The Alpine Betrayal (10 page)

Except that something obviously had: To my dismay, Honoria Whitman was in a wheelchair. I tried not to let my jaw drop.

Milo nodded in my direction. A bit awkwardly, I descended from the bar stool and went over to greet him and his companion. Milo made the introductions. Honoria extended her hand. It was long, slim, and milk white. She did not fit my preconceived notions of a transplanted California in the least.

“Milo speaks so well of you,” she said in a cultured, husky voice. “He says you’re every inch the professional, a real addition to this community.”

“Oh—that’s kind of him.” I glanced up at Milo, who was flushing. So was I.

More people were coming into the tavern, including Al Driggers, the undertaker, and his spunky wife, Janet. Right behind them, a contingent from the high school faculty trooped in. I recognized Steve Wickstrom, who taught math, and his wife, Donna, along with Coach Rip Ridley and Mrs. Ridley, whose first name I seemed to remember was Dixie. Schoolteachers who drank in public were frowned upon in Alpine, but Loggerama was obviously an exception. The faculty could get as drunk and stupid as the rest of the residents without being hauled up before the school board.

Milo pushed Honoria’s chair over to an empty table near the rest room doors. I returned to the bar, where Carla and Ginny were head-to-head, obviously speculating about Milo and Honoria.

“The sheriff has a
girlfriend?”
Carla shook me by the arm. “Emma, I thought you and Milo Dodge were—”

“We weren’t,” I cut in tersely. “Milo and I are friends, period. Honoria seems quite charming.” It was, I thought, unfortunately true. Swiftly, I changed the subject, trying to draw Doc Dewey into a conversation about Art Fremstad’s suicide. But Doc had suddenly become very busy. He didn’t have time for chitchat. I nursed my beer and sat back to listen to Carla exchange gossip with Ginny about the latest Alpine romances. Since most of the people involved were young enough to be my children—though I was awfully glad they weren’t—I didn’t pay much attention. Instead, I studied the growing crowd, watching an animated Janet Driggers use lots of hand gestures to describe something to Charlene Vickers. Patti Marsh and Jack Blackwell were snuggling near the pool table. The Wickstroms and the Ridleys were still trying to find some vacant boxes to use for seats. Milo Dodge was demonstrating concern for Honoria Whitman’s comfort. I sighed. If it had been me instead of Honoria, I could have been sitting on a six-inch spike and Milo wouldn’t have noticed.

Another dozen people had entered the tavern in the past half hour. Jack Blackwell had abandoned Patti Marsh to help Doc behind the bar. I had no idea who the regular bartender was, but the owner was an old curmudgeon who lived way up on Icicle Creek not far from the ranger station. I debated about ordering another beer, but before I could get Doc’s attention Dani Marsh came in with Reid Hampton and Matt Tabor. A hush fell over the gathering, then scattered applause broke out. Dani bobbed a curtsy and flashed her beautiful smile. Across the room, her mother curled her lip. I couldn’t see Cody Graff from my angle on the bar stool, but I suddenly felt uneasy. If the axe incident had been unintentional, would Cody apologize to Dani and her coworkers? Or had he done so already? Somehow, I doubted it.

And I was right. While Dani Marsh and Reid Hampton moved straight for the bar, Matt Tabor angled over to Cody and Marje’s table. I twisted around for a better view. The crowd had quieted down. There probably wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t know about that axe.

Carla was nudging me in the ribs. “Emma—are you going to write up what Cody did at the stadium? How close did that axe come to Dani?”

“Within inches,” I replied soberly. “He was just damned lucky he missed all three of them. And me, for that matter. It flew within a couple of feet of my head.”

Carla’s dark eyes grew very wide. “Wow! I didn’t know that! Everybody’s been talking about what a close call Dani had! I wonder what Marje Blatt thinks. Hey,” she went on, giving me another jab, “I’ve got a headline for you—
CODY GRAFF AND MOVIE STAR EX-WIFE: WAS IT REALLY AN AXECIDENT
?” Carla let loose with her high-pitched giggle.

I didn’t bother to tell Carla that headline writing wasn’t her strong suit. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure what was. Carla was deficient in a lot of areas, except for enthusiasm.

The conversation between Matt Tabor and Cody Graff was getting heated. Cody had gotten to his feet, despite Marje’s efforts to restrain him. By now, all of the customers
were staring, and except for the blur of background music over the tavern’s antiquated sound system, silence dominated the room like an unwanted guest.

