THE REST OF THE MORNING MOVED ALONG BRISKLY. FUZZY called to tell me that several of our fine citizens agreed with my editorial. I told him I was pleased, but didn’t add that I’d gotten two letters, three phone calls, and four emails from irate readers stating they didn’t want any taxes or levies or bond issues that would cost them money. Two called me an idiot, three said I was stupid, and one addressed me as Erma.
Mitch handed in his storm article before lunch. Except for the power outage, a minor washout on Highway 187 near the ranger station, and Carroll Creek sweeping away a chicken coop, there were no injuries or loss of life, not even for the chickens. They’d flown the coop years ago.
“By the way,” I asked Mitch after telling him his copy looked fine, “was Deputy Gould back on the job today?”
“I didn’t see him,” Mitch replied. “And I didn’t ask.” He looked sheepish. “Now that I know about you and the sheriff, I assumed you’d hear that sort of thing before I did.”
“Guess again,” I said. “Milo and I try to keep our jobs separate.”
“Smart,” Mitch said.
I smiled halfheartedly before going back to my office. If it hadn’t been for Kay’s concern about Dwight, I wouldn’t have been curious. I dialed the sheriff’s office. Lori Cobb answered.
“Dwight is back,” she said. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“No,” I replied. “I’d heard somebody say he might be sick.” A small fib, but I couldn’t reveal my source.
“He’s fine,” Lori said. “For Dwight. He’s not here right now, though. He took a call about something on Second Hill.”
I thanked her and hung up. I assumed Milo would be lunching with Tanya to hear how her appointment with Doc Dewey had turned out. I realized it was ten after twelve. The newsroom was empty. I contemplated getting a sandwich from Pie-in-the-Sky, but the croissants had spoiled my appetite. Maybe I could use the time to research other forms of local government. Or go back through old copies of the Advocate to find articles about Sheriff Moroni closing dens of iniquity. I was still mulling when Kip came in from the back shop.
“Don’t get mad at me,” he began, “but I turned on KSKY to see if the weather was really going to clear up. Chili and I want to drive over to Leavenworth for dinner tomorrow night.”
“How could I ban KSKY when I have to listen to Vida’s show?”
Kip nodded. “Required by all Alpiners. Anyway, a patient got loose at RestHaven a little while ago. Spence had it on the noon news.”
“Got loose? You mean somebody from the psych ward?”
“Yeah, no name, but it’s a man, fifty-six years old, and he could be dangerous. Description is five-eleven, a hundred and sixty pounds, balding, with gray hair and matching goatee. He’s wearing regular clothes, probably dark slacks, corduroy jacket, and maybe a baseball cap.”
“Great,” I said, having scribbled down the description. “I assume Spence has confirmed this? If we put it on our site, I don’t want to alarm the public unnecessarily.”
“He did the broadcast,” Kip said. “He sounded grim.”
“Okay, I trust him, but I’ll call first. Are you going to lunch?”
Kip said he’d wait until after one. He often did. His wife made him a big breakfast every morning. She was a far better mate than I was to Milo when it came to feeding him in the morning. At seven a.m., my future husband could go out in the backyard and graze, for all I cared. I called Spence to request confirmation of the escapee.
“You heard it?” he asked in less than his usual mellow style.
“Kip did.” I repeated what I’d been told. “Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“Why do you want to know? We can’t release a name.”
“Hey, I just wondered. You don’t have to get snarky.”
“You’ve got everything you need. Got to run.” He hung up on me. I might as well have been talking to the sheriff. Which made me wonder if Milo knew about the RestHaven breakout. Maybe not, if he was lunching with Tanya. I called his office and this time Doe Jamison answered.
“The boss is at the ski lodge coffee shop with his daughter,” Doe said. “Jack Mullins and Dustin Fong are on patrol. Dodge doesn’t need to know until he gets back.”
“How’s it going with Tanya on the premises?” I asked.
“It’s okay,” Doe replied. “Her dad put her to work this morning checking out license plates. She seems sort of sad, but otherwise it’s not a problem. Bill Blatt’s been helping her.”
