The Alpine Traitor Part 32

Adam sighed. "You may not like it."

"There isn't much I've liked for the past week," I said. "What's one more horror story?"

My son swallowed a bite of sandwich. "It's not exactly a horror, but it might upset you. I'll cut to the chase. My dad wanted to leave me his newspaper empire."

I almost bolted off the sofa. "What?"

"My goodness!" Vida exclaimed softly as the teakettle sang in the kitchen. "Excuse me. I must take care of that. Can you speak louder, Adam? Or do I call you *Father'?"

He shrugged. "Take your pick."

Vida hurried out of the living room. Adam kept his voice down, despite her request. "While I was still in the seminary, Dad came to visit me in St. Paul. You may remember that. He was making a new will before you two got married. He'd leave all his real estate to Kelsey and Graham, along with a hefty trust fund for each of them. To make up for being an absent father during my first twenty years, he intended to bequeath the newspaper chain to me. But he wanted to make sure I'd be okay with my inheritance. He worried that if I learned I was potentially rich, I might chuck the priesthood. Frankly, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of eventually being rich, but that seemed far into the future, so I told him if that was what he wanted, I wouldn't stop him. If nothing else, I could sell it off and use the money for charity. I did ask why he wasn't leaving it all to you. Dad said he'd thought about that but felt you wouldn't want the responsibility." Adam paused to take a bite of peach.

"I'm stunned," I said as Vida came out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

She scowled at Adam. "I only heard s.n.a.t.c.hes of what you told your mother. How can your congregation hear your sermons if you don't speak up?"

"The churches where I say Ma.s.s are only slightly bigger than a phone booth," Adam replied. "In fact, some of them aren't even churches. And believe me, Mrs. Runkel, my homilies are usually cures for insomnia."

"Dear me," Vida said, sitting back down, "I'm glad Pastor Purebeck at First Presbyterian is livelier. Though when he talks about sin, I'd appreciate it if he named names. How does one know whom to avoid? After all, s.e.x offenders must register. Why not other kinds of sinners?"

"Uh..." Adam was obviously trying to figure out if Vida was serious. "Love the sinner, hate the sin," he finally said. "I'm telling Mom about Dad's intentions in the new will he was making."

"Yes, yes," Vida said impatiently. "I heard some of that. By the way," she added, turning to me, "the Cavanaugh children just left through the back door. They're exhausted."

"Who isn't?" I muttered, though I seemed to have acquired a shot of adrenaline since Adam's arrival. "I'd hoped they'd stay here," I added, despite realizing it wouldn't be practical in my little log house. I turned back to my son. "So what happened to the new will?"

His expression was ironic. "It was made but disappeared. The secretary at the San Francisco law firm remembered drawing it up for Dad to sign, but there's no record that he ever did. Then, a month or so after Dad died, his lawyer was murdered."

"Mr. Vitani," I said. "I wondered about that. So the old will was the one submitted to probate?"

"That was all they could do," Adam replied. "To be honest, I didn't follow through. I was getting ready to be ordained, and all my mental processes were focused on that. When I finally thought about the will, a few months after I became a priest, I figured there were legal hoops to jump through. By the time I got around to calling the law office, I found out that Dad's estate had been wrapped up and his other two kids had inherited everything. They also told me that Mr. Vitani was deceased. The way they said it made me suspicious, so I checked the San Francisco newspapers and learned he'd been shot. A random killing, apparently, so I didn't try to connect the dots. I figured Dad had changed his mind, which was why I didn't mention it to you."

"I can guess why Vitani was shot," I said. "When I heard he'd been killed, I wondered if your dad might have left me the newspapers. It never crossed my mind that he'd leave them to you, but I'm glad he did." I smiled fondly at my son. "So you decided to rescue your mother?"

Adam nodded. "Sort of. When you told me about the Cavanaughs trying to buy you out, I wondered if the new will had been found, and if they were making an end run to see how much you knew. I had a wedding and a baptism, so I couldn't leave until today. I didn't want to explain all this in an e-mail." He grinned ruefully. "I knew you'd be upset. Face-to-face is much better. Dad would never have wanted to cause you any grief. I figured I owed it to you both to see if I could help."

"So considerate," Vida murmured. "Just like my grandson, Roger."

I didn't dare look at Vida but kept my gaze fixed on Adam, who continued with his account. "I got Kelsey's and Graham's phone numbers from the law office and called them when I got into town around eleven o'clock. Kelsey didn't answer, but Graham did. He told me he and his sister were heading for the ski lodge. I asked them to wait for me outside the lodge-I'd stopped by Old Mill Park on my way to see you, but Graham said they were coming back to your place after collecting Kelsey's belongings. I said I'd meet them first, because I wanted to make sure they really were Kelsey and Graham. I knew I'd recognize them from Dad's funeral."