Cody was unsteady on his feet. Matt braced himself against the table with his knees. “You ever pull a stunt like that again and I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” roared Matt in his trained movie voice.

“Go screw yourself!” shouted Cody, though the words weren’t quite as distinct as he’d intended. He lunged across the table, but Matt Tabor was too quick for him. Matt’s fist struck Cody square on the jaw, sending him slumping against the wall. The apple box beneath him crashed to one side. Marje and several others screamed. Milo Dodge was on his feet, wrestling his way around Honoria’s wheelchair.

Matt backed off, while Cody wallowed around on the floor. Marje, having made sure her beloved was still alive, sprang at Matt. “Listen, you two-bit Hollywood jerk, we don’t need your type around this town! Why don’t you take yourself and that hotshot movie star tramp of yours back to California where you belong?”

Milo had a hand on Matt’s arm, but his words were directed at Marje. “Sit down, Marje. Or better yet, take Cody home. I think he’s had enough already. In a lot of ways.”

Marje shot Milo an outraged look. “He’s had two crummy beers! Big deal! If he were really drunk, would Doc serve him again? Hey, Sheriff, is this Loggerama or what?”

Matt was trying to shake loose of Milo, but the sheriff was holding fast. “Then you’d better drive, Marje. And keep Cody under control, okay?” He shook a warning finger at her, then pulled Matt Tabor back to a safe distance.

“Watch it, Badge Man,” said Matt in a surly tone, as Milo finally let go. “I’m under contract to Gemini Productions. You want to get your butt sued?”

“My butt’s covered, buster,” retorted Milo, wheeling around to lope back to Honoria. He stopped short as he realized that war had broken out on yet another front at the
Icicle Creek Tavern. Jack Blackwell was refusing to serve Reid Hampton.

“This is the bastard that cut down my trees! To hell with him!” He hurled the bar towel onto the floor and spit into the nut dish. “He owes me eighty grand! He’s outta here, or else I am!”

Reid Hampton, who was wearing a snakeskin vest and an array of Indian jewelry, threw his fawn-colored felt hat across the bar. “Don’t be a jackass, Blackwell! We’ve got an iron-clad contract and you know it!”

“And you’ve got iron-clad pants!” roared Blackwell. “Just show me where it says in that freaking contract that you got any right to saw up my valuable timber.”

From three stools down, I watched Dani Marsh watch Hampton and Blackwell. She looked vaguely alarmed, but not exactly upset. More to my surprise, she had made no move to console Matt Tabor, who was drinking thirstily from a mug poured by Doc Dewey. It was only when Patti Marsh charged up to the bar that Dani shrank back.

“Look here, Doc,” yelled Patti in her hoarse voice as she elbowed Reid Hampton out of the way, “have you got a right to serve or not serve whoever you want in this dump or not?” Before Doc could answer, she pointed a painted fingernail at her daughter. “Let’s start with her. She doesn’t have a right to mix with decent people like the rest of us! How about dumping her out in the gutter where she belongs?”

Doc’s mouth set in a rigid line, the type of expression he used on patients who wouldn’t take their medicine. “Button it up, Patti. You don’t know your backside from a hole in the ground.”

“Yes, she does,” said Janet Driggers, who had come up to the bar to get a new pitcher and some snacks. “It’s the one on the left, obviously.”

Doc broke into a grin, and Patti whirled around, her anger diverted. But Janet was so outrageously blunt that only the most mean-minded Alpiner could be annoyed by her. Patti started to say something, then saw that Reid Hampton
was heading back to his table. “Hey, you!” shouted Patti. “Come here! I want a word with you, Mr. so-called-movie producer-director-whatever-the-hell-you-are!”

But Reid Hampton ignored her. Patti started after him, but Milo again resorted to his strong-arm technique. “Come on, Patti, sit down, go eat some of that popcorn with the Driggers. Let’s not turn Loggerama into a war zone. I had more peaceful evenings in Nam.”

Patti glared at Milo, then realized that his hand was on her waist and gave him a coquettish look. “Hey, sheriff,” she cooed in a sudden shift of gears, “did anybody ever tell you you got terrific eyes? Soulful, or something like that.”

Milo didn’t flush this time, but he steered Patti away from the bar and into the care of a bemused Al and Janet Driggers. If Al was at a loss, his wife wasn’t: “Sit down, Patti. Tell us if it’s true about you and Jack doing it on the donkey engine up at Carroll Creek.”