“Say,” I said suddenly, “I just realized Mitch didn’t come back with the Eriks autopsy report. Is it in yet?”
“Not until this afternoon,” Doe said.
I thanked her and disconnected. After typing up my notes, I took the online version to Kip. “Spence verified it,” I told him, “so it’s a go. He sounded odd. Maybe he’s coming down with something.”
“It’s still February,” Kip said. “Cold and flu season.”
“True.” I took the long way to my office and looked outside. The clouds had lifted and a weak sun shone on Front Street. Good weather for the escapee. Not so good for everyone else if he was dangerous.
Vida returned just before one. “Well now!” she exclaimed, smoothing the pheasant feather on her hat. “I hear there’s a crazy person on the loose. Who’s in charge of security at RestHaven?”
“I’d have to look it up. Why don’t you ask Roger?”
“He isn’t back from Bellingham,” Vida replied, removing her coat. “Davin wants him to stay another night. The dorm students often entertain. Some wholesome fun will show Roger that college isn’t all work and no play. If it’s nice, perhaps they can have a wienie roast outside.”
I couldn’t look at Vida and keep a straight face. Visions of beer kegs or worse danced in my head. There were times when Vida’s ability to deceive herself stretched my credulity.
When the rest of my staff had returned to the office ten minutes later, I brought them up to speed on what little we knew about the escapee. Mitch was the point man.
“Talk to Kay Burns and keep tabs on the sheriff’s office,” I said. Hearing the phones ringing on all three lines, I told Amanda we’d get calls from panicky residents, especially older people and parents of young children. Updates would be posted when we learned anything new.
“All this patient privacy,” Vida fumed after Mitch and Amanda left us. “It’s absurd. How can we cover news without names?”
“We have to, unless Milo can pry more out of them.”
Vida harrumphed and stalked to her desk. I assumed she was still mad at the sheriff. She hadn’t asked about witnessing our marriage with whatever J.P. I could find who wasn’t Simon Doukas.
Back in my office, I wondered if I’d overburdened Mitch. He’d be leaving for Pittsburgh in less than twenty-four hours. If there was more breaking news, including the revised autopsy report, he might feel rushed. But he was touchy about my interference. Reminding myself I was his editor and not his handmaiden, I called the one RestHaven employee I’d gotten to know best—Jennifer Hood, R.N. She owed me for being discreet about the Tiffany sighting in Kay Burns’s office.
My call was transferred to the medical rehab unit. Jennifer answered on the third ring. “I just got back from making rounds,” she said breathlessly. “Are you inquiring about a patient?”
“Yes, but not one of yours,” I admitted. “We need to know everything we can about the psych ward patient who left the premises. Our nervous readers are calling for updates.”
Jennifer didn’t respond right away. “I don’t know much about him,” she finally said. “I’ve seen him only once, when he had a sinus infection and I was the only nurse available. He was calm but suspicious, probably because he didn’t know me.”
“What’s his condition?”
Another pause. “I can’t tell you. Maybe you can guess.”
I reflected on her earlier words. “Suspicion indicates paranoia.”
“It could. I will say,” she continued speaking more quickly, “that he seems very intelligent. I’d guess him to be some kind of professional. He certainly has never done any hard labor.”
“Is he really dangerous?”
“Maybe. I’m sure Dr. Woo approved the announcement.”
“The announcement?” I repeated in surprise.
“Yes,” Jennifer said. “Isn’t that what it’s called when a statement is given to the media?”
“This part of the media had to hear it over the radio,” I retorted. “Did Kay Burns release it?”
“I suppose,” Jennifer replied. “That’d be her job, right?”
“Yes,” I said in disgust. “By the way, who heads up security?”
“That position hasn’t been filled. They’ve been interviewing, but the two most qualified candidates decided they wanted to move to a more metropolitan area. Dr. Farrell has assumed the role until an applicant is found to fill the job. Some people don’t want to live in a small town. It was like that in Dunsmuir.” Jennifer sounded as if she was trying to appease me.
“True. I’m sorry to press you, but it’s my job.”
“I know,” Jennifer said. “I wish I could be more help.”
