The Alpine Fury (23 page)

The words were the ones I’d longed to hear for over twenty years. I’d given away my youth to that proposal, I’d sacrificed a half dozen eligible men at the altar of Tom’s married state. Now I actually heard the question, reverberating off my left ear, while I struggled with a pair of brown slacks that didn’t seem to fit either of my legs.

“What?” It was all I could think to say. I wondered if I could reach the bottle of bourbon in my so-called liquor cabinet.

Tom was laughing. Sort of. “Sandra has met somebody else. A stand-up comic, in fact. He’s twenty-six, and she’s nuts about him. Emma, what did Sabatini say?”

The answer came by rote: “‘Born with the gift of laughter and the sense that the world was mad.’” Tom and I had often mouthed the quote when we were conducting our impassioned affair. There was more, something about that being the only patrimony of Sabatini’s bastard hero. It had fit Adam only too well. But of course, our son had never read
Scaramouche
. “A stand-up comic?” I began to giggle; my laughter sounded akin to hysteria.

“That’s right. Sandra saw him in some North Beach club she went to with her equally screwed-up girlfriends. They threw money at him. He joined them after his gig, and the next thing—so Sandra told me—they were holed up in some motel by Fisherman’s Wharf. She’s crazy about him and wants to bankroll a feature film for which he’s written the script. But of course, she’s just plain crazy anyway. You know that. He probably does, too.”

A weary note had crept into Tom’s voice. I was at a loss for words. “Tom … is it a phase?”

“Who knows? She’s got an attorney—well, she’s always had an army of them, what with her various legal problems, such as shoplifting sable coats from I. Magnin and punching out hot-dog vendors on Market Street. But she actually filed yesterday. No, it was Wednesday—Thursday was a holiday.” Tom’s voice dropped, and I could picture him holding the phone in one hand and his head in the other. His noble Roman profile was probably nuzzling the receiver.

“Well.” I was still dazed. “What about your kids?”

“Sandra called them today. I haven’t spoken with them yet.” He sighed, the long heavy breath traveling the nine hundred miles between San Francisco and Alpine. “It’s a mess, Emma. But she seems to have made up her mind. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Come up to see me,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. “Adam will be here for Thanksgiving. We’ll try to sort it out. You need to take a break.”

“I can’t.” Tom sounded pained. “The kids are coming home from college for the holiday. Sandra insists that we spend Thanksgiving together, as a family. Christmas, too. But she’s going to be with Zorro for New Year’s.”

“Zorro?”

“That’s his name. At least, his stage name. Zorro Black. Emma—am I crazy? All along, has it been me, and not Sandra?”

Tom sounded so bleak that I was moved to tears. That takes a lot, considering that I haven’t cried since my parents were killed over twenty years ago.

“Of course not,” I said staunchly. “Sandra is wacked out of her mind, and always has been. You’re just suffering from the fallout.”

“I’ve got to see you.” Tom seemed to have gained momentum. “New Year’s. I’ll fly up after Christmas. It’s only a little over a month. Or could you come down here for a couple of days? I’ll pay for it.”

The old, familiar streak of independence reared its head. “No!” It was bad enough that I’d allowed Tom to pay for some of Adam’s transportation. He sure as hell wasn’t going to foot my bills as well. Yet I hadn’t meant to distress him. “It’s a bad time,” I went on hastily. “We’ve got a big story brewing. Two, maybe. Either one may break before the Wednesday pub date, or maybe not until just before Thanksgiving.”

If there was one excuse Tom could accept without an argument, it was breaking news. “Alpine sounds like a hotbed,” he remarked. I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

Now that his situation was becoming real to me, I tried to think logically. “New Year’s is fine. Adam and Ben will both be here.”

“Do you need backup?” The irony had returned to Tom’s voice.

“Maybe I do.” I chewed on my lower lip. “You’ve got to admit, this is a shock. I can’t help but wonder if Sandra will change her mind. Or that Zorro will.”

“It’s been going on since September. I didn’t find out until about two weeks ago. Having Sandra disappear isn’t exactly unusual.” Tom’s tone had again turned flat.

“I know.” I was well versed in Sandra Cavanaugh’s escapades. Not too long ago, she had flown to Bombay without any notice. Tom had only found out where she was when the local police had notified him that his wife had threatened a sacred cow with a meat fork.