Cody was back on his box, looking like a floppy doll. Marje fussed over him, checking his bruised chin and offering him a fresh beer. Dani Marsh had finally joined Matt Tabor at the other end of the bar. Reid Hampton was allowing Doc Dewey to pour him a beer while a fuming Jack Blackwell served Milo. Patti had settled in with Al and Janet Driggers. I had to wonder why Patti and Dani had been driving around in Matt Tabor’s fancy car Thursday night. How had they not managed to gouge out each other’s eyes? I gave myself a shake, feeling as if I’d been involved in an old-fashioned Hollywood Western barroom brawl.

Back at the sheriff’s table, Honoria looked composed, her head moving on her graceful neck as her serene gray eyes surveyed the aftermath of the mayhem. She caught me looking at her and gave me a conspiratorial smile.
Drat
, I thought,
I might get to like this woman
.

“This is fun,” exclaimed Carla to Ginny. “We should come here more often. It’s a lot more exciting than the Venison Inn.”

“So is gang warfare,” I remarked, wondering how much longer I could hold out.

Luckily, Ginny wasn’t as taken with the Icicle Creek Tavern’s floor show. “Frankly, I’ve got a headache from all this noise. Why don’t we grab a pizza and then head home?”

Carla’s face fell, but she rebounded quickly. “Double cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, anchovies, and onions? Okay, we can eat it at my place. Want to get a video or catch the end of the Miss Alpine pageant? Emma?”

I shook my head. “Count me out. I’ve got a whole weekend to cram into half of tomorrow. Don’t forget the parade and the banquet and the fireworks.” Fortunately, my presence was required only at the banquet. Carla would cover the parade; Ed had volunteered to take pictures of the fireworks.

Carla finished her wine, and Ginny took a last sip of beer. My schooner had been empty for a long time. I asked Doc for our tab and insisted on treating my employees.

“Quite a night, eh, girlies?” asked Doc with a shake of his head. He was looking extremely tired, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. “I wonder when the loggers will start trying to kill each other?”

“I thought they signed a truce for Loggerama,” I said with a grin. “When do you get done with your shift?”

He looked above the bar at the old clock featuring the Hamm’s beer bear. “Ten minutes,” he said with a grateful expression. “This seems like the longest two hours of my life. It wears me down, girlie. I’d rather do surgery. Dr. Starr should be along any minute.” His lined face became unwontedly grim.

I led the way to the door, but halfway across the room I paused to greet the Driggers and the Vickers. Patti Marsh had returned to her table where she sat alone, sending malevolent glances in her daughter’s direction. After an exchange of pleasantries, I began to pick my way through the tables again. I saw Cody and Marje leaving just ahead of us, about a minute after Curtis Graff had come into the tavern. The brothers ignored each other. Or, more likely, Cody was too bleary-eyed to recognize Curtis. Marje had her
fiancé by the arm, propping him up. Milo had been right: Cody Graff hadn’t needed a third beer. He looked as if he could barely make it to the parking lot.

It was fortunate that Marje Blatt was going to do the driving. At least Cody would get home alive and in one piece.

I couldn’t guess that I was only half right.

I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in until nine-fifteen on Sunday morning. Mass at St. Mildred’s was at ten, and I could shower, dress, grab a cup of coffee, and get to church in under three-quarters of an hour. I was just about to struggle out of bed when the phone rang. Shielding my eyes against the bright morning sun, I groped for the receiver. It was Milo Dodge.

“Emma,” he said, sounding tense. “I’ve got some bad news.”

My brain wasn’t quite on track yet. “What?”

Outside, I could hear the blare of trumpets. The high school band was assembling just a block and a half away, practicing for the big parade.

“There’s been an accident,” said Milo, with the sound of male voices in the background. “Durwood Parker ran over Cody Graff last night. Cody’s dead and Durwood’s back in jail.”

I fell back on the bed, one hand on my head. Sunday wasn’t going to be a day of rest, either. Except, of course, for Cody Graff.

C
ODY
G
RAFF HAD
been struck down out on Mill Street, just west of the turnoff for Burl Creek Road. A weeping Durwood had turned himself in shortly after six
A.M
. He knew he wasn’t supposed to drive, he told Milo, but he figured that if he took just a little spin on a quiet Sunday morning, nobody would be out on the road.

“We’ll have to charge him with vehicular manslaughter,” Milo told me after I got to the sheriff’s office two blocks up from
The Advocate
on Front Street. I’d gone straight from mass, which Father Fitzgerald had cut short due to Loggerama.