The Alpine Menace Part 9

"My what?" Kendra laughed some more. "How quaint. It goes with the hat. Let's say that Gavin Odell is my main squeeze."

"He's rather good-looking," Vida remarked, feigned innocence accompanied by an uncharacteristically sweet expression.

"How do you know?" Kendra shouted.

Vida smirked. "We're stalkers, remember?"

For the first time I saw a hint of alarm in Kendra's face. We were two and she was one. Maybe she was thinking we could actually be dangerous.

"Is that it?" she asked, slightly surly.

"No," I responded, taking advantage of her weak moment. "Please tell me what happened the night your... mother was killed."

"I wasn't here." She swung her head, the ponytail sailing at her back.

"You found her," I persisted.

Kendra bit her lip. "I did. Why do you want to know about that? I don't like talking about it."

I softened, for her emotion seemed genuine. "I don't blame you. I lost my parents in a car crash when I was just a little older than you. The hardest thing I ever did was go to the morgue with my brother and identify them."

Kendra winced. "I guess." The bravado seemed to have deserted her. "I'd been out with Gavin. We stopped by around ten-thirty so I could pick up a sweater I'd left here. We were coming from a movie at the Oak Tree on Aurora and going on to a bonfire picnic with some friends on the beach at Golden Gardens. It was kind of cold when we got out of the movie, and it was closer to stop by the apartment than to go all the way to my folks' house by Green Lake."

"You hadn't yet moved?" I asked.

Kendra shook her head. "I moved in the first of April. This was March twenty-seventh. I can't forget the date." She paused and sat down on the arm of a recliner. "I had a key-my mother made one for me-so when she didn't come to the door, I let myself in. Gavin was waiting in the car." Again, she paused and swallowed hard. "She was lying there"- Kendra waved at the area where Vida and I stood- "and at first, I thought she'd pa.s.sed out. Then, when I bent down, I saw that awful cord around her neck. Her face was all purple and her eyes-" Covering her face with her hands, she stopped and didn't go on.

"That's okay," I soothed, wishing it were possible to pat her shoulder. "What did you do next?"

"I ran out and got Gavin. Then we called 911." Kendra rubbed at her mouth, as if she were trying to rid herself of death's foul taste. "We waited in the car. I couldn't stand being inside with... the body."

"Naturally," Vida said. "Did they arrive soon?"

For the first time in several minutes Kendra looked at Vida. "I honestly don't know. It seemed like hours. We had to go to the station out there by Northgate. I called my folks, and they came out, too. It was like two in the morning before we could go home. I was completely drained."

I gave Kendra a moment to compose herself. "Had you been at the apartment earlier in the day?"

"Yes," she replied. "That's when I forgot my sweater. Gavin and I stopped by on the way to the Oak Tree. My real mother wanted to tell me about jobs up in Alaska."

"Was Ronnie there?" I inquired, hoping that the mention of his name wouldn't set Kendra off again. We were approaching cordiality, and I didn't need any roadblocks.

But my cousin hadn't been on the scene. "He might actually have been working," Kendra said sarcastically. "In Friday-night traffic, it takes him a long time to come in from Lynnwood. Gavin and I had gotten there about six. I got off work at QFC at five-thirty and he picked me up after I changed out of my courtesy clerk outfit. We left around seven because we wanted to eat before the movie started. Ronnie still wasn't home. He'd probably stopped off for a few dozen beers on his way."

"Did Carol say anything about him while you were there?" I asked, thinking it'd be nice to sit down.

Kendra shrugged. "I don't remember. If she did, it was probably the usual."

"Which was?" I prodded.

"Oh- *Ronnie's late. I wonder why? Ha-ha.' Or *I hope he didn't have too many beers and get into a wreck.' Nothing important."

"Nothing to indicate that they were on the outs?" Vida asked.

"No." Kendra didn't seem much interested in the question.

I wasn't giving up on my initial query. "So why do you think he killed her?"

"I told you," Kendra scowled. "They had a fight. Probably over money. Ronnie wasn't paying his share. He spent more on his dumb dog than he did on helping pay the rent."

Money, I knew, was the number one reason why couples fought. Not s.e.x, not religion, not even infidelity, but who was cheap, who was extravagant, who didn't earn enough, why the bills didn't get paid. Yet it still didn't sound like a motive for my cousin. The more I heard about Carol, the more I could see her picking up Ronnie and shaking him by the ankles until his wallet fell out of his pocket.

Vida gestured toward the apartment next door. "What about this Roy? Was he still pestering Carol?"

