The Alpine Scandal (12 page)

“You’ve made your point.” I turned on the radio before sitting on the sofa. KSKY was playing its usual oldies-but-goodies show that preceded Vida’s program. The music was most appropriate.

Ben was admiring my river painting. “Has this Laurentis done anything recently?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “That is, Donna Wickstrom hasn’t shown a new work lately at her art gallery. I’ll ask her tonight. She joined the bridge club a few months ago.”

Ben sat down in the easy chair just as Connie Francis finished singing and a station break was announced.

“Now,” Spence’s recorded voice said, “stay tuned for KSKY’s weekly edition of
Vida’s Cupboard
, featuring all the news that’s not fit to print. Hot off the gossip griddle is
The Alpine Advocate
’s House & Home editor, our favorite friend and neighbor, Vida Runkel.”

The sound of a cupboard door being opened came across the airwaves. A couple of months before, it had been followed by a crash and a clatter reminiscent of Fibber McGee’s closet on the old radio comedy show. Vida had pitched a fit and threatened to box Rey Fernandez’s ears for his practical joke. Later, she’d confided to me she was secretly pleased that anyone as young as the almost-thirty Rey would know about a radio program that had been popular during the thirties and forties.

Vida’s slightly braying voice was always amplified over the microphone. She began with a roundup of holiday parties that she hadn’t had space for on her page. “Clancy and Debra Barton revived an old Irish custom on St. Stephen’s Day—the twenty-sixth of December—by forming a Wren Boys procession. They planned to go from door to door, begging money for the penniless wren they carried on a stick. The wren was made of papiermâché, and unfortunately blew away in the strong December wind before they got to the first home on the block. Darla Puckett’s golden retriever, Noodles, mistook the bogus bird for the real thing and swallowed part of it, resulting in an emergency trip to Dr. Jim Medved’s clinic. The money the Bartons intended to collect for the local food bank will go instead toward the Pucketts’ veterinarian bill. Very generous of the Bartons, I’m sure.”

Ben looked up at the ceiling and groaned softly.

Vida continued: “Two of our fine community college students who have Egyptian ancestry, brothers Anwar and Naguib Tabak, celebrated Christmas on Monday, January sixth, with traditional food and drink. They ate a form of shortbread called
kaik
—that’s spelled K-A-I-K—and drank a beverage known as
shortbat
. Some student pranksters apparently put a little extra something in the
shortbat
. Happily, the Tabak brothers were treated and released from Alpine Hospital early Tuesday morning.”

“Roger, the prankster?” Ben said.

I shrugged. It sounded like the kind of stunt Vida’s grandson would pull.

Barely pausing for breath, Vida rattled off a number of other parties and open houses held over the New Year’s holiday. “Now we must pause for a word from one of our fine sponsors. But I’ll be back with a very timely and informative guest who has some fond memories of the late Elmer Nystrom.”

Ben stared at me. “Who is it? Did Vida give you a heads-up?”

“No.” I was annoyed. “She’d better not be scooping herself.”

After the Itsa Bitsa Pizza and Parker’s Pharmacy commercials, Vida returned. “Originally, I’d planned to interview Charlene Vickers about what to do with those wilting poinsettias after Christmas, but Charlene has come down with flu. We hope she has a speedy recovery. We wish the same for Sheriff Milo Dodge, who was hospitalized this morning but has been upgraded to satisfactory condition and is resting comfortably.”

“Ha!” I said. “
Un
comfortably.”

“Now,” Vida said, “I take great pleasure in bringing you one of Alpine’s fine young men, who is following in the footsteps of his father and his uncle, Bryce Nordby. Bryce, won’t you tell us how you came to know and admire the late Elmer Nystrom while working at the Nordby Brothers GM dealership?”

“Ah,” I said. “Not quite scooping herself.”

“I’ve always been crazy about cars,” Bryce replied, “so I decided to become a mechanic. I was going to go away to school to learn the trade, but Elmer told my dad, Trout, he could teach me everything I needed to know. So I stayed in Alpine and learned from Elmer, and now I’m a full-fledged mechanic.”

“That’s a wonderful story,” Vida said in her most unctuous manner. “Staying in Alpine was so wise—and mature—of you. I’m sure Elmer was an excellent teacher. He seemed like a very kind, patient man.”

“Right. Totally. But he wouldn’t let anybody cut corners or cheat on the job. He was real strict about that. Like, when I was learning to drive five, six years ago, he really got on me for going too fast up and down Front Street. Stuff like that. He was the same way with my brother, Brad, when he learned to drive a couple of years ago. You had to do it Elmer’s way because it was the right way.”

