The Alpine Christmas by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online Page B

Presbyterianism.”
    “Aaaaargh!” Vida shuddered in Ben’s embrace, then stepped back a pace. “I’d rather be burned at the stake! Or have you people stopped doing that by now?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but jabbed Ben in the front of his down jacket. “Don’t you ever wear a collar, Father Lord? That old fool of a pastor up at St. Mildred’s has been seen in long underwear.”
    “He was wearing
pants
,” I pointed out. “Anyway, that was a stupid story from Grace Grundle. She also reported that the Episcopal rector was seen kissing a woman. Which he was, but it happened to be his wife.”
    “Never mind.” Vida retreated, almost stepping in the slush. Obviously, she didn’t want to hear any more scandal spawned by a fellow Presbyterian. “An arm? What sort of arm?” Again, she didn’t wait for an answer, but turned to me. “Shall I get a camera?”
    I started to tell Vida that I wasn’t sure we were wanted. Just then my Christmas tree fell out of the trunk. In his haste, Ben apparently hadn’t secured it very well. The ride home must have jarred it loose. At that moment, Milo reappeared with the dour Sam Heppner. A small crowd was beginning to gather in front of the sheriff’s office: Cal Vickers from the Texaco station; Dr. Bob Starr, the dentist; Heather Bardeen,who worked for her father, Henry, at the ski lodge; and a half dozen other people I recognized but couldn’t name.
    “All right, everybody,” ordered Milo, as if he were dispersing an unruly mob, “let’s move along. If you want a show, go down the street to the Whistling Marmot.” Somehow, he’d managed to include Vida and me with the riffraff. Before Vida could do more than shriek at Milo over Cal Vickers’s head, the sheriff, the deputy, and my brother were off in the squad car, lights flashing, siren squealing.
    “Well!” Vida was miffed. “Doesn’t that beat all!” She gave me a dark glare. “You’re the newspaper publisher. Don’t you have any clout?”
    “If you want to know the truth, I’d rather rescue my Christmas tree.” I pointed to the Jaguar.
    Vida started to join me at the curb, but the little crowd surged around her, asking questions. Typical, I thought, they would seek out Vida as the font of all knowledge. Even after almost three years in Alpine, I was still regarded as a newcomer. I tugged and hauled at the Douglas fir, finally managing to get it back in the trunk.
    “Let’s go,” Vida shouted, at last making her way to the Jag. She got in on the passenger’s side, grumbling all the while.
    I turned on the ignition. “I’m not sure we should follow …”
    Vida heaved a sigh of annoyance. “I don’t mean Milo; I mean your house. You’d better get that tree home before you ruin it.”
    Vida was right, though her attitude struck me as wrong. It wasn’t like her to abandon the trail of a juicy story. But it would take only a few minutes to deposit the Douglas fir. I shifted into first gear and waited for a UPS truck to pass before I pulled out.
    “I don’t like all these spare parts floating around,” Vida declared as we headed up Fourth Street. “Milo’s got trouble on his hands.”
    “Is that why you didn’t want to go to the falls? Are you afraid he might screw up and we’d have to report it?”
    “Oh, no! He and Sam and your brother will dig and delve and measure and put samples of this and that into little plastic bags and well nigh freeze to death in the process. Men like to do stupid things like that, but the rest of us have more sense. We’ll find out everything in good time and have hot cocoa while we do it.” Vida paused, pointing at the windshield. “Be careful, Emma, there’s Averill Fairbanks, skiing across Cedar Street.”
    Alpine residents on skis in town weren’t a rarity. On certain days, Seventh Street was barricaded from Spruce to Front to provide a free ski run. Henry Bardeen didn’t approve, but the lodge made plenty of money off the tourists.
    “On your