The Alpine Uproar (34 page)

Apparently I’d startled her. Janie had that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. “Mickey.” Suddenly she burst out laughing and clapped her hands. “Yes,” she said. “Much better. Fred out, Mickey in. ’Bye.” Still amused, she opened the door and hurried through the newsroom.

“Well?” I said as Leo entered my cubbyhole. “Is Janie Borg nuts?”

“It could go either way,” Leo replied. “I tried to keep her from bothering you. Frankly, I couldn’t figure out
why
she came here. I knew we were in trouble when she took one look at Amanda and started to spout a bunch of crap about the town sluts.”

“Meaning Amanda and Holly?”

Leo grinned. “I don’t think she meant Vida.”

“Or me, I trust.”

“Let’s assume that. Mitch told me about the pool cue that wasn’t used to kill De Muth. I stopped in this afternoon to double-check the new ad for the ICT. Spike Canby got the cue back while I was there.”

“And still didn’t recognize it?”

“He didn’t—or so he said—but Norene Anderson did.” Leo sat on the edge of my desk. “She was sure it came from the tavern’s rack because she used it to bust up a bees’ nest outside.”

“What did she do with it after bopping the bees?”

Leo’s expression was wry. “She didn’t know. Norene claims she doesn’t remember what happened after she got stung except for coming inside, taking a couple of allergy pills, and putting a mixture of baking soda and water on her arm. She was miserable for the rest of the evening, but toughed it out. It wasn’t until the next day that she saw Doc Dewey on an emergency basis. Her arm had swollen up so much that she hardly slept that night.”

Leo’s version of Norene’s account matched what I already knew. “Maybe she couldn’t sleep because one of the customers got killed.” A salient omission dawned on me. “Do you know when she got stung?”

“I gathered it was an hour or so before the brawl started,” Leo said after a pause. “She mentioned still being groggy when Berentsen and De Muth went at it.”

I nodded. “It sounds as if she left the cue outside. If I’d taken some whacks at a bees’ nest, I would’ve run away as fast as I could. The pool cue would be excess baggage.”

“So you’re thinking …” Leo stopped as Vida entered my office.

“You two seem very involved in a discussion,” she said. “Would I be wrong in suspecting that it pertains to the ICT tragedy?”

“How did you guess, Duchess?” Leo’s manner was droll.

“It’s deadline, so we have to make sure there are no loose ends,” Vida replied. “Shouldn’t Mitch be involved?”

I shrugged. “His coverage is fine. We can only deal in facts.”

“So,” Vida asked, “are the facts consistent with hearsay and unsubstantiated quotes from witnesses?”

Leo and I exchanged glances. “That depends,” I finally said. “Is Mitch still in the back shop?”

Vida looked into the newsroom. “He just came out. Do you want him in here?”

I told her I did. Leo smiled. “Is this an impromptu staff meeting?”

“More like brainstorming,” I said. “Kip’s got a full plate putting the paper together, and I certainly don’t want Amanda in here.”

I paused as Mitch sauntered in. “Is this somebody’s birthday,” my reporter asked, “or are we all fired?”

Vida sat down in one of the spare chairs. Leo deferred to Mitch for possession of the other visitor’s spot. “I’m not a news-hound,” he said to Mitch. “In fact,” he went on, turning to me, “am I needed?”

“Yes,” I assured him. “You know a lot about this story, not to mention the people involved.”

Leo nodded. “I’m Mr. Glad Hand, sucking up to possible revenue providers, no matter how irrational and impossible they may be.” He slid off the desk and moved over by one of my filing cabinets.

“Mitch,” I began, “do you have hard copy on all the statements that the sheriff and his deputies took?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Mullins let me make copies. Shall I get them?”

I pondered the question. “Later, maybe, to compare notes with the official statements. It won’t be easy since so much of what the rest of us heard wasn’t taken down in writing.”

Vida lifted her chin. “I recall everything that was told to me.”

I smiled. “I know. You don’t need notes or a tape recorder. But the rest of us do, and much of what we heard was off the cuff.”

My three staff members looked at one another and then at me. Leo was the first to speak. “What’s the point?”

“Omissions and contradictions.” I turned to Mitch. “You must’ve covered courtrooms in your time.”

“Oh, yes. My first beat included circuit court cases, mostly of a criminal nature. I thought it’d be interesting, even exciting. I fell asleep twice before noon on the second day of my first case, an armed robbery involving fatalities. Voir dire is a good cure for insomniacs.”