Regretfully, I shook my head. "I hardly remembered seeing them."

Adam smiled slightly. "You were out of it. No wonder. Anyway, when I got to the parking lot, Kelsey and Graham weren't there. I'd given Graham my cell number. He called while I was trying to figure out what to do and said they'd run into Sophia and Dylan outside the lodge. Sophia had insisted on meeting them in a secluded spot off the Icicle Creek Road so she could explain to Graham about why she'd left him. Graham suspected a trap, so he veered off onto First Hill and told me to come there. We talked for a few minutes before we heard a car coming. Thinking it was Sophia and Dylan, we hid in that old caboose. It turned out to be the sheriff, but Kelsey had become hysterical by then and refused to budge. Anyway, the sheriff left just as I recognized his Grand Cherokee out on the road. Kelsey calmed down, and we were about to take our chances when you came along." He shrugged again. "End of story."

I felt limp just from listening to my son's adventures. "I still can't believe it," I said. "You're here." I wanted to say how proud I was of him, how stupid I felt for doubting his loyalty to me, how satisfying it was to see him not just as my only child but as a man capable of great courage and compa.s.sion. Adam had seemed so young when he was ordained. It wasn't that he'd visibly aged very much but he'd matured into a genuine human being. I could see that in his eyes. Something new was there, a steady, calm gaze that seemed to come not from his brain but from his soul. "Your father would be so proud of you," I said softly.

"Yes," Vida agreed, standing up. "Tommy would approve."

I thought Adam might wince, but he didn't. Instead, he smiled. "Thanks, Mrs. Runkel."

"You're welcome," she said. "I'm going home now. It's very late."

"Your car's not here," I pointed out. "I'll drive you."

Adam also stood up. "I'll do it." He looked at me and shook his head. "You're a train wreck, Mom. Go to bed. Come on, Mrs. Runkel. It's too bad n.o.body's out and about. I'd like people to see me driving with a lady who wears such das.h.i.+ng hats."

Vida actually simpered.

They headed for the front door, but I stopped them. "Key," I said. "You need my key." I reached into my purse and tossed the key ring to Adam, who caught it neatly. "You're still losing things, it seems."

He smiled at me. "Not everything. Not what matters."

"No," I whispered. "No."

I didn't arrive at the office until ten o'clock the next morning, and even then, I felt foggy. Vida had gotten in a little after eight. Amazingly, she looked none the worse for her late-night adventures. Ed, however, was in a tizzy.

"Now what'll I do?" he demanded as I was pouring my first mug of coffee. "The house deal's collapsed. Snorty called this morning to tell me the buyer had been arrested. Why do these things always happen to me? We're out the down payment on our new place."

"Where is your new place?" I inquired.

"Ah..." Ed's round face turned red. "It's actually not here yet."

I didn't think I'd heard him correctly. "What?"

He turned away, ostensibly studying some papers on Leo's desk. "Well...it's a double-wide mobile home, and it's at an RV lot in Monroe."

"I'm sure you'll find another buyer," I said as kindly as I could manage. "Now we've all got to pull together to get out next week's paper. In case you haven't noticed, we're a bit shorthanded."

Ed mumbled something I couldn't hear. Vida had been on the phone, but she hung up before I could retreat to my cubbyhole. "Leo's doing much better this morning. I just spoke to Doc Dewey who told me he's awake and alert. I'll go see Leo at lunchtime."

"I'll go with you. Adam was heading to the hospital as soon as he finished breakfast," I said as Milo loped into the newsroom.

"I saw you pull into your parking place," he said. "I knew you'd want the latest news. Fleetwood's already got it, but that can't be helped. It's a matter of record."

"Sit," I said, noting that Milo looked as worn out as I felt. "You might as well let all of us hear what's happened to the crooks."

The sheriff poured himself some coffee and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a bear claw. "The rats have ratted on each other," he announced, sitting at Curtis's desk. "Typical Californians. They like to make deals."

"Sophia's from New York," I pointed out. "So's her brother."

Milo looked vaguely interested. "More slick flash and dash. Anyway, they spent last night squealing like the Three Little Pigs."

"And?" I prodded, aware that Vida's nostrils were flaring like those of a racehorse impatient to leave the starting gate.

"I'll make this quick," Milo said after a big swig of coffee. "There were four of them in on it at the start, Sophia and her two brothers and Dylan Platte. Maxim Volos and Sophia were your original impostors, coming here to size you up. Dylan had come a few days earlier, too, checking out the town-and Ed's house."

"Why did they get my hopes up?" Ed asked in a pitiful voice. "That's so wrong."

Milo regarded him with an indulgent expression. "They intended to buy your place. Dylan wanted to get out of California, where he was up to his neck in all sorts of illegal deal making. According to Sophia, Kelsey was going to have some kind of accident or get inst.i.tutionalized. Dylan was either giving her the wrong kind of medication or withholding the right kind, to treat her emotional problems."

