Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online

several years at First Presbyterian Church. Bob had been born and raised in Alpine. He’d gone to high school with Milo, but later had moved on and up in the banking world.
    “Can we announce his new post?” I asked.
    Vida nodded, the sponges bobbing above her silver-rimmed glasses. “Yes, it’s official as of July first, but Bobby and Miriam won’t arrive until after the holiday. However, I understand they’re ready to put money down on a condo in Parc Pines. They’re considering the purchase of a house, but even if they eventually move into a house, they’ll keep the condo for the children’s visits. I must call Faith. I do hope she goes ahead with her plans to move here from Spokane. So hot there in summer, so cold in winter.”
    And not the least like Alpine
, I thought. But then heaven would probably disappoint Vida. “How did you hear the news?”
    “Andy Cederberg,” she replied. “He’ll stay on. Frankly, he’s relieved. His wife, Reba, told me Andy’s lost twenty pounds since he took on the job of running the bank. He never wanted the responsibility after Marv Petersen retired.”
    “What about Rick Erlandson? Is he still in as second in command?”
    “Oh, yes. No one will be let go,” Vida asserted. “Goodness, I wouldn’t want Ginny’s husband to lose his job with three children to support. She might want to come back as our receptionist. Ginny can be rather gloomy. If anything, the bank’s been shorthanded. Alpine has grown in recent years with the college and RestHaven.” She frowned. “I do hope we don’t get overcrowded. Look at the mess Seattle and its suburbs are in. Why, my daughters in Bellingham and Tacoma can’t believe the changes where they live. The freeways are impossible.”
    “I doubt SkyCo will burst its seams,” I said dryly. “We’re still holding at a little over seven thousand.”
    Vida wasn’t reassured. “It’s creeping up on us. Growth, I mean. Look at Monroe. Every time you turn around, they’ve added two hundred people. My, my!” She adjusted her glasses. “I must call Faith.”
    I decided I should ask Andy for an official statement even if I had to make up one for him. The acting president was just fine when it came to banking, but he wasn’t the most articulate guy in town. On the other hand, I could never balance my checkbook.
    After calling Andy and putting words in his mouth, I took the brief article to Kip. We could get a picture of Bob from the Bank of Washington in Seattle for next week’s edition. Mitch returned from wherever he’d been, so I told him about the dump site photo op. I also had to reiterate what Milo called my wacky theory about Myrtle Everson’s body being buried there. In nineteen years of searching, no sign of her had ever turned up after she’d gone berry picking. The Eversons’ futile search had gone on since then, with every bone they found handed over to the sheriff for DNA.
    By noon, Vida was still on the phone, presumably chatting with Faith Lambrecht. I was hungry, especially for a turkey sandwich. Milo should never have mentioned the word “drumstick.”Maybe I’d walk to Pie-in-the-Sky at the mall. My office hadn’t yet become a sauna, so I hoped the outdoor temperature was still benign.
    I was right. There was a slight breeze ruffling the nasturtiums and ageratum in Mayor Baugh’s concrete planter boxes along Front Street. The odor of gasoline hung on the air from a Blackwell Timber truck that had passed me as I exited the
Advocate
. A train whistled in the distance, and by the time I was passing the sheriff’s office, I could hear the warning bells signaling for traffic to stop at the crossings between River Road and Railroad Avenue. I was almost to the corner of Second when Milo yelled my name. I turned around and saw him heading toward me.
    “Where are you going?” he asked. I told him. He glowered at me. “You’d let your husband starve?”
    “I assumed you were having your usual grease fest at the