The Alpine Uproar Part 25

I was about to pour more coffee when I heard someone yelling in the front office. The shrill sound came from a woman and sounded familiar, but it wasn't Vida or Amanda. I set the mug down on Mitch's desk and hurried to the reception area.

Patti Marsh leaned over the counter, screaming at Amanda, who was cowering behind her chair. Patti's fingers were curled into claws as if she intended to go for the other woman's throat.

"Hey!" I shouted, stretching out an arm to prevent Patti from trying to get at Amanda. "What's all this?"

Patti stepped back a few paces, switching her angry eyes from Amanda to me. "I didn't know you hired wh.o.r.es," she screeched. "Look at her! She thinks she's such a hottie, but she's just another tramp."

"You ought to know," Amanda snarled, keeping her voice down. "You're not just a tart, but an old tart. You're pathetic." With one last withering look, she came out from behind the counter and walked purposefully down the hall to the back shop.

"Go ahead," Patti yelled, "you can run, but you can't hide!"

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Patti, what's going on with you two?"

Patti slumped against the counter. "Amanda's a real nasty piece of work." Her lower lip trembled as she struggled for composure. "I'm no angel, but ..." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l-maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not just an old tart, but an old fool."

Despite my p.r.i.c.kly relations.h.i.+p with Patti over the years, this wasn't the first time I'd felt sorry for her. She'd had plenty of b.u.mps in the road, too. Subtlety was pointless. "Is she carrying on with Jack?"

Taking a Kleenex out of her corduroy jacket, Patti nodded. "She wants to marry him. Can you beat that?"

"Ah-no." I paused while Patti used the tissue to dab at her eyes. "Jack's a bit ..." I stopped, trying to be tactful. "He's several years older," I finally said, unable to come up with a more flattering word.

Patti nodded. "He's sixty, she's not yet forty. Or so she claims." Her face looked unusually haggard. Maybe, I realized, it was because Patti's only makeup was a haphazard smear of pink lipstick. "Why Jack? Why not some other woman's man?"

It was a valid question, though I could understand his attraction for women. Age hadn't erased all of his appeal. Jack was good looking in a dark, saturnine kind of way; he was shrewd, even smart, having steered his mill through precarious times; he had money; and he was single. With two failed marriages behind him, I figured Jack wouldn't want to strike out with a third try. He preferred to go down swinging-and had found a patsy in Patti. The live-in arrangement suited him fine.

I asked the obvious, if touchy, question. "How does Jack feel about Amanda?"

Patti made a disgusted noise. "She's fairly young, fairly good looking, and more than fairly easy. Last night I caught him with her at the house. Jack thought I wouldn't get back from Snohomish until later in the evening, but I didn't feel so good. Oh, s.h.i.+t!" She slammed her fist on the counter. "You can tell Amanda that if she wants Jack, she can have him. I'm outta here."

I watched Patti stalk out through the front door. The phone on Amanda's desk rang, so I took the call.

"Emma?"

"Janet?"

"Yes. Why are you answering the phone?" Janet Driggers asked.

"Our receptionist has stepped away. What's up?"

"I was calling Vida," Janet replied. "I'm working at the funeral home today instead of at the travel agency. Is Vida around?"

"No. Can I take a message?"

"Sure. Alvin De Muth has left the building. The SnoCo ME sent the final autopsy results late yesterday, and the body was claimed last night. De Muth's on his way to ... someplace. Where'd I put that form?"

"Whoa! Who claimed him?"

"Just a sec ... Here it is." Janet cleared her throat. "His wife. You know, it's one thing to want a guy's body while he's still alive, but why bother when he's dead? Unless, of course, you're into that sort of-"

"Janet," I all but shouted, "stop! Are you telling me that De Muth was married?"

She laughed in her throaty manner. "I guess I am. Apparently, they were estranged. Or maybe just strange. Her name is Lorna Irene De Muth and she's from the Denver area. Al did the paperwork. My Al, that is. The other Al's handwriting is worse. He's a bit stiff these days."

"Mrs. De Muth came all the way here to collect the body?"

"No. She sent us a signed affidavit and a copy of their marriage certificate," Janet explained. "We s.h.i.+pped De Muth out this morning. If you know anybody ready for the Grim Reaper, we have a vacancy. Two, in fact, after poor Mike O'Toole's service."