We rang off on that conciliatory note. I wanted to throttle Spence and Kay Burns. This wasn’t just a leak, but a major insult. I closed my door and dialed my rival’s number to give him hell. When he answered, the first words out of my mouth were a threat. “I’m ordering Vida to cancel her show tonight,” I said. “You and Ms. Burns have gone too damned far. It’s one thing to get beat on some pissant information out of RestHaven, but this nut case breakout is big news involving the whole damned county. If Vida doesn’t agree with me, I’ll can her ass.”
“God, Emma, are you crazy? It’s not my fault you weren’t notified.”
“Then whose freaking fault was it?” I demanded.
Spence didn’t answer right away. “The RestHaven people panicked. This guy’s paranoid, and having this happen so soon after the grand opening is terrible P.R. If he does something reprehensible, they’re liable and their reputation is trashed before the first month of operation is over. Cut them some slack.”
“No. Reacting with panic doesn’t befit pros who deal with the mentally ill. I’ll inform Vida while you fill your empty airtime. I just talked to Jennifer Hood. Now you can tell her the interview’s off.”
“Wait, you mean you already told her she wasn’t going to be on—”
I banged down the phone. Spence could deal with Jennifer. I stormed out of my office—and stopped. The newsroom was empty. Vida’s coat wasn’t there, either. I asked Amanda where Vida had gone.
“She’s taking pictures of a triple birthday party at the retirement home,” Amanda said. “She also mentioned seeing Mrs. Parker. Maybe there’s news about Tiffany.”
“Let’s hope it’s good news,” I said as the phone rang. I started for my office, but Amanda called out that Rosemary was on line one.
“Don’t tell me,” I said after hurrying to take the call at my desk, “you’re being menaced by the RestHaven loony.”
Rosemary laughed. “Nothing so exciting, though I might not mind. I haven’t been on a date in six months. This town’s short of eligible men.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“You got yours,” Rosemary said. “Maybe that’s my problem—I’ve overlooked someone who’s right in front of me. I tried to get Vida earlier, but she was on the phone and now she’s out. Holly Gross came to see me after lunch. She’s leaving town.”
“How come?”
“Let’s face it, she’s sort of ADD. Her other two kids are still in Sultan and the foster parents were getting impatient for her to collect them. Holly’s headed for Centralia, but she’s not giving up—Esther Brant won’t let her—so I suppose a legal hassle will follow. I called Amy Hibbert first, but she’s not home. Where’s Roger, by the way?”
I told her about his Bellingham visit. Rosemary speculated as I did, that Diddy or Dippy—or maybe the poor tyke was using an alias by now—was probably stashed with Roger’s aunt and uncle.
“Can you tell Vida?” Rosemary asked. “Impress upon her that Roger has to prove paternity or they’ll never see Dippy again.”
“I will. Oh—you’re on Vida’s evil list with Milo and Proxmire.”
“Holy Mother,” Rosemary said softly. “Why can’t Vida admit … forget it. I don’t mind, but she’s basically so sensible. I’d hoped she’d put her rose-colored glasses in the back of the drawer.”
“It’s her blind spot,” I said. “Say, is Proxmire a J.P.?”
“I’m sure she is,” Rosemary said. “I can check. Why do you … are you going to make it legal before you get the annulment?”
“We might,” I hedged. “It’s probably the thing to do. We wouldn’t want to set a bad example for the younger set. Like Roger.”
“Right,” Rosemary said dryly. “I’ll double-check on the judge.”
I thanked her and rang off just as Mitch appeared in the doorway. “No autopsy report yet, and Dr. Reed isn’t seeing anybody. In fact, neither are Woo and Farrell. They’ve gone to ground.”
“It figures,” I said, and recounted my exchange with Fleetwood.
Mitch looked surprised. “You really won’t let Vida do her show?”
“That’s right. Spence should’ve given us a heads-up, and Kay Burns has to learn she can’t play favorites.”
My reporter frowned. “It wasn’t Kay. She called in sick today.”
I was flummoxed. “Do you know who it was?”
“No. Woo, maybe. He might not know the protocol.”