“He won’t stay with her,” Tom said. “Zorro, I mean. But that doesn’t guarantee she’ll come back to me.”

I took a deep breath. “Do you want her back?”

The laugh I loved so much sounded shaky. “I don’t know. For twenty-five years, I’ve considered Sandra my responsibility in life. I made a commitment, not just when we were married, but later.” His voice lowered. “You know about that. I had a choice to make when you got pregnant. By then, I knew Sandra wasn’t well. I had to give you up, which was penance enough, but I never was one to do things by half—I also vowed to take care of her for as long as she needed me. Marrying Zorro doesn’t necessarily mean she won’t need me again.”

Naturally, Tom was making perfect sense. Naturally, that didn’t matter. “Then why the hell are you asking me to marry you?”

Tom made an exasperated noise. “Because I want to. And because even if Zorro dumps Sandra, I could still take care of her. I could be appointed her legal guardian or something. She wouldn’t be left on her own.”

I bit back the words that rose to my lips: How wonderful to be married to Tom, and have Sandra living out in the carport, stabbing sacred cows and scurrying off to shoplift at Harvey’s Hardware.

“We need some time,” I said gently. “Let’s see what happens with Sandra and Zorro over the next few weeks. Plan on coming to Alpine after Christmas. Don’t try to push things. We’ve waited all these years—will a month or two make much difference?”

“I wish I knew.” Tom’s voice actually broke. I might not have cried in twenty years, but maybe he had. Often. “If only I could see what was going to happen between now and … Emma?”

“Yes?”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do! Why do you ask?”

There was a pause. “Well … if you were as bright as I think you are, you wouldn’t. Not after all this time. People are supposed to fall out of love.”

People are supposed to do a lot of things, smart things, wise things, things that make life easier. But they don’t. Instead, they act foolishly, sometimes self-destructively. Nobody knew that better than I did.

“Don’t be a jackass,” I said, wishing away the catch in my own voice. “Call me, if you need to. Any time. Let Sandra run with whatever it is she thinks she wants. You couldn’t stop her if you tried.”

“I never could.” Tom’s sigh was heavy with hopelessness. I could all but feel his warm breath on my ear. Five months ago, we’d stood at the edge of Lake Chelan, pretending we belonged together. Maybe we really did. Maybe. “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” Tom said briskly. “My calendar’s clear for the end of December.”

The sudden formality in his voice indicated that someone had entered the room. Sandra, perhaps. Tom said goodbye in a detached manner. I held on to the phone for almost a full minute after we were disconnected.

I hadn’t heard Vida honk her horn. After only the most halfhearted of demurs, she had agreed to join Honoria and me for dinner. Again she had insisted on driving her big Buick.

The loud knock at my door snapped me out of my
love-struck daze. Finally managing to get one each of my own legs into one each of the brown slacks’, I let Vida in.

“Well! I thought you must be in the shower. Are you ready?” Vida was wearing a winter-white turban with her brown tweed coat. Before I could respond, she leaned forward and stared into my face. “Mercy, what’s wrong? You look like a sheet! Are you sick?”

“Let’s save it for the ride to Startup.” Grabbing my jacket and handbag, I turned off all the lights except for the desk lamp and the ship’s lantern on the front porch. Three minutes later, we had crossed the bridge over the Skykomish River and were heading for Highway 2.

Vida was the only person in Alpine in whom I would confide my sorry love life. She listened to my recital without comment. We were zipping past the turnoff to the town of Skykomish when I finally finished.

“Typical,” Vida said, tromping on the accelerator to pass a swaying RV. “Sandra isn’t merely unstable, she’s ungrateful. Poor Tommy.”

Nobody but Vida called Tom
Tommy
. She got away with it. Indeed, when Tom had visited Alpine two years earlier, he and Vida had formed the basis for a friendship. The relationship pleased me, almost as much as if my own mother had approved.

“It’s too soon to tell what will happen,” I said, my voice sounding forlorn in my ears.

“Definitely. Sandra’s unpredictability is so predictable.” With that cryptic comment, Vida said no more and concentrated on her driving. The farther west we drove, the harder the rain seemed to fall. It was very dark, and if Vida hadn’t known the road by heart, I would have worried. Despite the weather, traffic on Highway 2 was heavy. It usually was on a Friday night, with cross-state travelers going between Seattle and
Spokane, along with various smaller cities along the route, including some college towns.