I was accustomed to Janet's gallows humor and uninhibited s.e.xual comments that kept her sane while earning a living off the dead. "We could use a respite from tragedy around here," I remarked.

"Speak for yourself," Janet shot back. "Al and I have bills to pay. Shall I e-mail this info to Vida?"

"Go ahead. She'll be back before lunchtime. I don't suppose Mrs. De Muth sent a photo of her husband?"

"No. Don't you have one on file?"

"We might," I said as Amanda entered the hallway from the back shop. "Scott Chamoud did a short article on De Muth a few years ago. Got to dash. Thanks, Janet."

Amanda peered out into the front office. "Is that b.i.t.c.h gone?"

"Yes," I replied. "There's not much room here for hiding. Did you expect her to jump out of the broom closet and pounce on you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me." She uttered a truncated laugh. "Sorry about that. Is Patti a head case or what?"

I made eye contact with Amanda. "Why do you ask?"

"Why do you think?" She shrugged. "Patti walks in here and starts screaming and looks as if she's going to physically attack me. Is that normal around this place?"

"Of course not." I could've added that upon occasion, an irate reader would make threats, but that was an on-the-job hazard. "Look," I went on, deliberately blocking Amanda's path to her chair, "I'm not sure you're suited for this job. I realize this is only your third-"

"Hey!" Amanda cried. "I'm doing the work, right? What more do you want?"

"No disruptions," I said. "No face-offs in the front office. No disappearing acts. No having to wonder what the h.e.l.l is going to happen next. No phone calls at home from worried husbands. In short, I don't want any more muss and fuss. Your att.i.tude and your disruptions aren't professional. In other words, I want you gone."

"Fine." Amanda reached over the counter to s.n.a.t.c.h up her handbag and jacket. "Fine. I'm gone."

She got as far as the door, dropped her purse, and burst into tears.

My shoulders sagged. "For G.o.d's sake, what now?"

"Jimmy," Amanda blubbered, or at least that's what it sounded like. She was leaning against the door, shaking and sobbing. Maybe Amanda and Patti would meet outside and have a cry-off. Or kill each other. Either way would work for me.

I'd misheard. "Ginny!" she yelled. "Ginny and her d.a.m.ned baby!"

I gaped at Amanda. "Ginny's baby? What're you talking about?"

"It's ..." She squeezed her eyes shut, wildly waved a hand, and uttered a few agonized, meaningless sounds.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. "Sit. Please. You're hysterical."

I'd shoved the chair out from behind the counter, rolling it closer to Amanda. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed some more. It was obvious that she couldn't focus on anything, let alone get control of her emotions. I took her by the arm and led her to the chair a mere couple of feet away from where she'd been standing. As an afterthought, I locked the front door. This kind of drama was bad for business. I almost wished I kept a bottle of booze in my desk drawer, just like an old-fas.h.i.+oned hard-drinking journalist.

Amanda was still crying, but at least she didn't seem to be going into convulsions. "Please," I said, crouching next to her and feeling some peculiar twinges in my back. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. About Ginny and the baby, I mean. Is it because they're the reason you've come to work here?"

Several seconds pa.s.sed before she responded, and when she did, it was only a wobbly, negative shake of the head.

"Then what is it?"

She shook her head again, but the sobbing had abated.

"Do you want some water?" I asked.

"No," Amanda answered in a barely audible whisper. "I should go."

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was for Ginny to come from the back shop and have a run-in with Amanda. "Let's take some time to cool off," I suggested. "You think about what I said, and I'll see if I can reconsider. Come back after lunch, okay?"

"Well ..." She picked up her handbag and stood up. "Maybe."

While Amanda put her jacket on, I unlocked the door. She walked out without another word or backward glance. Shoving the chair behind the counter, I tried to gather my strength, calm my tattered nerves, and stretch my back to make sure I hadn't incurred any further damage. I couldn't remember such an unsettling start to a day. As Ginny and the baby reappeared, I tried to take comfort from the sight of mother and child placidly coming my way.

"Kip thinks Brandon looks like me," Ginny said. "I think he looks like Rick. What do you think?"

The baby had opened his eyes and was yawning. "I can't tell," I admitted. "Did Amanda say anything to you when you arrived?"

