The Alpine Recluse Part 7

I turned in every direction, but Toni was nowhere in sight-not across Front Street by the Burger Barn or the Clemans Building, not down by the post office on my right or the Advocate on my left. But Parker's Pharmacy was situated on the other side of Third Street, between my office and Milo's headquarters. It seemed the most likely place that Toni could have gone in such a short time.

I found her in the cosmetics aisle. She had her back to me and wasn't studying the displays, but stood hunched over as if she was still crying.

Several customers were in the store, including two at the dispensary window in the back, but no one else was in the cosmetics section. I approached Toni in the same cautious way I try to get close to a deer that has wandered into my backyard.

I whispered her name as soon as I got within three feet. She stiffened, then turned slowly to look at me.

"Emma? Go away."

I shook my head. "I can't leave you when you're so miserable. What's wrong?" I saw Otis Poole, the Baptist minister, on the other side of the aisle in the corn plaster section. "Come on, let's go outside." Gently, I took Toni's hand.

She didn't resist. We were halfway to the entrance when Tara Wesley came toward us. She and her husband, Garth, had bought the drugstore from the Parkers almost fifteen years ago.

"Hi, Emma, Toni," Tara said in a cheerful voice. "How-" She stopped, noticing Toni's pitiful state. "What's wrong? Are you ill? Did you hurt herself?"

"Toni's just upset," I said, keeping hold of her hand. "She needs some air. See you later."

Luckily, Tara didn't try to detain us. She was probably relieved that a display hadn't fallen on Toni and left the Wesleys liable for damages.

"Do you want to walk down to my office and tell me what's wrong?" I asked when we got outside.

Toni s.h.i.+elded her teary eyes from the midday sun. "No."

"You need to talk to somebody," I said kindly, steering Toni away from the pharmacy. Front Street's sidewalks weren't busy, no doubt due to the hot weather. The only pa.s.serby was a teenager on a skateboard. The hobby shop was next to the drugstore, and the Sears catalog pickup was around the corner on Third. An alcove was located next to the main entrance, where customers could collect large items. We rounded the corner while I kept speaking. "Take a few minutes to pull yourself together," I said. "Do you want to go across the street to the Burger Barn and get some coffee?"

Toni shook her head. I honored her wishes and led her in the opposite direction. A moment later, we were inside the alcove at Sears and out of the sun.

"I'm okay," she a.s.serted, wiping at her eyes with a finger. "It's just stress."

"Are you due for a vacation?" I asked.

Toni nodded. "I was supposed to take the first week of September, but I put it off."

"How come?"

Toni sighed and sniffed. "My plans didn't work out. I thought I'd wait until things were . . . more settled."

"You've got more than one week's vacation, don't you? Have you taken any this year?"

"I get three," Toni replied, looking beyond me to the street where a tow truck was driving by. "I took a week at Easter to visit my cousin in Oregon."

"Aren't your parents retired in Arizona?"

Toni nodded. "It's too hot to go there in the summer, even with AC. Maybe I'll go for Thanksgiving and take the other week at Christmas." She spoke slowly, as if she were figuring it out as she went along.

"That sounds nice," I said.

Toni shrugged and wiped at her eyes again. "I did that a couple of years ago. Christmas, I mean. It doesn't seem right to have Christmas with all that suns.h.i.+ne and desert."

I understood. During the years that Ben had spent at the Native American mission in Tuba City, Arizona, he'd griped about the lack of atmosphere. Luckily, he'd been able to spend a few Christmas holidays with me in Alpine.

"Do your folks ever come back to Alpine?" I couldn't remember Vida writing about any visits from the Andreases. Toni's parents had still lived in Alpine when I first moved to town, but they left a couple of years later.

"No," she replied. "That is, my mom came once. After the divorce."

"Oh. I didn't realize your parents divorced."

Toni, whose dark complexion had been deepened by the sun, bowed her head. "They moved into one of those retirement communities in Chandler. They ended up swapping."

"Swapping?" I must have looked surprised. "You mean-swapping mates?"

She nodded sadly. "They've been too embarra.s.sed to visit here. My mom came only because I had appendicitis a couple of years ago. But Dad and her and the other two all get along real well."

The former Mrs. Andreas must have somehow sneaked into town under Vida's radar. My House & Home editor would have a conniption fit when she found out she'd missed this juicy piece of news. "Your parents and their new spouses are friendly?"

"Oh, really tight. They golf and play tennis and party together. I suppose it's kind of nice." She stiffened suddenly. "I'd better go. Here comes Janet Driggers."

Before I could delay her, Toni hurried past me and crossed Third in the middle of the street. I looked in the direction of Front where the wife of the funeral director was marching briskly toward me.

