The Alpine Uproar (29 page)

As was customary, Marisa didn’t answer immediately. “Those
are
two questions. Were there witnesses?”

“Holly claims Mickey Borg saw the incident. She must be lying.”

“I’d have to depose him,” Marisa said. “Has Dodge talked to him?”

“I don’t know. He told me he would.”

“Good.” Marisa paused. “As for the alleged attack on Holly, that’s another matter. Once again, witnesses would be crucial. Are you aware of anyone who saw how the fracas began?”

“No, but Dane Pearson, the Safeway manager, showed up
with a couple of employees about the time Holly finally surrendered.”

“Bad choice of words,” Marisa murmured. “It makes you sound like the aggressor, going for the jugular. Better to say ‘hostilities ended.’”

“Right. I suppose it’s a ‘she-said, she-said’ situation.”

“It is without witnesses,” Marisa agreed. “As for Holly actually carrying out her threat, you’ll have to wait and see what happens. There might be some reckless attorney out there who’d take note of the fact that you’re a newspaper owner and think big bucks are involved.”

“Gee, I could disprove that in about thirty seconds.”

“I know,” Marisa said, “but the shyster lawyer might not. I’d better hang up. I’ve got a client coming in at two-thirty.”

“One last thing,” I said, lowering my voice. “Amanda Hanson mentioned having lunch with you. I didn’t realize you were pals.”

“We’re not,” Marisa said. “It was business.”

“Ah. And you can’t tell me because of attorney-client privilege.”

“Right. Talk to you later, Emma.”

“Sure.”

Business
. I wondered what kind of business. The way my last few days had gone, maybe Amanda wanted to sue me, too. I glanced at my watch. It was two-twenty-three. Not yet time for more pain pills.

Unfortunately.

L
EO GAVE ME A RIDE HOME
. H
E WAS ON HIS WAY TO THE SKI
lodge for the annual fall chamber of commerce dinner. Vida had also volunteered to be my chauffeur, but she was going in the
opposite direction to the country club for a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary party honoring old friends who had lived in Alpine for years, but retired to Palm Springs.

The mail was prosaic; there were no calls on my answering machine. Rolf apparently had given up. After I poured some Pepsi over ice and opened my laptop, I saw an e-mail from Adam. “What,” he had written, “has two arms, two legs, and could offer up a Mass for his mother if his teeth weren’t ch-ch-chattering?”

I grimaced at the monitor. How could I have forgotten my son’s
needs?
I couldn’t claim that I’d been out of commission and unable to buy the required items. Not only had I intended to shop online for him in the comfort of my living room, but I’d gone to a real store to buy a baby gift for Ginny’s newborn. Where were my priorities? I looked at the time on Adam’s message. He’d sent it only ten minutes ago. Since it was midafternoon at St. Mary’s Igloo, he might still be at the computer.

“Your mother is an idiot,” I began. “Never mind that some doofus hit my car in the grocery store parking lot or that I screwed up my back in the kitchen (no ambulances or sirens involved—I’ll heal, so will the Honda). I’m going to order your gear right now and have it sent via express mail. Meanwhile, please offer Masses for two recently deceased Alpiners, Alvin De Muth and Mike O’Toole. If you have any Masses left over, say one to give me the grace so I don’t flatten the above-mentioned doofus the next time I run into her—or vice versa.”

I was on a site that sold thermal wear when another message from Adam popped up. “I should’ve given you more notice re the warm stuff. Suddenly it’s below freezing at night and I should know better by now, but … well, maybe you’ve noticed that getting ordained doesn’t guarantee personality changes. Skip the express because if it snows too much that
doesn’t mean the stuff will get here any faster than by standard delivery. Are you sure you’re okay? Who’s the doofus? Maybe I shouldn’t ask, since it might cause you to have Bad Thoughts. On the other hand, being a priest’s mother doesn’t change your personality, either, so you’re probably wishing that the doofus would drive over a cliff. Meanwhile, who are the dead people? I don’t think I ever heard of the first guy but is the O’Toole one of the Grocery Basket family?”

I wrote back, assuring Adam that I was doing fine. I also told him he wouldn’t know De Muth, but that Mike was Jake and Betsy’s nephew, though I doubted that he and Adam had ever crossed paths. After I saw the steep increases for express shipping to Alaska, I followed my son’s advice and opted for the cheaper rate. By six-thirty, I’d filled his requests and hoped the items would arrive before he was buried under four feet of new snow. I was heading for the kitchen when the phone rang.