Ginny looked puzzled. "She said hi and that Brandon was a nice baby and ... well, that was it. Why?"

"Because she just had a fit and left. What are you doing for the rest of the morning?"

"I'm going to the grocery store to get ..." She stopped and stared at me. "What do you mean? Amanda quit?"

"Not exactly." I grimaced. "It's all kind of weird. I thought if you could fill in until lunchtime ... Oh, never mind. We'll manage."

Ginny gazed down at Brandon. "I'm nursing him, but he won't be hungry again until one o'clock. I suppose I could stay for an hour or so. I did it before when the other boys were small."

"I remember." The baby-on-board venture had worked well enough until the boys had started walking. Chaos had ensued, forcing Ginny to leave them at Donna Erlandson Wickstrom's day care. As Ginny's sister-in-law, she'd charged only half the usual rate. "I'd really be grateful for your help," I said. "I'll pay, of course."

"You don't need to," Ginny said.

"But I will. Or give you a gift certificate. Whatever." I smiled. "Believe me, I appreciate you now more than ever."

I was helping Ginny and the baby get settled in when the phone rang. I was closest, so I answered. "Ms. Lord?" Bert Anderson said. "Your car's ready to roll."

"Great," I said. "I'll come by in an hour."

"You need a ride?" he asked.

"I can probably get somebody here to bring me," I replied. "At least one of them should be around before lunchtime."

"If not," Bert said, "Ginny Erlandson is coming by later when Rick drops off their SUV. I'll ask if she'd mind collecting you on her way."

I glanced at Ginny, who was taking off Brandon's cap and jacket. "Ginny's right here. I'll ask her myself." I hung up. "What are you driving, Ginny? Bert Anderson's expecting Rick to bring in your SUV."

Ginny nodded. "Bert's going to fix that damage from hitting the planter. I borrowed my mom's car this morning. It's that dark green Subaru parked next to Kip's pickup."

"This has been a terrible week for vehicle damage around here," I remarked. "Especially since Al De Muth and his expertise aren't with us anymore. Of course it was a worse week for him."

"Yes," Ginny said, moving the stroller into various positions. "Getting killed, I mean."

I nodded. Ginny not only lacked a sense of humor, but seldom recognized irony. "Here comes Vida," I said. "I'll let you two chat it up."

"Okay." Ginny pushed the stroller a few inches to the right. "Do you think Brandon's in a draft?"

"The counter s.h.i.+elds him from the doorway," I said. "He's fine." I hurried back through the newsroom, pausing only to pour some hot coffee. I could hear Vida ooh-ing and aah-ing in the front office. My phone rang again.

"Is this a wrong number?" Rolf Fisher inquired in a bemused tone.

"Probably," I said. "You're wrong if you think I'll come to France."

"Too late," he said. "I've met une femme tres enchantee. We are about to open a dry white Pouilly-Fume, not to be confused with the Burgundy wine of the same name. This heavenly gift of Bacchus is almost as bewitching as my lovely guest."

"You're not casting any spells in this direction," I said. "In fact, the sheriff just rode in."

"Mon Dieu! I'm forced to offer my attentions to Mimi." Rolf cut me off. In more ways than one, I thought as Milo ambled into my office.

"You already look p.i.s.sed," the sheriff said, taking off his regulation hat, which just barely cleared the door frame. "I've got bad news."

"Is there any other kind?"

As he sat down, his big frame dwarfed my visitor's chair. "I can't break Mickey Borg's story without breaking his arm. He says he saw the incident and will testify in court that it was your fault. You hit Holly's car and beat her up. She's hired a lawyer. Have you got a Plan B?"

EIGHTEEN.

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS," I SAID. "WHERE THE h.e.l.l WAS Mickey? Hiding in a grocery cart? Did you talk to Dane Pearson at Safeway?"

"The manager?" Milo turned in the chair and stretched his legs. "Dwight asked him about it. Pearson didn't see Mickey, but he admitted that it was raining so hard he couldn't see much of anything."

"Swell." I picked up my coffee mug, but realized that my hand was shaking. "Oh, c.r.a.p!" I pushed the mug away. "You drink it. I don't need more caffeine to make me jumpy. It's been a really rotten morning."

"Is that why Ginny and the kid are out front jawing with Vida?"

"Yes."