I nodded. "I figure she can't cope with reality, so she withdraws and becomes very vague. The world's a scary-"

"Hey," Ed broke in, "do you think Kelsey might want to buy our house anyway?"

Vida shot him a withering glance. "Please, Ed, be quiet."

"Go on," I said to the sheriff.

"The rest is simple enough," Milo continued. "Thieves fall out. Once Maxim was on his own, he decided to double-cross his brother and his sister-Dylan, too-and somehow take all the action for himself. It wasn't just about buying the Advocate-that seems to have been a cover for the real reason behind this whole mess. Sophia had fallen madly in love with Dylan, and she wanted the two of them to get together and run the show, somehow squeezing out both Cavanaughs. Nick Volos was probably a marked man as soon as he'd finished pulling off his impersonation of Graham. And Maxim was already dead." Milo paused to take a bite of bear claw. "If I stay on this job for another thirty years, I'll never run into a criminal plan this weird."

I agreed. "Convoluted, incredible-and yet it must have made sense to the perps. Let's keep it simple for us small town folks. Who killed Maxim and shot Leo?"

"Good question," the sheriff answered after a pause. "A .38 Smith and Wesson was found in Dylan's rental car. It's not registered, and the serial number's filed off. Nick says Dylan was the shooter. Dylan says it was Nick. I'm not buying either of their stories. My money's on Sophia."

Vida frowned. "Who did Sophia say did it?"

"She didn't say anything," Milo replied, "except to put the blame on her brother Maxim for sending you the bracelet that Tom supposedly gave his wife. The bracelet belonged to Sophia, and she wants it back. She's a real piece of work and the only one who lawyered up. As far as I'm concerned, that makes her the shooter."

I remembered an odd sc.r.a.p of information from Minnie Harris about the used-up notepad in the victim's motel room. "I'll bet Maxim Volos practiced Tom's handwriting on it and forged the note that came with the bracelet. Tom had terrible penmans.h.i.+p, which would make it easy for a crook to copy."

Milo shrugged. "Maybe. I'm just glad this wacky case is over."

"We all are," Vida said. "Though you still have to deal with the San Francisco police about Mr. Vitani's murder."

Milo stared at Vida. "Who?"

I spoke before she could respond. "Never mind that now. Milo's tired." I moved to where he was sitting and put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll talk about that later, when our brains are working better."

"Tonight?" Milo said hopefully.

"Sure," I said. "You'll get a chance to see Adam."

The sheriff looked disappointed. "Oh. That's right, I forgot he was in town. I'll get back to you later." He took another drink of coffee. "Got to go."

"What about Curtis?" I asked. "When will you release him?"

"Sometime today," he said. "I'm sick of his whining. You want him back here?"

I grimaced. "Not really. But he'll have to collect his belongings."

"Good luck with that," Milo said and loped out of the newsroom.

After he'd gone, I called the ski lodge and asked to be connected to Kelsey. Henry Bardeen came on the line.

"Mrs. Platte and her brother checked out about a half-hour ago," he said. "They were going to get a flight back to California."

I was surprised-and disappointed. "Did they leave any messages?"

"No," Henry answered and then added with a note of regret, "I'm sorry, Emma. I got the impression they were in a big rush."

"I understand," I said.

It was the truth. It's an odd thing about motherhood, I thought. No matter how neglectful, how difficult, or even how crazy, most children still loved the woman who had given them life. It was a natural bond that was hard to break, and no one could ever subst.i.tute for the real thing.

I was still pondering that fact of life when my phone rang.

"I forgot to tell you something," Milo said. "That Laurentis guy got permission to look after those cub bears until they're ready to go off on their own."

"That's good." I sounded bleak.

"I don't think so," Milo said. "The cubs will get used to being fed and taken care of. How the h.e.l.l will they ever be able to live on their own? It's unnatural."

"You're right," I said. "But you can't blame Laurentis for trying."

Milo paused. "Maybe not," he conceded.

"At least he means well," I said. "Doesn't that count?"

Again the sheriff didn't answer immediately. "Yes," he finally said, "I guess it does. I never blame anybody for giving it their best shot. So to speak."

I smiled into the phone. Milo had spoken enough.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

MARY DAHEIM is a Seattle native who started spinning stories before she could spell. Daheim has been a journalist, an editor, a public relations consultant, and a freelance writer, but fiction was always her medium of choice, and in 1982 she launched a career that is now distinguished by more than forty novels. In 2000, she won the Literary Achievement Award from the Pacific Northwest Writers a.s.sociation. Daheim lives in Seattle with her husband, David, a retired professor of cinema, English, and literature. The Daheims have three daughters: Barbara, Katherine, and Magdalen.

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