I nodded. “I had the same experience at
The Oregonian.”
I noticed that Vida and Leo looked as if they were growing impatient.
“I’m not satisfied with this homicide being so cut and dried. First, the weapon was never found, and yet everybody agrees it was a pool cue. Second, none of the cues showed any signs of being used on De Muth. Third, the cue found by those college kids had been in the river—or the creek—too long to offer any forensic evidence. Do you follow me?”

“In other words,” Vida said, “that was the lethal cue.”

Mitch seemed skeptical. “Why do you say that?”

Vida bridled at the question. “Isn’t it obvious? If De Muth was actually killed with a pool cue, it had to be the one that showed up later. Somehow it was removed from the tavern and thrown in the river.”

Mitch started to respond, but Leo spoke first. “Nobody could’ve walked out of the ICT with a pool cue and not be noticed. They’re hard to hide up your sleeve.”

“That’s my point,” I said. “Norene was stung before the brawl.”

Vida looked pensive. “Why would a pool cue be outside?”

“At the ICT?” Mitch laughed. “Why not? Or maybe it wasn’t. Somebody could’ve used it earlier and left it by the rear door. That’s only a few feet from the pool table.”

“There’s another thing,” I said. “Did anybody at any time say they actually saw Clive hit De Muth with a cue?”

A long pause ensued.

Mitch spoke first. “Clive confessed.” He leaned forward, pointing at my monitor. “Pull up the story I did last week. Check the wording. It’s an indirect quote, but it’s from Clive’s official statement.”

I get flustered when anyone watches me use my computer. Fortunately, my staffers kept quiet while I first highlighted Maud Dodd’s senior citizen column with its
MAUD
file name instead of
MUTH
for the tavern death. Then I almost hit Delete instead
of Save. Finally, I managed to get Mitch’s story on the screen.

“Here’s your indirect quote from Clive Berentsen,” I said, moving the monitor so that we could all see it.

Leo leaned over Mitch’s shoulder and read aloud: “‘Berentsen admitted that he got into an argument with De Muth and tempers flared. During the brief exchange of blows, Berentsen stated that he swung a pool cue in self-defense, and that was when the victim fell to the floor. Stunned witnesses didn’t immediately realize that De Muth was dead. When he became unresponsive, tavern owner Spike Canby called 911 to summon the sheriff and medics.’”

Mitch was grimacing. “I should’ve caught that,” he murmured. “That’s slipshod reporting.”

I offered him a commiserating look. “So should I.”

“And,” Leo put in, “so should Dodge and his deputies.”

Vida disagreed. “Slipshod, no, careful, yes,” she told Mitch. “You wrote that as you understood it. Unless Clive or one of the witnesses swore up and down that he actually hit De Muth, you couldn’t do otherwise. Did you talk to Clive in person or is this information taken from the statement?”

“From the statement,” Mitch replied, “which was given to Dodge. I wanted to see Berentsen, but he refused to see me. Once he was arrested, he didn’t want any visitors.”

I appreciated Clive’s feelings at the time. “I talked to him later,” I said. “I think Jica Weaver did, too. When I saw him he was still blaming himself for killing De Muth. But,” I continued, aware that deadline was approaching, “the question is, What do we do now? We have to find out if anybody actually saw Clive hit De Muth with the pool cue.”

Leo stepped back from my desk. “Is he covering for somebody?”

“Maybe,” I said, “but I don’t know who. The only one I can think of that he’d want to protect is Jica, and she was outside when the brawl started. Everybody agrees to that.”

“A simple yes or no from Clive would do it,” Mitch said, still looking chagrined. “I can talk to him right now and ask if he remembers the cue hitting De Muth’s head. If Clive didn’t land that blow, somebody else did. Doc Dewey’s preliminary findings suggested that the lethal whack could’ve been with a pool cue. The SnoCo ME didn’t say otherwise.”

“Do it,” I said. “In fact,” I went on, standing up, “I’ll go with you.”

Mitch looked wary. “You don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do. But I want to hear Dodge’s version of his interview with Clive.” I put on my jacket and grabbed my purse. “Let’s go.”

Vida looked miffed. “I suppose,” she said to me in a voice that bordered on sarcasm, “you don’t believe that I should talk to my nephew Billy to make sure he hasn’t omitted something that might be helpful.”

I didn’t dare hesitate. “Sure. Come along.” I glanced at Leo.

“I’m out,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve never tried to get Dodge to advertise for perps. He’s got limited vacancies, the food stinks, and I understand his coffee is barely drinkable.”

