The Alpine Traitor Part 19

"I'd have told you if there was," Milo shot back. "Don't nag."

"Okay," I agreed. "But there must be a connection between him and the Cavanaughs. How else would he have known about me and the paper and Tom?"

"I checked with Graham earlier," Milo replied. "He claims they never heard of him."

"Do you believe that?"

"How can I prove they don't?"

Even as I talked to Milo, I went online and looked up Volos. It was a town in Greece, although I got hits on a couple of Americans with that last name. "From New York, huh?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"I'm trying to think of a connection."

"To what?" Milo was beginning to sound irked. "Wes Amundson just came into my office to tell me what the forest service is going to do with the cubs. Put your jigsaw puzzle together on somebody else's time." The sheriff hung up.

I made a quick note to call Wes, one of our local forest rangers, before deadline. It would be too much to expect that Curtis might find out about the cubs' future on his own.

I went to talk to Vida, who was flipping through her large file of recipes. She didn't look up when I approached her desk but beckoned for me to sit. "Kip informs me," she said in a vexed tone, "that Nucoa isn't around anymore, at least not under that name, and that even if it is, you no longer have to add the yellow color packet to make the margarine look like b.u.t.ter."

"How old is that recipe?" I asked.

Vida finally looked at me. "I'm not sure. Right after World War Two? It was left to me by my predecessor, Mrs. Debee."

"Isn't that a bit dated?"

Vida shrugged her broad shoulders. "A tasty dish is still tasty despite the pa.s.sage of time. Now I must find a subst.i.tute." She pulled a three-by-five card out of the file. "Pottsfield pickles. That sounds interesting. Or this one," she went on, extracting another card. "*How to Can a Tuna Fish.'"

I didn't offer any more advice. Vida couldn't cook a decent meal to save her soul. I shuddered at the mere thought of her wrestling with a tuna fish-or even pickles.

"Tell me," I said, "what am I missing on this Cavanaugh thing? How could Maxim Volos of New York City know about the Advocate and Tom's children?"

She frowned. "Well now...I suppose there's a social or a work connection somewhere. I a.s.sume Milo has asked the Cavanaughs."

"Yes. They claim ignorance."

"They would, wouldn't they?" Vida drummed her fingers on the desk. "Dylan and Kelsey live in California, correct?"

"San Francisco," I said. "Graham and Sophia also live there."

"Are any of them living in Tommy's former home?"

Even after so many years, I could never get used to Vida referring to Tom as "Tommy." It had never bothered him, but it always sounded incongruous to me. I tried to remember the address Graham and Sophia had given when they registered at the ski lodge. "No, not the house in Pacific Heights. Tom planned to sell it after Sandra died because it was too big-and maybe held too many memories. I'm not sure if he ever put it on the market, though. He'd already bought a condo on n.o.b Hill." Pausing, I tried to remember the street name that the younger Cavanaughs had registered at the lodge. "Clay Street. I'm not sure, but I think Clay cuts across n.o.b Hill."

Vida stroked her chin. "So no New York residents."

"I'm trying to remember," I said, certain that some vital fact was buried in my brain. "One of Tom's kids moved to New York for a while. Yes, it was Kelsey. She was in love with a guy who got her pregnant."

"Dylan Platte?"

"I don't think so," I admitted. "She told me they didn't have any children together. I'm not sure Tom ever mentioned the father's name. In fact, I don't even know if Kelsey had the baby. She had a difficult pregnancy. You may recall that Tom had to cut one of his visits here short when Kelsey appeared to be having a miscarriage." I tried to think, to remember, to bring back Tom's voice in my head. "Maybe I never really wanted to hear about Tom's kids. It was hard enough to listen to Sandra's problems. And there was such a lapse of years before we got back..." My voice trailed off. I was close to tears. Clenching my fists, I cleared my throat. "For a couple of writers, we never wrote to each other. Everything was on the phone or in person."

"Of course," Vida said. "Too risky for him, at least to receive anything at his home while Sandra was alive." She waited for me to pull myself together. "Something may come back to you."

"Maybe."

"Birth records," Vida said with a snap of her fingers. "If Kelsey didn't marry that boyfriend, then her child's birth would be recorded under her maiden name in San Francisco."

"True," I agreed. "Although that really wouldn't help much in figuring out who killed Maxim Volos."

"Probably not," Vida responded, "but aren't you curious? What about marriage certificates?" she went on, obviously gathering steam. "Dylan and Kelsey, Graham and Sophia. There could be a connection that Milo, with his limited imagination, would never search for."