"Well?" Janet said in her direct manner. "What was that all about? I watched from my desk at Sky Travel. I'm working for the living instead of the dead today."

Full of energy and bawdy speech, Janet not only helped Al at the funeral parlor, but had a part-time job with Sky Travel. As she put it, "I'm always sending somebody someplace, but some of them never come back."

"Stress," I said tactfully. "Toni needs a vacation."

"She already booked one and then cancelled," Janet retorted. "She was going to Hawaii in September. Now she's lost most of her airline deposit. I never did think she was very smart."

"She's not," I agreed, "but she tries hard."

Janet looked disgusted. "I figure Lover Boy dumped her. I hope he pays her back for the money she lost."

"Who is it?" I asked, realizing that job stress wasn't the only pressure Toni was under. "I remember hearing that she was serious about some guy a while back."

"That was then, this is now," Janet declared, removing her sungla.s.ses and brus.h.i.+ng her dark red hair off of her perspiring forehead. "I forget who he was, but it was short-term. And she never gave this new one a name. I a.s.sumed he was from out of town. She's always been one for a traveling salesman. You know, 'Did you hear the one about the sheriff's receptionist and the etc.?' The last guy I saw her with sold tools. That seemed to fit, if you know what I mean." Janet gave me her patented leer.

"Interesting," I said. "She never mentioned her love life to me."

"You never mention yours," Janet said in reproach, "and I hear you have one. What's he like in the sack?"

"We've never done it in a sack," I deadpanned.

"Try it," Janet said. "Did I ever tell you about the time Al brought a body bag home from the-"

"Stop!" I held up my hands, but laughed. "I've got to go back to work."

"And I have to collect the blender I ordered from Sears," Janet said. "It's supposed to mix amazing aphrodisiacs. See you." She breezed off toward the catalog pickup's main entrance.

When I returned to the office, Ginny handed me several messages. At first glance I could see that most of them were from our usual cranks who had taken their first look at this week's Advocate. Ginny had made a two-words notation regarding Grace Grundle's call-"pyromaniac loose?" Fuzzy Baugh wanted to make an official statement, a.s.suring his const.i.tuents that he was making every effort to prevent fires of any kind. He didn't mention stopping people from smas.h.i.+ng each other over the head with a baseball bat. Averill Fairbanks, our resident UFO spotter, had seen a s.p.a.cecraft shaped like a pumpkin hovering over First Hill Monday night, spewing seeds that turned into flames.

The only call I returned was from Rolf Fisher.

"You people lead dangerous lives up in your mountain aerie," he said drolly. "I didn't see the homicide-arson story until about an hour ago when we picked it up here. Did you know this Rafferty?"

I related my casual acquaintance with Tim and his wife, as well as my proximity to the crime scene.

"On-the-spot reporting," Rolf remarked. "I'm impressed."

"No, you're not."

"That's true. But still, it was a little too close for comfort, right? The woods must be tinder-dry."

"We were lucky it didn't spread," I replied. "There was no wind that night."

"So are we still on for this weekend?" he asked, which I knew was the real reason for his call.

"I hope so." I meant it. I wanted very much to be with Rolf.

"Good. But," he added, "if this thing heats up-excuse the expression-I won't hold it against you if you're chin-deep in breaking news."

And Rolf meant that. Like Tom, he was a journalist who understood that the story came first. "Milo thinks it's a bungled burglary." I explained about Tim's baseball collection, which hadn't appeared in the story picked up by the AP.

"Do you agree?" Rolf asked.

"It's the obvious explanation," I admitted. "But our sheriff goes by the book. He'll work that angle until something proves him wrong."

"You being that something," Rolf noted. "And you are something. Maybe I should come up to Alpine if you can't get out of town. We could do some deep, penetrating research together."

I giggled before I noticed Ed Bronsky lumbering toward my cubbyhole. He was wearing a tank top and floral-patterned shorts. His fat, hairy legs and arms reminded me of an overfed gorilla. Vida let out a squawk. Fortunately, she stopped Ed in his tracks just before he crossed my threshold.

"I should go," I said into the receiver. "I'm about to be invaded by a tank wearing a tank."

"Could that be your former ad manager, Ed Bronchitis or whatever his name is? You're lucky he's not contagious."

"Lucky guess," I said. "I'll call you tonight or tomorrow."

I hung up just as Ed managed to get away from Vida's reprimands for his unseemly attire.

"Really, Ed," she was saying, "there's altogether too much flesh when you're almost in the altogether. It's truly obscene."

"You'll put it in 'Scene'?" Ed asked, looking confused. "If you do, mention my proposed bond issue."