I tried to picture the younger pair of Nordby brothers but couldn’t come up with any images. Of course I must have seen them around town, but I hadn’t made any connection with Trout and Skunk.

“I’m sure,” Vida was saying, “that Elmer will be very hard to replace. I know you’re still quite young, but do you have any aspirations to become head of the parts department?”

“Naw,” Bryce replied. “I like being a mechanic. That’d be more in Brad’s line, but he’s only eighteen and wants to become a billionaire.”

Vida’s chuckle seemed forced. “Ha, ha. I’m sure most young people would like to do that. But money isn’t everything, you know. It’s very important to get satisfaction from your work. I’m sure Elmer taught you that.”

“Oh, wow, yeah, totally. And I do. Guess I’m just a grease monkey at heart.”

“And a very fine thing it is,” Vida declared, “with Americans so dependent on their vehicles these days. I wish every young person felt as you do about your job, Bryce.”

“Me, too, but they don’t sometimes. I mean, like, I try to tell Brad—my brother—that, but he doesn’t listen. All he wants to know is how to make big money.”

“Perhaps he will someday.” She paused. “Thank you, Bryce, for being my guest this evening. That’s all we have time for tonight, dear friends. I’m closing my cupboard until next week at this same time. Stay tuned to KSKY for more easy listening.”

I turned off the radio. “That was a dud,” I remarked.

“Vida’s heart was in the right place,” Ben said. “She wanted someone who knew Elmer, and Bryce definitely did. Besides, he’s from the younger generation. It speaks well for Elmer that he could communicate with a teenager.”

Both Ben and I stood up. I glanced at my watch. “That’s odd. It’s only seven-twelve. Vida’s show didn’t run for the full fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe
your
watch doesn’t work very well, either,” Ben said.

I checked the digital clock on the VCR. “It just switched over to seven-thirteen. Vida cut at least a couple of minutes off of the program.”

“Is it prerecorded?” Ben asked.

“No. It’s live. Except I think there’s a five-second delay during the interview portion in case somebody says something libelous or obscene. There was an incident a few months ago when Vida had the Dithers sisters on and they talked—actually
talked
instead of neighing and whinnying like their horses. One of them—I forget which—started to explain about giving their sick stallion, Tubby, an enema. Vida had to pull the plug—so to speak—when it got too graphic.”

Ben grinned. “Yes. I’m glad I missed that one.”

“I’ll try to call Vida after she gets home,” I said, putting my jacket on again and grabbing my purse. “I can do it at bridge club when I’m dummy.”

“In the interest of my eternal soul, I’ll skip the smart remark on that one,” Ben said as we went out the front door. He noticed that I wasn’t going to my car in the carport. “You want a lift?”

“With you in your Deathmobile? No thanks. I’ll walk. Edna Mae lives only a block away.”

We parted company. Ben shot out of the driveway in his Jeep and roared past me before I could get to Fir Street. I moved fairly fast along the unpaved verge. It was raining harder, heavy cold pelts that hinted at snow later in the night.

Edna Mae greeted me at the door. “Come in, come in, it’s nasty out there,” she said, taking her usual birdlike steps to make way. “Dixie Ridley and Molly Freeman got here early to listen to Vida’s show with me. The others should be along any minute. Would you like some hot cocoa?”

“Oh—no, thanks.” Edna Mae used water instead of milk for her low-fat cocoa despite the fact that she didn’t carry more than a hundred pounds on her five-foot frame. The other hostesses usually served wine, which always required the pulling of drapes to keep out prying eyes that might spot two of the high school faculty wives—Dixie and Molly—imbibing spirits. Janet Driggers, however, offered a wide range of adult beverages and ended her hospitality offerings with “Stroke him if you got him.” Edna Mae always pretended she didn’t understand the remark. Or, come to think of it, maybe she wasn’t pretending.

Molly, who was married to Karl Freeman, the high school principal, and Dixie, the wife of the football coach, Rip Ridley, greeted me cordially. Neither was among my staunchest supporters, but at least they hadn’t tried to run me out of town.

The rest arrived in quick succession: Darlene Adcock, whose husband, Harvey, owned the local hardware store; Mary Jane Bourgette, mother of the diner clan and wife of Dick, a local building contractor; Donna Wickstrom, who ran a day-care center along with her art gallery and was Ginny’s sister-in-law; and last, but certainly not least, Janet Driggers.