“Damn. Spence still should have told us.”
Mitch grimaced. “Do you really want Vida to have another snit?”
I began to weaken. “I’ll think on it. Did the sheriff’s office have anything new about the escapee?”
“They’re looking for him. So are the park rangers and the state patrol. No reports of stolen vehicles, so he’s either on foot or hitchhiking.”
“He might’ve hopped a freight. Put an update online. It’ll reassure people that something’s being done. Is there a photo or a sketch?”
“Fong said there’s no photo and they don’t want a sketch. More patient privacy. That’s wrong in this situation.”
I agreed. Vida arrived half an hour later but immediately began returning calls that had piled up in her absence. She came into my office around three and declared that she was wild. “Jennifer Hood cancelled. Doesn’t that beat all? I didn’t intend to ask about the runaway lunatic, but to focus on her move here. She still refused, saying that Dr. Woo felt it was in poor taste, given the situation. Now what does the situation have to do with making a new life in Alpine?”
I relented about Vida staying off the air. “What will you do now?”
“It’s short notice,” she said, plucking at her yellow blouse’s pussycat bow. “I’ll find someone.” She started to walk away, but paused. “What about Edna Mae Dalrymple? She was very nervous last year when I interviewed her and made a jumble of things, but literacy is in crisis.”
“Give her a call. I just talked to her recently about my censorship editorial regarding Tom Sawyer. You could tie that in, too.”
“Indeed. I’ll ring her at once.”
Mitch reappeared with his notebook in hand. “I had Kip post the sheriff’s update about the escapee search, but something’s odd.”
“Besides the escapee?” I asked.
Mitch shook his head. “Fong was the only deputy there. He said they were on full alert—Jamison, Mullins, Heppner, Blatt. Dodge, too. He took his daughter with him. No Gould. I thought he was back to work.”
“Dwight was there earlier,” I said. “He was on a call.”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe he’s still on it.”
I didn’t want to pass along Kay’s alleged concern about her ex. “Dwight’s probably on highway duty.”
Ten minutes later Tanya showed up. “Hi, Emma,” she said, still wearing her waif-like air. “Dad thought you might need some help.”
“Can’t he use you at his office?” I blurted out. “I mean, he must be short-handed with just Lori and Dustin there.”
She slumped into a chair. “Sam Heppner made some crack about me tagging along on the search. Dad didn’t hear it, but it upset me. I’d just as soon not go back there right now.”
“Sam’s a jerk,” I said. “I’ve got a project for both of us. Let’s get some old copies of the Advocate. We’re on a mission dating back to the era of your father’s predecessor. Did you know Eeeny Moroni?”
Tanya followed me to the newsroom. “Sort of. Wasn’t he a crook?”
“He turned out to be later.” I pulled four bound volumes from the mid-1950s and gave half of them to Tanya. I cleared my desk enough to give Tanya some space and explained the seamy background Clarence Munn had related to Vida. “We only need to look at the front page and the editorials. Just be thankful the Advocate’s always been a weekly.”
“Dad never mentioned hookers or other vice around here,” Tanya said, beginning to flip through the 1958 editions.
“He hasn’t told me, either. But remember, he was a little kid during Moroni’s early years as sheriff.”
Tanya smiled slightly. “It’s hard to think of Dad as a little kid.”
I laughed. “It is for me, too.”
We worked in silence for the next ten minutes. Finally I found something in a September 1960 issue. “Here’s an article about the county auditor being investigated for embezzlement. Hector Thoreson allegedly stole twenty grand from SkyCo’s road fund. There must be a follow-up.” The first Advocate in October had a big headline: “Auditor Indicted on Graft Charges.” I read the story aloud. Thoreson not only had used county money for gambling, but had taken payoffs from Rupert Grimsby, Tyee Café owner. Rupe, as he was known, had action beyond the kitchen—a high-stakes poker room and illegal betting. The café had been located on the site now occupied by Francine’s Fine Apparel.
“Interesting timing,” I murmured. “The story broke just before the 1960 presidential election.” I scanned the rest of the page below the fold. Sure enough, a young and almost unrecognizable Eeeny Moroni was glad-handing Kiwanis members at a breakfast meeting.