Honoria had been right about the mud and the potholes. Vida’s left front tire hit a big one right after we left the main road. She negotiated the rest of the short drive very carefully.

“Milo should fix those for Honoria,” she said as we pulled up outside of the cottage. “If nothing else, he’s handy.”

Obviously Honoria had been watching for our arrival. We exchanged hugs, and I formally introduced her to Vida. Then we began the task of getting Honoria and her wheelchair into the backseat of the Buick.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” she said after we were heading back to Highway 2.

“Nonsense,” Vida replied crisply. “If you have to have a handicap, it’s better to be physically crippled than mentally deranged.” Vida shot me a knowing look.

Honoria laughed at Vida’s candor. “It would be better to be neither.”

“That’s rare,” Vida said, pointing the Buick toward Sultan. “Most people have some sort of handicap. The difficulty for others is when it doesn’t show.”

The drive to the Dutch Cup was brief, covering less than five miles. It was six-forty when we sat down in a comfortable booth and were presented with big threefold plastic menus. The waitress announced the specials, which included prime rib and prawns Madeira. When she asked if we’d like something first from the bar, Vida said no; Honoria and I chorused in the affirmative.

“It’s my treat, remember.” Honoria widened her gray eyes at Vida.

But Vida seemed resolute. “Not tonight. I rarely imbibe.”
She gave the waitress a guileless smile. “Unless, of course, your bartender can make a sidecar.”

The bartender could. Vida feigned surprise. “My, my, so often these days restaurant employees don’t know the old-fashioned drinks. I’m quite flabbergasted.”

Honoria appeared to be stifling a smile. “Sultan is sort of an old-fashioned place. I believe the present owners have been here for years.”

“Seventeen,” Vida answered promptly. “The Eslicks. Or something like that. I take it you’re adjusting to rural life?”

Honoria’s oval face registered uncertainty. “I get homesick for Carmel. It isn’t exactly a metropolis, but it does possess a great deal of sophistication. Startup is … different. I enjoy the tranquillity. But I miss California, especially going into the Bay Area.”

Vida’s nose wrinkled. “I haven’t been to Frisco in years,” she admitted. “But the last time I visited, it was so
noisy
. And crowded. However do people put up with all that bustle?”

“Well …” Honoria gave me a quick, bemused glance. If she thought it was lost on Vida, she was wrong. Next to me, I could feel Vida bristle. “It’s a matter of adjusting to tempo. And of personal interests. I miss the opera and the ballet and the theatre. I try to get into Seattle once in a while, but I’m hampered.” Lest we mistake her meaning for a reference to her handicap, she waved a strong, yet graceful hand at us. “It’s not because of the wheelchair. It’s that Milo isn’t much interested in culture.”

“Surprise.” Vida let the word fall like lead. “If it doesn’t swim, Milo is oblivious. Now tell us if you’re worried about Milo and this murder investigation or if you’re worried about him, period. Perhaps Emma and I can help.”

Among other things, I had always admired Honoria’s poise. But in the face of Vida’s blunt speech, even Honoria seemed a trifle shaken. She bowed her head, then smiled in a self-deprecating manner.

“Both, actually. I wasted a lot more than time on my first husband.” Her lovely face turned grim. “I’m not prepared to throw away any more years on a man. I honestly don’t think Milo wants to get married again. He seems quite content with his job and his fishing and an occasional hunting trip. But more importantly, the heart of him
is
the job—and he’s very depressed over this recent homicide. It may be pointless—from a personal point of view—to get him through this crisis. Still, I owe it to him to try. You two know him very well. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Honoria had certainly laid her case on the line. I slumped back in the booth, feeling inadequate. But as usual, Vida rose to the occasion.

“Yes, there is. You can start by opening an account at the Bank of Alpine. You’re handicapped, and you have a reason to request proxy banking. Go in there Monday morning and ask for it. Then we’ll see what happens next.” Vida folded her arms across her bosom and waited for Honoria’s reaction.

Thoughtfully Honoria ran a hand through her short ash-blonde hair. “How will that help Milo?”

Keeping her voice down, Vida explained our misgivings about the bank. “I’m not saying that Linda’s murder is tied into these apparent discrepancies. On the other hand, it’s almost too much to be a coincidence. And Milo was at the bank late this afternoon. He wouldn’t tell us why.”