“Ms. Lord?” a male voice said in an uncertain voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Walt Hanson. Is my wife working late tonight? She hasn’t come home and nobody answers at the newspaper office.”

I thought back to my leave-taking with Leo. It had been a little after five. Vida had already offered to take me home, but that was when my ad manager spoke up and said he was headed for the ski lodge. At that point, Vida bade us good night and went on her way. I recalled glancing out into the front office but couldn’t see Amanda from that angle. Vida hadn’t paused in her exit, but that didn’t mean Amanda wasn’t still there. My House & Home editor might have simply snubbed our temporary receptionist. It had taken a few minutes for Leo and me to gather our own belongings. I couldn’t remember seeing any sign of Amanda when we left around five-ten.

“No,” I finally answered. “I think she quit around five. You might call Kip MacDuff. He usually stays on a bit later than the rest of us, especially when we’re this close to deadline. He’d be home by now.”

“Okay,” Walt said. “I’ll do that.”

Five minutes later the phone rang again. “Kip told me that Amanda was gone when he left around five-thirty,” Walt said. “He was sure there was no sign of her and he closed up.” A slight pause followed. “Did Amanda mention anything about what she was doing after work?”

“No.” I hadn’t spoken to her after the reminder about taking only an hour for lunch.

“Would she have said anything to anybody else?”

Obviously, she hadn’t given Kip any information; nor did I think she and Vida had spoken during the course of the afternoon. If Leo had talked to her, he hadn’t brought up her name on the short ride home. “I honestly don’t know where she might have gone. Shopping, maybe?”

“I don’t think so,” Walt said, sounding worried. “We were supposed to have dinner with Derek and Blythe Norman and some other people from the hatchery. We planned to arrive at the Normans’ house around six. I called them before I called you just in case Amanda was running late and had gone there first. They hadn’t seen or heard from her.”

“Do you know if her Miata is still parked by the office?”

“I asked Kip about that,” Walt replied. “He didn’t think it was. She’d been pulled in next to his pickup after she got back from lunch.”

Kip was the type who noticed such things. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Hanson. I’m sorry. Let me know when she shows up.”

“Um … yes, I will. I … sure.”

Walt definitely sounded upset. I almost suggested that he call the sheriff’s office, but being an hour and a half late wasn’t enough to qualify as a missing person.

“Please do call me,” I repeated. “Maybe she ran into a friend. I’m sure she must be fine.”

“I hope so,” Walt said. “Thanks.” He hung up.

I sat on the sofa for a long moment, knowing that neither of us believed the last few words we’d spoken.

B
Y TEN O’CLOCK
, W
ALT
H
ANSON HADN’T CALLED BACK
. M
Y
anxiety grew, though I told myself that if Amanda had shown up, the couple had probably scurried off to Derek and Blythe Norman’s house. Walt could have been in a rush and forgotten he’d promised to keep me informed.

I finished an e-mail to my brother, Ben, who was again coming off the bench to sub for another priest. Father Jimbo, as Ben called him, was doing research on St. Leo the Great, the fifth-century pope who had guided the church through some rugged years of chaos. During a six-month leave of absence, Jimbo planned to study the Vatican archives for evidence of St. Leo’s influence in Gaul. Ben, however, figured he was actually studying menus, wine, art, and really crazy Italian drivers on the Via Veneto. My brother’s current assignment was in Boston where he was doing some studying of his own, mainly of American history, the Boston Red Sox, and the MTA.

My next dose of pain medication was due at eleven, so I had almost an hour to go. Restless, I wandered over to the front window and looked out into the October night. All was quiet,
with only the amber glow of house and streetlights blurred by the thickening fog. A car slowly passed by and turned into Val and Viv Marsden’s driveway. My brain went into overdrive as I suddenly remembered that Val worked with Walt Hanson at the fish hatchery. Maybe the Demerol had addled my mind. Feeling like a moron, I hurried through the front door.

The Marsdens had parked in their garage, but had to come back outside to enter the house. I called to them as I ran across the yard.

“What’s wrong?” Viv shouted in alarm.

“Nothing,” I assured her, reaching the fence between our properties. “That is, nothing with me. Were you at Blythe and Derek’s house for dinner tonight?”

“Yeah,” Val replied, laughing and shaking his head. “That was more fun than bunions.”

I cut to the chase. “Were the Hansons there?”

“Not exactly,” Viv said. “They came, they saw, they tried to kill each other. And that was before they ever got inside the house.”