"We could do that on the Internet, though I'm sure they'd charge us for a search."

"It's a business expense," Vida pointed out.

"Yes," I replied, "but we have other extra business expenses these days." I pointed upward. "The roof, for example."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Vida cried, fists on hips. "You're being evasive. I don't think you want to know anything about these people, criminals or not! Where's your curiosity? If need be, I'll pay for a search myself." She stopped speaking and frowned. "Though I must admit, I'm not sure how to go about it. You know I'm decidedly ignorant when it comes to anything with the computer that goes beyond typing. I've never seen any reason why I have to learn all those silly functions just to write my articles."

"Okay, okay, check it out. Here." I leaned over her shoulder. "Go online...like this." I clicked the mouse to get Vida on the Internet.

"Now what?" she asked as I typed in "California birth records."

"We find a good site." I chose the first of many listings. "There. Go ahead and type in the name Kelsey Cavanaugh."

"In that blank box?"

"Yes."

"I could do this for anyone I was curious about?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Perhaps I should learn some of these things after all."

"It can be very helpful," I said, knowing that Vida was already hooked. I could imagine her brain firing up with endless possibilities. It wouldn't have surprised me to see smoke coming out of her ears.

"Ah!" Vida exclaimed as Kelsey's name appeared along with her age as thirty-two. The city listing was San Francisco. "Now what?"

"We have to agree to pay the forty bucks to check further," I said. "We might as well. We'll need to go through a bunch of hoo-ha to register and pay with a credit card. I'll get my purse."

By the time I'd returned with my Visa card in hand, Vida had brought up Dylan, thirty-four, San Francisco, CA. She seemed quite proud of herself.

"We can find out when they were married," Vida said. "Shall we?"

"Okay, but why don't you move so I can type in all this other stuff?"

Vida got up, and I sat down. "This is quite fascinating," she declared, adjusting her navy blue skirt to cover the hem of her slip. "I had no idea there were so many ways to learn about people. I may try this to find out information about...say, former Alpine residents and where they're living now. Strictly work-related, of course."

"Of course," I agreed, deadpan. It took a few minutes to enter the required information. Vida stood by the small window next to her desk, watching the pa.s.sing parade on Front Street.

"Barney Amundson's limping," she murmured. "I wonder why. A mishap at Alpine Meats? Marisa Foxx...where is she going? The courthouse? That reminds me, Judi Hinshaw is her legal secretary. Perhaps she could stay with her aunt Ella for a while."

"How is Ella?" I asked, waiting for credit card approval.

"Exactly as I'd expect," Vida replied. "Feeble. Wan. Feeling sorry for herself. I prescribed a good dose of gumption."

"A stroke can be serious," I pointed out, relinquis.h.i.+ng the chair to Vida. "Ella is fairly old."

"Old," Vida declared, "is a state of mind, not a number." She waved a hand in apparent dismissal of Ella's problems. "Exercise, that's what she should have done. I walk all over town, I work in the garden, I keep up a house. Ella simply sits in her apartment and watches TV. I've no time for that kind of laziness." She slapped her hand down-unfortunately, on the keyboard. The search site disappeared.

"Oh!" I blurted, then realized that I was overreacting.

"What?" Vida asked.

I pointed to the screen, which now showed the wedding cutline Vida had been writing. "No problem. We'll just have to go on the Internet again."

"Oh, dear." Vida sighed. "I'm so sorry. Maybe I'm hexed."

"No, no," I a.s.sured her. "Go ahead and sign on-"

Curtis's arrival interrupted us. "Ta-da!" he cried in triumph. "Great cubs pix, ready to go on page one."

"Let's see," I said.

Vida joined me at Curtis's desk, where he transferred the photos to his computer. "See?" He grinned with pride. "Cute, huh?"

Two fuzzy black bear cubs stared at me with wary eyes. Or maybe they were hungry eyes, sad eyes, lonely eyes, motherless eyes. "Very good." I waited while he went through the other shots. "The third and seventh ones are best," I decided. "You and Kip figure out which one. What are they going to do with the cubs?"

"I dunno," Curtis replied. "Let them loose? Give them to a zoo?"

I pointed to his phone. "Call Wes Amundson or the sheriff now and find out. It's going on four o'clock. We don't have much time."

"Gotcha." Curtis picked up the receiver and stopped. "Who's Wes Amundson?"

"One of the forest rangers," I informed him and marched over to Vida's desk. "Okay, let's get back on the Internet. We'll try for birth records first and see if Kelsey's baby-" I stopped. "My G.o.d, it just came back to me! How could I have forgotten?"