"I will not mention any such thing," Vida declared. "I don't use unsightly items in my column. It's intended to inform readers, not frighten them to death. We are, after all, a family newspaper."

"I've got a family," Ed growled, thumping into my office. "Dang, Emma, Vida's on the peck today. Is it the weather?"

"Partly," I said, trying to avoid the expanse of stomach between Ed's tank top and the shorts. "Sit down." Ordinarily, I wouldn't have encouraged him to take a seat but I was desperate. The less I could see of him, the better.

"I'm disappointed in you," Ed a.s.serted. "I didn't think I'd have to remind you what your editorial should've been this week."

I looked blankly at Ed. "Oh?"

"As for that reporter of yours, what's with him?" Ed leaned forward, chins a-wagging. "He hardly mentioned that those stupid county commissioners tabled my proposal. I mean, he gave it one sentence at the very end of the story."

"That's because nothing happened, Ed." I shrugged. "You handed your information over to the commissioners. You know perfectly well they have to study it in detail. Authorizing a bond issue or a levy to be put before the voters is a serious matter."

Ed looked aghast. "Study? Detail? Those old duffers can't concentrate for more than two minutes before they nod off."

I couldn't argue that point. But I said nothing as I watched Ed's round face light up. "That's it! I'll run for county commissioner! That's the real problem; n.o.body ever opposes them except Crazy Eights Neffel or one of the Dithers sisters' horses."

Ed was right about that, too. Crazy Eights, our local loony, had filed several times for election to the office. Four years ago, the Dithers sisters had put their Tennessee walker, Andrew Jackson, on the ballot. The horse had gotten over two hundred votes, ten times the amount that Crazy Eights had ever received.

"Go for it," I said. Why not? Even Ed couldn't be any worse than what we already had. He'd be self-serving, of course, but at least he wasn't in his dotage. "You considered running for mayor a while ago. The fact is, the county commissioners have more clout around here than Fuzzy Baugh. That is, they do when they use it."

Clumsily, Ed got out of the chair. "I'm going to file right away. I haven't missed the deadline, have I?"

I grimaced. "I think the state deadline is the last week of July. But you can always run as a write-in candidate. You'll have to check with the courthouse."

"I'm on my way. Oof!" Ed tripped over the other visitor's chair. "This is news, Emma!" he shouted as he waddled rapidly out of the office. "Huge news!"

"Yes," I said. "Huge."

As soon as Ed was out the door, Vida stomped into my office. "Are you out of your mind? Did I hear you encourage Ed to run for public office? I'm stupefied!"

"Consider the alternative," I pointed out. "George Engebretsen is up for reelection. Frankly, he's the least daffy of the commissioners, but not by much. It's not unlikely that one of the other two will die in office. Isn't it time we got somebody new-even Ed?-in the jobs?"

Vida held her head. "Have we sunk so low?"

"Yes," I a.s.serted. "Face it-before the commissioners weren't all gaga, it took six years to start building the new bridge over Icicle Creek. Two of the three were against opening the community college, but they had to give in to the state on that one. They have absolutely no vision of the future, because they're living in the past. Besides," I added slyly, "if Ed runs, he's bound to annoy enough people to goad some competent potential candidates to declare themselves."

"A good point," Vida conceded. She looked thoughtful. "Yes, I can see that might happen. Do you suppose Ed will give the news to Spencer Fleetwood today?"

"Drat. I didn't think of that. It wouldn't have done any good to swear Ed to secrecy," I went on. "He can't keep his mouth shut."

Vida crossed her arms over her jutting bosom. "It puts me in a bind. My radio program airs tonight. If Spencer carries Ed's candidacy on the news at six, I don't know whether I should mention it when Vida's Cupboard comes on at seven."

"Well . . . Ed's a former Advocate employee," I pointed out. "It would give the paper a mention."

"Yes." Vida nodded once. "Yes, it would. But down the line, I'll have to interview him." She shuddered. "So off-putting. But needs must."

Vida's phone rang. She hurried back to her desk just as Milo entered the newsroom.

"I hear Toni had a meltdown this afternoon," he said, putting a big booted foot on the visitor's chair Ed had recently vacated. "What was that all about? Doe told me you chased after her."

"Stress," I replied. "Or so Toni informed me. Are you working her too hard?"

"No more than usual," Milo answered, tugging at the sweat-stained collar of his regulation s.h.i.+rt. "d.a.m.n, it's hot. Anyway, Toni's load's lighter these days. When she was the only woman on the staff, sometimes she had to help with female perps. Now that Doe's aboard, Toni can skip that part. She never liked doing it."

"So she should have less stress," I remarked.