The Alpine Xanadu by Mary Daheim Read Free Book Online Page A

somber people were gathered in the atrium, including the receptionist. She saw me and hurried to indicate Dr. Farrell’s office, directly opposite Dr. Reed’s.
    “He’s waiting for you,” she said in a hushed tone.
    Apparently I was two minutes late. Iain Farrell looked somber as he greeted me and stayed put in his gray leather chair.
    “The driveway was blocked,” I said.
    “Yes.” He scowled at a yellow legal pad. “Editor and publisher,
Alpine Advocate
. Emma Lord.” He paused, gray eyes still fixed onhis notes. “You have ten minutes. We’ve called a special grief encounter.”
    I already felt like an idiot, so I might as well sound like one. “Because of the accident?”
    Farrell finally looked at me. “Word gets out. Patients don’t need exterior stimuli. We have to deal with it at once to minimize trauma.”
    I decided not to comment. “Why did you come to RestHaven?” I asked, figuring I’d better make the most of my ten minutes.
    “I didn’t. They came to me.”
    “Because of your reputation?” I asked, wondering exactly what the hell his reputation was. The bio I’d received was brief.
    “I assume so.”
    “You’d had a practice in Milwaukee and you taught at Marquette. Will you do any teaching here?”
    He frowned, heavy dark eyebrows coming together. “At a community college? Hardly.”
    “You’re a Chicago area native. Why did you come to Alpine?”
    “Money.”
    “You mean a large pay raise?”
    He shook his head. For the first time I noticed a small bald patch in his graying black hair. “Cost of living.”
    I knew he was single and that no children had been mentioned. “Are you looking for property?”
    Farrell drew back in his chair as if the question offended him. “Do you sell real estate on the side, Ms. Lord?”
    My perverse side rebelled. “Are you interested in buying some?”
    “No.”
    “Too bad. I know of a nice rambler that’s coming up for sale in the Icicle Creek development,” I said, referring to Milo’s plan to sell his house. “Maybe two of them. The accident victim’s widow may want to sell if she doesn’t want to live there alone. Or maybe she could rent you a room. She’ll probably need the money.”
    The gray eyes narrowed at me. “You can’t possibly be serious.”
    “Oh, but I am,” I said, standing up. “One final question—what kind of toothpaste do you use?”
    Farrell didn’t answer right away. I didn’t think he would. By the time he uttered the single word “Crest,” I was halfway out the door.
    The power was on by the time I got back to the office. In fact, it might’ve gone on while I was en route to RestHaven. Certainly there’d been no sign of outage or even dimmed lights at the facility.
    “Whoa,” Leo said as I stomped into the newsroom, “you’re pissed.”
    “I am,” I admitted. “I’m off to a crappy start with the RestHaven people. What’s worse is that when I drove away, Fleetwood was just arriving. Let’s check the hour turn at three to see if he beats us again.”
    “RestHaven does advertise with KSKY—and us,” Leo pointed out.
    “I know, I know,” I said, taking off my jacket. “I managed to blow it with Farrell, but the whole setup bothers me.”
    Leo chuckled. “Maybe Ed’s aura lingers.”
    “There’s not much of that left. They’ve done a good job of erasing the Bronsky imprint.” I sank into Leo’s visitor’s chair. “I’m going to pass the other interviews to Mitch. Where is he?”
    “Doing the story on Blue Sky Dairy’s new equipment,” Leo said after lighting a cigarette. “Give him the job. He needs to stay busy.”
    Vida entered from the back shop. “Well now! Was Wayne drunk?”
    “I doubt it,” I said. “If he was a serious boozer, Milo would know, living just a few doors away.”
    Vida had her hands on her hips. “Then what happened?”
    I made a face. “You think the sheriff would tell me this early inan investigation? We’re engaged—we don’t have a pact to