansons' row. Marisa was too sharp not to realize that I was trying to get her to unload on me about Amanda, her alleged client. I thanked her and rang off. A moment later I got a call from Marje Blatt.

"Doc wants to know how you're feeling," she said in her brisk tone.

"Better," I replied, "though I didn't sleep well. I'm still hurting."

"Do you need to continue the Demerol for another day?"

"Yes. It's our deadline, so I have to muster all my strength."

"I'll let Doc know," Marje said. "His first patient just arrived."

"He's off to an early start," I remarked.

"This visit isn't on the regular schedule. I'll call you later."

Two minutes after I'd disconnected the call, Vida stomped into my cubbyhole. "We still don't have a more recent picture of Mike O'Toole. I just called Betsy at the Grocery Basket-I didn't want to bother Buzzy and Laura-and I talked to Jake. Naturally, being a man, he had no idea where to find a photo of Mike. I'll have to wait until Betsy gets back from her doctor's appointment."

"Betsy?" I stared at Vida, trying not to become distracted by her big black hat with its cl.u.s.ter of white and gray pigeons circling the crown. "That's odd. I wonder if she's Doc's unscheduled patient."

Vida leaned on my desk. I half expected the pigeons to fly off her hat and attack me. "What do you mean?"

I explained about Marje's call. "Of all the O'Tooles, Betsy is the last one I'd expect to fall apart."

"You don't know that she did," Vida pointed out. "She may have hurt herself or she's coming down with something and doesn't want it to get out of hand before the funeral Thursday."

"That could be," I allowed grudgingly.

Vida sensed I was troubled. "Well?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Something's not right about ... I'm not even sure what it's about. I don't suppose Marje would know why Betsy showed up on the clinic doorstep this morning?"

Vida put a finger to her cheek. "She would if it was strictly a medical problem. Marje isn't supposed to divulge information, but ..."

"But her aunt is so gracious about visiting hospitalized friends and sending get-well cards and mentioning their names in 'Scene.'"

"Alpiners' health is a concern for everyone." Vida looked almost as if she believed what she was saying. To be fair, she was right. "I suppose," she added in a musing tone, "I could ask Marje about Betsy so that I'd be able to allude to the O'Toole tragedy in 'Scene' in a tasteful way that would rally support for their loss. It'd actually be doing the family a favor, wouldn't it? Such a sad time for the O'Tooles."

"That's very kind," I said with a straight face. I wondered if the pigeons might start to weep. "By the way, Marisa says you can go ahead and do an advice column. If you want to mention it tomorrow on your program that's fine, but let's get something in the Advocate first. Have you talked to Spencer Fleet-wood about it?"

"No," Vida replied, her face brightening. "I won't until just before airtime. The paper will have been out for several hours by then."

"Good."

Vida returned to her desk. I leaned to one side, wondering if she'd picked up the phone to quiz Marje. Instead, she was facing her computer and pounding away on the keys. She'd probably wait until after Betsy left to make the call.

I took a last look at my editorial on the perils of Highway 2 and the state's wishy-washy efforts to stop the carnage. While I rarely concerned myself with how much s.p.a.ce my copy took up, the piece was only two columns by five inches. I had room for a second, though related, two hundred words on why we needed more doctors in SkyCo.

An hour later, I'd finished proofing Mitch's copy on De Muth's murder, Mike's fatal crash with quotes from Milo about Highway 2's lethal record, and a summary of issues facing the next county commissioners' meeting Thursday night. Mitch's articles didn't need much editing. It was a relief to have a pro as our general reporter. He had tried and failed to get a description of the young man Harvey Adc.o.c.k had seen with De Muth at the hardware store. Harvey might know all about nuts and bolts, but when it came to people, he was vague. The sketch I'd considered running wasn't doable.

A little after ten, Vida came back into my office. "I haven't heard back from Betsy yet, and I have to see Donna Wickstrom to take pictures of her art gallery renovation. She's having an open house Friday night. If Betsy calls, would you ask her if someone could drop Mike's photo off here or call the gallery so I can pick it up on my way back to the office?"

I promised I would. "Can you," I inquired, bracing myself for what I presumed would be a small outrage from Vida, "let Amanda know that if Betsy phones, she should let me take the call?"

Vida pursed her lips. "Oh ... very well," she murmured, "if I must, I must." She and her pigeons flew out of my cubbyhole.

When my phone rang twenty minutes later, it was Betsy. Apparently Amanda had acquiesced to Vida's request. "Emma," Betsy said, sounding frazzled, "I'm so sorry it took so long to get back to you and Vida. I forgot to bring Mike's photo to work. It's been just an awful morning, between funeral arrangements, trying to get Buzzy to focus on the job, comforting Laura, and ... never mind. If I get it to you this afternoon, is that soon enough? Kenny can drop it off."

"That sounds fine," I a.s.sured her. "As long as we have it no later than three or four o'clock. How recent is it?"

"It was taken last Christmas," Betsy replied. "Mike was our Erica's date for the high school winter ball. Her boyfriend got mumps and had to cancel, so Mike filled in." She laughed softly. "He told Erica that if she weren't his cousin, he'd be glad to be her escort anytime. We all thought that was ... so ... sweet." Her voice caught on the last few words.

I grimaced. "Hang in there, Betsy. You're tough. You're strong. The rest of the family really needs you."

"Ohh ..." I heard her take a deep breath. "You're right. I'm the one who holds up the tent pole. Today started out on a horrific ... skip it, here's the fish guy. He can't find Jake." She rang off.

Wis.h.i.+ng I could help Betsy, I put the phone down. I was taking my coffee mug out into the newsroom to get a refill when Ginny cruised in pus.h.i.+ng a baby stroller. "Where is everybody?" she asked as I came out to greet her. "I wanted to show off Brandon, but my fill-in didn't seem interested. Isn't that Amanda Hanson?"

"It is." I bent down to look at the sleeping infant. "Oh, he's cute!" Vida's unflattering description had led me to believe otherwise, but of course she'd seen the baby only hours after he was born.

"You think so?" Ginny smiled faintly. "I never think they're all that cute at first. Maybe girl babies are cuter. I wouldn't know."

"You're keeping him anyway?" I said, admiring the little pink face, the swath of fair hair under the yellow knit cap, and the tiny fingers.

"Oh, yes!" Her smile widened. "He's actually a good baby. Is Kip in the back shop?"

"He usually is. Everybody else is out just now. They'll be sorry to have missed you. Especially Vida."

"She's offered to bring us a ca.s.serole for dinner tonight, but I told her to wait until later in the week," Ginny said. "Her cooking isn't very appealing." She grimaced. "It was kind of her though. I'd better catch Kip before he disappears, too." She pushed the stroller toward the back shop. "Thanks so much for the outfits. They're really nice."

"You're more than welcome." I moved closer and lowered my voice. "We'll be glad to have you back on the job."

"Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "I was kind of awful before Brandon came along."

"Understandable," I said, and gave her a quick hug.