Alpine Hero by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online

herself, she put a hand on Laurie’s arm. “Why don’t we all go into the kitchen to visit while I get dinner ready?”
    “We won’t take up much of your time,” Vida said, following Jane and Laurie down the hallway.
    The kitchen smelled of garlic. It was small, but had been recently updated, with a skylight and white oak cabinetry. Jane immediately pulled a saucepan off the burner and began stirring its contents with the spatula.
    “Ms. Runkel and Ms. Lord have just a couple of quick questions,” Jane said, no doubt intending the cue for us as much as for Laurie.
    Vida had positioned herself next to a refrigerator that was finished in the same wood as the cabinets. “We’re doing background for our newspaper story,” she explained, speaking more slowly than usual. “We needall the available facts about the homicide so that we can inform our readers accurately and fully.”
    Laurie said nothing. She was wearing jeans and a big sweatshirt, but it looked as if she had recently applied makeup. I suspected that Laurie spent much of her leisure time in front of a mirror. Her reflection might be the only thing she really understood.
    “You took a phone call this afternoon around one,” Vida said in an uncustomary soothing voice. “Or so Stella told us. It was a man, who was asking about the two o’clock facial appointment for Ms. Whitman. Can you tell us what he said?”
    Half sitting on a kitchen stool, Laurie gave her imitation of thinking, which was indicated by shielding her eyes with her hand. “He asked what time Ms. Whitman’s appointment was and when she’d be finished. I said it was at two. But she’d come a few minutes early, so she’d probably be done before three.” Laurie tilted her head to one side and looked pleased with herself.
    Vida nodded approval. “Excellent, Laurie. What did he say when you told him that?”
    “Ah … I think he said fine, and hung up.”
    Still at the stove, Jane smiled at her daughter. “You have such a wonderful memory for details, Laurie. That’s what inspired my poem ‘Picayune.’ ” She turned to Vida. “You remember it, I’m sure, even if you didn’t have space to run it.”
    “I remember,” Vida murmured, trying to conceal the fact that she probably wanted to forget. “Lovely. So … detailed.” She regarded Laurie with an almost sincere smile. “Did you recognize the man’s voice?”
    Laurie shook her head, in wide, languorous sweeps. “No. The sheriff asked me that already. It was a funny sort of voice, kind of croaking.” Leaning down, she adjustedthe cuff of her thick wool sock. “We don’t do men. They go to Herb’s.”
    Herb Amundson owned the barbershop in the Alpine Building directly across the street from
The Advocate
. At almost seventy, he refused to retire, and had been giving Alpine men the same U.S. Army–issue haircut for almost fifty years. If they wanted something different, they had to come when his son, Bo, filled in for his father, or go to Sultan.
    I wasn’t sure if Laurie could recognize anyone out of context, but I gave it a try. “Was the man who called someone you might know in Alpine? His voice, I mean.”
    Laurie’s forehead wrinkled under her perfectly spaced bangs. It appeared that Milo hadn’t asked this question. “You mean like somebody who lives here?” She didn’t look at me, but instead gazed off in the direction of the far wall, where a big corkboard displayed messages, snapshots, and what appeared to be some of Jane’s latest poetical jottings.
    “Yes, a local.” My smile was probably phonier than Vida’s.
    “Good heavens!” Jane cried, staring into her saucepan. “This is going to curdle! I really should get dinner on now.” She gave Vida and me an apologetic look. “I’d love to ask you to stay, but I really didn’t fix enough. Maybe some night when I do Mexican. Do you remember my poem ‘Taco Madness’?”
    “Yes,” Vida replied grimly. “I’d never heard anyone try to