Vida regarded me curiously. "What?"

I perched on the edge of her desk and pressed my fingers to my forehead. "Maybe it's all this talk about abandoned baby bears, but I suddenly remember that Kelsey had her baby and was trying to raise him-it was a boy-on her own with Tom's help. He was named Aidan, for Tom's father. I think he'd be about six by now."

"Well." Vida nodded several times. "You see? You did pay attention. Do you think Dylan is the father?"

"No, he's not." I shook my head in dismay. "I can't believe how much of what Tom told me has been pushed way back in my brain. The boyfriend he mentioned was named Thor, who wasn't suitable husband or father material. He was a musician, maybe-or some other kind of creative type earning a subsistence income. I'm not sure if she met him in San Francisco or somewhere else." I shook my head in frustration. "I simply don't remember."

Curtis hung up the phone. "Wow! Ever hear about the man who talks to bears?"

Vida and I both stared at him. "No," I said. "Who is he?"

Curtis indicated the phone. "I talked to Doe Jameson at the sheriff's office. She's part Native American, I guess, and into all this forest lore. This guy's called the Bear Whisperer, though he talks to other animals, too. He saw the cubs not far from where he lives and wants to raise them. He's done it before with deer and even birds."

Vida had yanked off her gla.s.ses. "Who is this person?" she demanded. "I've never heard of him. Are you sure he exists?"

"Oh, yeah, he's real," Curtis a.s.serted. "He lives someplace in the woods and hardly ever comes to town. You know-some kind of crazy hermit or recluse. His name's Craig Laurentis."

THIRTEEN.

VIDA'S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN; I WAS STUNNED. "CRAIG Laurentis is an artist," I said. "I own one of his paintings. He's actually quite brilliant."

"Really?" Curtis looked skeptical. "He sounds like a wacko to me."

"He's eccentric," I said. "An aging hippie, who isn't fond of civilization as we know it. Did you see him?"

Curtis shook his head. "I guess that's the thing with this guy. He likes hanging out more with animals than with people."

"It'd be wonderful if we could get a picture of him," I said, "but I doubt that Craig would let us. He prefers to keep to himself. I respect that. His talent earns him the right to be as antisocial and nonconformist as he pleases."

Vida had put her gla.s.ses back on. "We should mention his name in the paper, though," she pointed out. "That's a.s.suming Craig gets permission to nurture the cubs."

"That may take a day or so to work through," I said. "I'll write the cutline to say that Craig has offered to care for them. I doubt that he ever reads the Advocate, so he shouldn't be upset."

Curtis looked puzzled. "You care if he's upset?"

"Yes." My expression was defiant. "I do care. Not only do I get great pleasure from his painting but he helped me once when I had an accident on a trail near Icicle Creek."

Curtis shrugged. "Takes all kinds, as they say." He sauntered off to the back shop.

Vida gestured at her computer screen. "Shall we go on with the Internet whatever-you-call-it?"

"Not just now," I said. "I have to write that cutline, and I should check with Kip to make sure the front page will be okay now that we have the cub picture."

My House & Home editor seemed disappointed. "I might experiment trying to get on the Internet after I finish my own cutline. The Anderson wedding wasn't dropped off until this afternoon. Why do people wait so long? They were married in mid-May, and not in Alpine but at the San Diego Zoo. Why on earth would they do such a thing? There's a hippopotamus in the background." She peered more closely at the photo. "Or is that the bride's mother?" I left Vida to figure it out for herself.

An hour later we were officially at deadline. As far as the nuts and bolts of the paper were concerned, everything was ready to go. But I was uneasy. Our coverage of the murder investigation was too sketchy. It also had required great delicacy and far too many allegedlys and possiblys. The victim was just a name. I wouldn't mention any details of the buyout offer because it was a moot point. I'd written that "Volos apparently had impersonated an owner of a large western newspaper chain." I didn't even say that the name the victim allegedly had used was Dylan Platte. As for Dylan and Kelsey's proposed move to Alpine, that was a separate story, if and when they put down earnest money on the Bronsky manse. I'd wrestled with how to handle the connection but decided that including the Plattes in the homicide story might suggest that I was fingering them as suspects.

Having turned over the rest of the publis.h.i.+ng task to Kip, I left the office at ten after five. I was heading for my car when someone called my name from half a block away.

It was Marisa Foxx. "A quick question," she said, hurrying to join me. "Is it true that you told Ed Bronsky I'd be glad to handle a lawsuit for him on a pro bono basis?"