I was relieved that apparently Amanda was alive and well, but curious about the behavior of both Hansons. I posed a question that might’ve been considered bad manners for anyone who didn’t live in a small town or work on a newspaper. “What were they fighting about?”

Val shrugged. “No clue. They came in separate cars, arriving at the same time.” He glanced at Viv. “When was that? Around seven-fifteen?” His wife nodded. “Anyway,” Val went on, “they started to fight. Yelling, screaming, the whole nine yards. Amanda finally got back in her Miata and took off. Walt came inside but wouldn’t talk about it. He had one drink and left.”

“Walt didn’t even finish his drink,” Viv put in. “He just
stood around, fuming and looking as if he’d punch out anybody who spoke to him. But he did mutter some kind of apology before leaving.”

I noticed that Viv, who was wearing a bejeweled angora cardigan, had begun to shiver. “You’re cold,” I said, also feeling a damp chill setting in. “Go warm up. We can talk later.”

Val didn’t require further persuasion, but Viv hung back. “How’s Amanda working out for you?”

“Okay.” I wouldn’t criticize Ginny’s sub. Viv enjoyed gossip-peddling as much as most Alpiners. “Walt called to ask me if she was working late. She wasn’t.” I was shivering, too. “We’d better warm up before we get pneumonia.”

Viv didn’t argue. I went back to my snug log cabin, wishing I’d built a fire. The reason for Amanda’s tardiness wasn’t as important as the ruckus that had followed. Val and Viv had already told me the marriage was in trouble. Maybe the Hansons had reached the end of their rocky road. Selfishly, I wished that if they were having a marital war, it wasn’t on my watch. Very few people—except perhaps Vida—could close the door on serious problems before going to the job.

The following morning, Vida picked me up at ten to eight. “Why,” she demanded after I told her about Amanda and Walt, “didn’t you call me? I got home from the anniversary party before nine. Those Palm Springs retirees have no stamina. Far too much sun.”

“I didn’t know anything until I talked to the Marsdens. At that point, all I wanted to do was take my pills and go to bed.”

Vida harrumphed—but mildly. “Oh, yes, I realize you’re not quite yourself.” She paused to look around before backing into a parking slot in front of the office. “Did we get that new photo of Mike O’Toole? I must write his obituary today. I dread …” She paused again, even though she’d negotiated the
parking task. “Here comes Amanda. That red Miata certainly stands out.”

“Great.” My tone was dour. “Let’s avoid her by hightailing it into the office first.”

Vida looked surprised. “You don’t
want
to talk to her?”

“Not right now. I need to fuel myself first.”

We got out of the Buick before Amanda had finished parking. “I forgot,” I said as we hurried through the front door. “She’s on the bakery run today. If she remembers.”

Kip had plugged in the coffeemaker while Leo and Mitch, armed with their mugs, waited patiently and tossed around ideas with Kip for making good use of our online site.

Vida, of course, wanted only water. After filling her glass, she turned to me. “Did you ask Marisa about my advice column?”

I blanched. “I forgot. I’m so sorry. I’ll call her again today.”

Leo stared at Vida. “Advice column? Oh, Duchess, that’s great! When do you start dishing?”

“Dishing?” Vida wrinkled her nose. “Oh—you mean offering sound advice. Actually, I thought I might mention the possibility on my radio program tomorrow night.”

Mitch held up his empty mug as if he were toasting Vida. “You go, girl. It’ll be the best-read part of the paper.”

Vida all but simpered. “Except for ‘Scene,’ of course. Which reminds me, who has an item for this week’s edition?”

I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head. I avoided Vida’s request and scurried into my cubbyhole to call Bert Anderson about when my car would be ready. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure. The tire hadn’t yet arrived although he was about to start the bodywork. Bert told me to check back around noon.

A glimpse into the newsroom indicated that the coffee was made. As I was about to get out of my chair, I saw Amanda
enter with two bakery bags from the Upper Crust. “Doughnuts, bear claws, and a new kind of Italian slipper with peaches instead of apples,” she announced in a voice that had all the warmth of a recorded message. I held back, watching her arrange the goodies on the tray. I still wasn’t prepared to face the unpleasant Ms. Hanson. Nor did it appear that she wanted to communicate with her fellow employees. Amanda moved efficiently, dismissing a comment or two from Mitch with brief responses I couldn’t hear. Ignoring Leo, Kip, and Vida, she finished her task and marched off to the front office.