The Alpine Scandal (7 page)

When in doubt, ask Vida.

She was putting on her raincoat when I went into the newsroom. “What are you doing this evening?” I inquired.

“As a matter of fact,” she replied shamelessly, “I’m having the Bartlebys to dinner.”

I was startled. “Is this a date you made in advance?”

“No,” she admitted. “I called this afternoon.” She had the grace to look sheepish. “They’re going to England next month for some sort of Episcopal—or Anglican—I can never quite understand the distinction—convocation or such. I decided to do a pretrip article.”

“You’re a fraud, Vida,” I said.

“Yes, but they don’t know that.” She buttoned her raincoat. “I was fortunate that they didn’t have a previous commitment.”

“You really don’t expect Regis and Edith to gossip about their parishioners, do you? They’re the soul of genteel discretion.”

“Yes, yes,” Vida said, gathering up her purse and gloves. “Nor will they gossip in the way that most people do. But they’ll say things, and discreet or not, interesting information can slip out.” She peered at me through her big glasses. “Do you want to join us?”

I hesitated. Revealing comments about the Nystroms versus Vida’s awful cooking. Me as interloper versus my role as editor and publisher. Two non-Episcopalians versus the vicar and his wife.

“No, but thanks all the same,” I said. “I should e-mail Adam. Besides, if there’s any information to be had, you’ll get it on your own.”
And my stomach won’t have to suffer
.

“That’s true,” Vida allowed. “Nor would we want them to think we were ganging up on them, as the phrase goes.”

I agreed. Still, I was left at loose ends. After Vida left, I remained alone in the newsroom. Maybe it was time to talk to Dennis Kelly, after all. I started to pick up Vida’s phone to call the rectory but remembered that the first Tuesday night of each month was reserved for my pastor’s meetings with the parish council. Another dead end. Frustrated, I grabbed my handbag and deserted the
Advocate
.

But I didn’t head for my Honda. Instead, I walked down the street to Parker’s Pharmacy. There are always items to buy at an all-purpose drugstore.

Tara was working the front end, checking out a customer. I dodged her on my way in and went straight to the pharmacy section at the rear of the store. Garth Wesley was behind the glassed-in area, reading a prescription. He saw me right away and smiled, exhibiting uneven but very white teeth.

“Hi, Emma. What can I do for you?”

I asked if he had any of the Band-Aids that stopped bleeding almost immediately. “They’re hard to find,” I said, “and they really work.”

“Paper cuts, huh?” he said.

I chuckled obligingly.

“If they aren’t with the rest of the first-aid items,” he said, no longer smiling, “then we don’t have them. Maybe I can special order some.”

“That’d be great,” I enthused. “I’ll make do with the antibiotic ones in the meantime.” I fumbled around in my handbag, stalling for time. “I thought I had a list in here,” I fibbed. “Oh, well. I’ll remember what I need most. Say,” I said, as if the idea had just popped into my head, “how come kids these days don’t go into journalism? If Jessica was interested, I might be able to hire her someday. Tara says she doesn’t like being a receptionist.”

Garth made a face. “Who knows what this younger generation likes? Jess wanted to be a pilot at one time, then a lawyer, and after that some kind of environmental type. The one thing Tara and I are sure of is that we aren’t spending money on tuition and room and board for her to go to the UW and mess around without any real goal.”

“Good thinking,” I said. “I went through that with Adam. He changed majors and colleges so often that I wrote his address in pencil. And then he stunned me by becoming a priest. I never saw that one coming.”

Garth slid his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. “At least our Aaron figured it out. He’s still over at Pullman, studying to be a veterinarian. Of course, we figure he’ll go into practice some place other than Alpine. Jim Medved’s got this town sewed up.”

“The county’s growing enough that we could use two vets,” I pointed out. “Look how overworked Dr. Starr is with his dental practice. At least now he doesn’t have to refer patients to an orthodontist out of town.”

Garth looked rather pained, as I figured he might. “Right. It’s too bad Jess couldn’t have stayed with Nystrom. He’s got a good thing going for him. His patients aren’t just kids but adults, too.” He bared his own uneven teeth. “I’ve thought about having him straighten these. But it’d cost quite a bit, and I’ve lived with them this way for over forty years.”

“You wouldn’t look like you,” I remarked. “Of course I assume Carter Nystrom does good work.”