Edna Mae might dither and fidget, but she was organized. Her career as a librarian had given her plenty of experience. Tally cards were handed out. I drew Mary Jane as my first partner, opposing Dixie and Janet. We seated ourselves at the two tables and cut the cards.

“King of spades,” I announced, flipping my card into the middle of the table. “It’s my deal.”

Dixie, who had been a marching band majorette in her younger days, bounced in her chair and bid one heart before turning to me as I began to deal out the hands. “How’s Sheriff Dodge, Emma?” she asked.

Though her expression was ingenuous, she might as well have said, “How’s the sheriff you sleep with now and then, you snooty little tart?”

I shrugged. “According to Vida, he’s been upgraded to satisfactory condition. But you must have heard her program.”

“Oh—of course.” Dixie smiled, showing off her dimples.

Mary Jane, who was a fellow Catholic, shot Dixie an arch glance. “So you have a heart after all, Dixie, dear. I mean,
hearts
. Then I’ll bid one spade.”

“The better to dig the dirt with,” Janet murmured, and passed.

Since I was holding a mediocre hand, the best I could do for Mary Jane was to bid one no-trump. “Since we can’t provide much support, it seems as if Dixie and Mary Jane have all the high cards,” I said to Janet.

Janet’s expression was unreadable. “Mmmm,” she said.

Mary Jane passed. Dixie scowled at her cards and then rebid her hearts. The rest of us passed. As dummy, Janet laid down her hand, showing a high card count of fifteen. Dixie shrieked.

“Why on earth didn’t you respond to my opening bid?” she demanded.

Janet remained inscrutable. “I don’t know. I thought you were fishing. You know, just trying to get some information.”

“I’ll bet we have at least a small slam,” Dixie said angrily. “Since when did you get to be so cautious?”

I didn’t know where to look. I knew that Janet was being ornery to spite Dixie for her query about Milo. Janet—and Mary Jane, for that matter—tended to take my part in any situation.

“I’ve had a bad enough day as it is,” Dixie grumbled as I led a low club.

“Not getting any?” Janet said, batting her eyelashes.

“Oh, stop it, Janet!” Dixie exclaimed. “Could you stop talking about sex for once? Frankly, it gets tiresome. You’d think you were still in high school!”

“Sorry,” Janet deadpanned. “I just thought maybe you hadn’t had any since you were in high school.”

Dixie raked in the trick with the king of clubs from her hand. She glared at Janet. “Don’t even mention high school to me! That’s all I hear about from Rip—those damned football and basketball players! It’s one thing after another with those kids. I get sick of listening to him gripe about who broke curfew, who was caught drinking beer, who is smoking weed—and most of all, who’s knocked who up! What’s wrong with parents these days?”

“A fair question,” Mary Jane said mildly. “Dick and I’ve raised six kids, and heaven knows they’re not perfect, but we had rules. Even if children are lucky enough to have two parents who are married to each other, they either neglect them or spoil them rotten. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground.”

Mary Jane’s little speech seemed to help Dixie simmer down. “Don’t I know it!” Dixie exclaimed. “So many of them get too much too soon. Cars, computers, all these high-tech gadgets—they have everything. No wonder they won’t come to practice and can’t take criticism.”

Molly Freeman, who was sitting with her back to Dixie, turned in her chair. “Now, Dixie, don’t be talking about our students out of school. Literally.”

Dixie shifted around to glance at the high school principal’s wife. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. But maybe Karl should use a heavier hand with some of the students. You know who I mean.” She scooped up another trick.

Molly leaned halfway out of her chair. “You know darned well that if Karl did anything to the students, he’d get his rear end sued off by the parents. Come on, Dixie—don’t blame my husband for today’s sorry state of affairs when it comes to the younger generation. Rip’s in the same boat, and they’re both rowing as well as they can.”

Dixie sighed. “I know. I just get frustrated.” She took the last trick, making a grand slam. But the steam seemed to have gone out of her. “At least,” she said, “we got a part score.”

“Right,” Janet agreed. “I’ll do better next time.” Her green eyes darted around the table. “We can all do better.”

Her words signaled some kind of truce. The rest of the evening went smoothly enough, except for Darlene Adcock knocking over the bowl of mixed nuts, Donna Wickstrom dealing with one card short that was later found under Molly’s foot, and Edna Mae getting hiccups for at least fifteen minutes, causing her partner, Janet, to misplay a hand that had been doubled and redoubled, setting them back a thousand points. But as Janet announced at the end of the evening, there were no deaths and only a few wounds.