“My, my,” Vida said, coming up behind Tanya and giving her a start, “look who’s here! How nice.” She patted the young woman’s shoulder and sat down beside her. “You’re doing research. Oh!” she gasped, pointing to the two-column photo of the late sheriff, “there’s that idiot in his first election after being appointed to replace Seth Meyers. We thought Eeeny was an improvement! Seth shot himself, you know.”
“I didn’t,” I admitted. “I never heard of him.”
“Really, Emma, you should’ve done more history homework.”
Tanya appeared to be trying not to smile.
“When I went to work in Portland,” I said, “I never researched the Oregon Territory’s history. Knowing about Lewis and Clark was enough.”
“That’s different,” Vida declared. “The Oregon Territory was so big. Why, it included what would become Alpine.”
Amanda was heading our way. “Mrs. Runkel,” she said, “Spencer Fleetwood’s been trying to reach you. I was in the restroom when you arrived.”
“Oh, yes,” Vida said. “He called on my cell, but I didn’t want to interrupt my visit with Dot Parker.” She turned away, but I stopped her.
“Wait,” I practically shouted. “Let me talk to him first.”
Vida peered at me. “Why? The call’s for me.”
“Please,” I said. “Then I’ll have Amanda transfer him.”
“Bother,” Vida muttered, but trudged off to her desk.
“I changed my mind,” I said, after Amanda put Spence on my line. “I was wrong, okay? But I’m still mad.”
“I thought you might, so I haven’t notified her sponsors. I expected she might put up a fight.”
“She doesn’t know about my threat. Can you keep your mellifluous mouth shut for once?”
“For the sake of media peace, I’ll try,” Spence conceded. “You are often a very difficult woman. It’s a wonder Dodge hasn’t strangled you. If nothing else, he’s indulgent.”
“He’s not unethical—like you,” I said, and rang off.
Tanya was looking bemused. “I had no idea about how a newspaper operates. Is this typical?”
“Yes. No. It depends.” I ran my fingers through my unruly hair, which should have been cut back in January. “Let’s see if there’s anything else in this bunch of issues. Then we’ll move into the rest of the sixties.”
The only other item of interest was Marius’s editorial applauding Moroni’s rout of his opponent, a long-gone Gustavson whose first name I didn’t recognize. Back in the newsroom Vida was explaining to Spence that Edna Mae couldn’t sub because she’d come down with the flu, but Effie Trews, the high school librarian, would take her place. That was fitting, given that Effie was retiring at the end of the school year.
By the time Tanya and I got to 1963 without finding any vice-related stories, it was after four. She was looking bored, a feeling I shared. “Let’s quit,” I said. “These headlines are blurring.”
“I’ll go to Dad’s office,” she said. “You must have work to do.”
“We’re on hold with the RestHaven breakout and the Eriks autopsy. I’m not inspired to start my next editorial.” I saw Mitch coming toward us. “Maybe we’ve got some news. I’ll introduce my reporter.”
“I met him this morning,” Tanya said. “Hi, Mitch.”
“Hi. Are you here to replace me?” His expression was wry.
“No,” she replied. “But it’s kind of interesting.”
“It can be,” Mitch allowed. He looked at me. “Here’s the autopsy report. It’s a shocker. You better see it before I put a summary online.”
I almost blew it by saying I already knew the final result, but I caught myself in time. “Wow. Make a copy for me, please?”
“Sure.” The grimace stayed in place. “They can’t find Gould.”
Tanya and I both looked startled. “What do you mean, they can’t find him?” I asked.
Mitch held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “He never came back from Second Hill. They can’t reach him. No sign of his cruiser, either. Now the searchers are looking for him, too, but Dodge …” He paused to glance at Tanya as if in apology. “Dodge is keeping a lid on this one for now, but Fong told me it was okay to tell you. Maybe the RestHaven escapee got to him. That’d be a hell of a thing, wouldn’t it?”
All I could do was nod in agreement. And wonder if Alpine was in the grip of a psychotic plague.