Garth shrugged. “As far as I know. If he didn’t, I’d hear complaints by now. Patients tend to gripe to their pharmacists if they’re not satisfied with a doctor or dentist—or even a veterinarian. We fill plenty of prescriptions for animals, too.”

I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, so I decided to play the frustrated mother. “Oh, Garth,” I said, shaking my head, “raising kids gets harder all the time. I’m so glad Adam made a good choice—and that he’s over thirty. I don’t know how your peer group manages to parent these days. Young people seem to drift even more than they used to.”

“Well.” Garth leaned on the counter. “To be honest, Jess and Aaron have been darned good kids. Both of them have worked for us—and that’s not easy, having Mom and Dad as your boss. That’s why this thing with Jess quitting after just a day seems weird. Granted, it was her first full-time job, but Bree Kendall had worked there ever since Nystrom opened the practice. Tara and I are going to have to have a real sit-down tonight with Jessica.”

“Why did Bree quit?” I asked.

Garth frowned. “She’s not from here, you know. As I recall, Carter hired her out of Seattle. Maybe she didn’t like small-town life. Bree gave it two years. I suppose she missed the city.”

Vaguely, I could visualize Bree. We’d run her picture a couple of times: once when she started working for Dr. Nystrom and again when we had a co-op ad featuring our professional people and their staffs. She was blonde and rather good-looking, as I recalled.

“The personnel change could’ve been the problem,” I said as Mary Lou Blatt strode up to the pharmacy counter. “Dr. Nystrom must’ve been used to a routine with Bree. Maybe he was a little hard on Jessica. It’d be an adjustment for him, too.”

Garth shrugged. “It’s possible. But darned if Tara and I won’t find out. We’ve raised our kids so that they talk to us. Usually.”

Mary Lou harrumphed. “Talk
to
but not talk
back
, I hope. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s youngsters who sass. I need a refill on my blood pressure medicine. I had to see Vida over the holidays.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Mary Lou was the widow of Vida’s brother, Ennis Blatt. The two strong-minded women had never gotten along.

“I don’t know how you put up with that windbag,” Mary Lou declared, her sharp eyes pinned on me. “A know-it-all if there ever was one.” She turned back to Garth. “Let me tell you, and don’t I know, having taught school for many years, that parents are spoiling their children something terrible these days. Thank goodness I’m retired. I’d take a ruler to most of these kids—and then get sued by their silly parents.
If
they have parents, that is, with half the population either divorced or living together without benefit of clergy.”

I waved faintly and walked over to the first-aid section. Mary Lou could give as good as she got when it came to windbaggery.

Twenty minutes later, I was emptying my shopping basket for Tara. Band-Aids, Super Glue, Excedrin, liquid eyeliner, toothpaste, mouthwash, a sympathy card for the Nystroms, shampoo and conditioner—I had it all.

“Thirty-eight dollars and twelve cents,” Tara announced.

I ran my debit card through the machine, doing it right the first time, which was unusual for Emma the Inept. “What time do you get off?” I asked.

“We’re both working until we close at eight,” Tara said, sounding tired. “Our holiday help has gone back to the classroom. I guess we’ll have Jessica fill in until we get someone else. Aaron has a semester break coming up. We can put him to work, too.” She glanced across the wide front aisle at Mary Lou Blatt, who was studying the marked-down holiday candy. “I can’t believe it,” Tara said, lowering her voice. “Ed Bronsky came in this afternoon asking about a job.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Right.” Tara smiled at Barney Amundson, who had just entered the store. I smiled, too. Barney headed for the camera section. “Has Ed really lost his money? Or his mind?” Tara inquired.

“Yes. Yes.” I sighed. “He wants his old job back at the
Advocate
. It’s impossible, of course.”

“He wasn’t asking for himself here,” Tara said, handing me my receipt. “It was for Shirley. What do you think?”

“How strapped are you for employees?”

Tara grimaced. “We are a bit strapped. But
Shirley
?” She nodded in Barney Amundson’s direction. “His niece Carrie worked for us last summer and did fairly well. Maybe I could ask Barney if she’d consider coming back. She’s dropped out of college, too.”

“Jessica plans to stay in town, I assume.”

Tara nodded as Mary Lou headed for the checkout counter. “I hope so. I don’t want her at loose ends in the city.”

I signed the receipt and picked up my purchases. “Say, do you know if Bree Kendall is still in town?”