I patted Leo’s shoulder as I went out the door. “It’s improved since Lori Cobb took the receptionist’s job. Hold down the fort. And make sure Kip’s not having a nervous breakdown.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.” Leo stood at attention as we left.

Amanda didn’t bother to look up when we went through the front office. Just outside, I stopped. “Don’t wait for me,” I said to Vida and Mitch. “Amanda never really told us what she saw.”

Mitch paused in his step but Vida kept going, charging along Front Street like a water buffalo gone berserk. A light rain was beginning to fall as dark clouds settled in over the town. I went back inside and confronted my temporary hire.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me exactly what you saw of the tavern fight.”

Amanda eyed me with suspicion. “Why? I already did.”

“No,” I replied, “you passed it off as if someone hadn’t died before your very eyes. That’s not a very credible response.”

“Sorry, but that’s the truth. Neither Walt nor I saw the actual blow. Any of the blows, for that matter. We just heard raised voices and some noise. Those two big hulks—the Peabody guys?—blocked our view.”

I had to take Amanda at her word. “Okay,” I said, noting her hostile stare. “We’re going to press so we have to make sure we’ve got everything right. Mitch and Vida have gone to see the sheriff. I’m going, too. This is the kind of story that has to be absolutely accurate.”

“Good luck.” Amanda turned back to her computer.

When I reached the sheriff’s office, Vida was talking to Lori Cobb. Bill Blatt was nowhere in sight; nor was Mitch. Vida saw me step through the door. “Billy’s on patrol,” she announced. “Milo isn’t here, either. We’ve come on a fool’s errand.”

“Where’s Mitch?” I asked.

“Talking to Clive,” she replied. “I’ll join him to make the trip here worth my while.” Since Vida’s back was turned on Lori, I assumed she couldn’t see the younger woman shake her head and roll her eyes.

But nothing escapes my House & Home editor. Whirling around so fast that I thought the pigeons would fly off of her hat, Vida wagged a finger at Lori. “That attitude shows very poor manners, young lady. Your grandparents wouldn’t be proud of you.”

Lori’s eyes widened in astonishment. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Runkel. I goof off sometimes because … well, because working in law enforcement can be a total downer.”

“Living can be, as you put it, a downer as well.” Vida’s expression didn’t soften. “Acting silly and poking fun at others never solves problems, it only creates more.”

Lori hung her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well,” Vida murmured. “When will the sheriff be back?”

“I’m not sure,” Lori admitted. “He didn’t say.”

Vida harrumphed. “Milo shouldn’t do that. Was he called out?”

Lori shook her head. “No. He took off about twenty minutes ago in his Grand Cherokee. He did mention a donkey.”

“A donkey?” Vida scowled. “The Overholts’ donkey, perhaps. Unless the Dithers sisters have added a donkey to their stable of horses. How very odd. We must check this out.” She paused. “I’ll join Mr. Laskey and Mr. Berentsen.”

Lori meekly returned to her desk. “How,” she asked after Vida was out of earshot, “did Mrs. Runkel see me when I was behind her?”

“She has eyes in the back of her head,” I responded, only half joking. “Maybe she caught your reflection in the window glass. Mrs. Runkel seems to be off her feed lately. Something’s bothering her. I was surprised when she reprimanded you. Or maybe I should say I was surprised at the way she did it. She’s usually more subtle.”

“Flu, maybe,” Lori said.

“Maybe.” But I didn’t think so. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time that Vida had been sick. I often wondered if she scared the germs away by sheer force of will. “If Milo’s gone, I’ve wasted my time.”

“Did he know you were coming?” Lori asked.

“No. I’m supposed to meet with him later, though.” I rested my elbow on the counter. “Is Clive the only prisoner?”

Lori nodded. “It’s been a quiet week. Of course it’s only Tuesday.”

“Nothing new in the log since this morning?”

“No.”

Dustin Fong entered from the hallway. As usual, he greeted me with a polite, almost deferential smile. “I see Clive has company. Or,” he went on, lowering his voice and moving to the work area inside the counter, “is Mrs. Runkel here about her grandson?”

I stared at Dustin. “Her grandson? Roger?”

Dustin looked embarrassed. “It hasn’t been logged yet.”

“‘It’?” I said, noticing that Lori also seemed surprised.

The deputy moved close. “Dwight Gould charged him with a DUI about an hour ago. He was driving erratically along River Road.”