Tara looked surprised by the question. “I think so, but I really don’t know. I hardly knew her.”

I admitted I didn’t know her at all.

But I intended to correct that situation as soon as possible.

I used my cell phone to call directory assistance from my car. Bree Kendall still had a listing. I jotted it down and asked for the address. Dr. Nystrom’s former receptionist lived on Alpine Way. Judging from the street number, she was probably a resident at the Pines Villa Apartments.

I sat in the car staring out into Front Street. At five-thirty it was busy by Alpine standards. I had no excuse to call Bree Kendall. I didn’t even know why I wanted to talk to her. She’d apparently given notice to her employer that she would quit at the end of the year. That didn’t sound precipitous and thus couldn’t be construed as sinister. Like just about everyone else connected to the Nystroms, Bree was a stranger to me. So far, I knew only the Nordby brothers, and Trout hadn’t been much help when it came to moving the murder investigation forward.

Still, I decided to take the long route home and headed for Alpine Way instead of going up Fourth Street. Two blocks away from Fir, where my little log house stands, and a block shy of Pines Villa, I decided to stop at the Grocery Basket. The Christmas turkey had been recycled once too often, the larder was low, and I was hungry.

I treated myself to a Kobe beef steak, Brussels sprouts, and a Yukon Gold potato. Guilt came over me. It was a perfect dinner for Milo, except that the sprouts would have been replaced by green beans. When it came to food—and other things as well—the sheriff’s tastes were pretty basic. I would’ve liked to ask Ben to dinner, but I knew he had an invitation to dine with Bernie and Patsy Shaw from the parish. Having spent six months in Alpine, Ben had gotten acquainted with many of the locals. Many of them insisted on offering him hospitality during his short holiday stay, and that meant I wasn’t getting to see him as often as I’d have preferred.

I also selected a few items from the frozen food case. I’d put them in reserve for nights when I didn’t feel like cooking. I was wheeling my cart toward the front end when I saw Betsy O’Toole coming out of the far aisle. She was wearing her coat and carrying her purse, indicating that she was finished with her co-owner’s duties for the day.

“Emma!” she shouted. “What’s this about Ed?”

I reined in my cart by a soda pop display. “Not you, too?” I said.

“He was in here half an hour ago, trying to talk Jake and me into hiring a couple of his kids,” Betsy said. “It’s not a good time. Business slows down in January. The snowbirds all head for Arizona and California. Or they take a cruise. I can’t believe Ed’s broke.”

“Believe it,” I said. “But I’m glad to hear he’s trying to get his kids to work. It’ll be good for them.”

“Better if Ed got his own butt out of that stupid mansion and did something besides show off,” Betsy asserted. “Oh, I feel sorry for the guy, but he’s been such a pain since he inherited that money. Did he blow it all or what?”

“Bad investments,” I said. “Say, do you know Bree Kendall?”

Betsy laughed. “Of course.” She jerked a thumb toward the express checkout stand. “That’s her, right behind Edna Mae Dalrymple. Bree shops here all the time. She lives just up the street at Pines Villa.”

“Do you mind if I roll in behind her?”

Betsy shrugged. “Go for it.” But before I could move the cart, she blocked my way. “What are you up to, Emma? Does this have something to do with poor Elmer Nystrom having his head bashed in?”

I tried to look innocent. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Bree worked for his son,” she said. “You know that, of course.”

“Move it, Betsy,” I said. “Edna Mae can’t dither forever. It’s an express lane, remember?”

Betsy got out of the way. “How can I forget? This morning I had to tell Darla Puckett that twenty-seven items are seventeen too many. That woman either can’t count or can’t read. See you.”

Betsy breezed off.

Edna Mae was trying to make exact change. “I’m sure I have another dime,” she insisted as the redheaded checker exhibited strained patience. “Dimes are so small. They get caught in the lining of my coin purse.” Edna Mae, our local head librarian, kept digging.

I stood behind Bree, studying her appearance. She was several inches taller than I was, probably was twenty-five years younger, and her shoulder-length blond hair looked like it might have been the original color. Her tan all-weather hooded coat was lined with black faux fur. She wore black boots with heels so high that I wouldn’t have dared wear them to walk farther than from my bedroom to the front door. Bree already had placed her purchases on the checkout counter: prosciutto, provolone, a small baguette, a yellow bell pepper, and a bottle of Pinot Gris.