"Roy?" Kendra looked puzzled. "Oh, him. Talk about a creep-that's Roy's middle name. Yes, my mother complained about him a couple of times. He came over once when I was here, a couple of months ago, and started bragging about what great s.e.x he and Whatshername were having. My mother told him to get lost."

"Did he?" Vida asked.

"Yes," Kendra replied, a touch of pride in her expression. "He went off like a whipped puppy."

A pounding at the door startled all of us. Kendra's blue eyes grew wide, then she slapped a hand to her forehead. "The cops. I forgot about them."

Two young men, one white, one black, and both very good-looking, stood on the threshold. They tipped their caps as the black officer, whose name tag read BILLINGS, politely asked Kendra what was going on.

Kendra was already blushing prettily; I sensed she knew how to deal with handsome young men. "I feel terrible. I made a huge mistake. I wasn't being stalked. These two women were trying to track me down to ask some questions about my mother's murder."

"Oh?" The white officer, whose name tag identified him as PLANCICH, eyed Vida and me with curiosity. "How's that?"

I stepped forward and explained. Billings nodded gravely. "We weren't on duty the night of the homicide, but of course we got in on the case later." His chest seemed to puff up a bit as he looked at Kendra.

"Well, now." Vida had edged her way between Kendra and me. "You certainly solved it quickly. Back home in Alpine, our sheriff takes forever to bring a murderer to justice. Of course he's shorthanded and of a most deliberate nature. Not to mention that we don't have many violent crimes. So safe in Alpine."

I tried not to wince at the exaggeration. Billings and Plancich, however, didn't seem impressed.

"Small-town law-enforcement types don't have the training or experience we've got here," Plancich said with a swagger that was undoubtedly aimed at Kendra. "We can't afford to take too much time solving cases. Our detectives are overloaded as it is. We all are. It's a tough job. Dangerous, too."

"So," Vida said, now smiling her Cheshire cat grin, "you must all be relieved when the solution to a homicide is so easy."

"This kind of killing usually is," Billings said, making a gesture that took in the entire apartment. "Domestic homicides are the simplest of all."

"Yes, yes," Vida agreed. "How convenient. For you, that is. Let me think-Rojas, that's the name of the detective who was in charge, correct?"

Both officers nodded. "Good man," Plancich said. "He doesn't have very many open cases."

"How nice for him," said Vida. "Of course," she added somewhat slyly, "you can't blame us for having our own doubts. Family, you know. So hard to believe that one of your own can be a killer." She put an arm around me. I wondered if I should burst into tears.

Next to Vida, Kendra was showing signs of impatience. Apparently, the officers were no match for Gavin Odell. "Hey, everybody, I've got to get to work on this place." She gave the policemen a big smile. "Thanks for everything. I'm sorry I put you to so much trouble just now."

"No problem," Billings said, again tipping his hat. "It's kind of nice to come around here when everything's calm for a change."

"Oh?" Vida's nose seemed to twitch. "Were you often called to Carol's apartment?"

"Ah..." Billings grimaced. "Two, three times maybe. Domestic violence. No arrests. They always seemed to have calmed down by the time we got here."

"That's often the case," Vida said. "Kiss and make up. So tiresome for you, though. Was Carol ever badly injured?"

"Carol?" The officers exchanged quick glances. "No," Billings said. "But he was."

Billings and Plancich left after that. I sensed some tension between them as they headed back to their patrol car. Billings apparently had spoken out of turn.

We waited for the patrol car to pull out, which took a few minutes, since it looked as if the partners were checking in with their squad. Before we parted with Kendra, she asked if she could have the hat. Vida refused.

"Why, I've had this hat for over twenty years," she declared. "It would be like losing a family member. Look in the Sears catalogue. I'm sure you'll find some similar items."

Kendra hadn't looked enthusiastic.

Finally, when we got into the Lexus, Vida was agog. "Don't you see what that slipup by the police means? Carol was beating on Ronnie, not the other way around. I have to wonder if Roy's scratches and his black eye weren't defense measures by Carol, but attacks on him. And the whole case against your cousin is flimsy indeed, based on a common history, not solid evidence."

"That's what it sounds like," I admitted. "I wonder if they'd let me talk to Ronnie over the phone. I'd like to give him some encouragement."

"By all means," Vida urged. "It's suppertime. Where shall we go? You can call from there."

I remembered that there was a rather good grill over on Aurora that also had a full-service bar. Vida might scold, but I could use a drink. It had been a very long day, and the worst was yet to come.

While Vida mulled over the menu, I phoned from the restaurant. It took what seemed like forever to have the jailers put Ronnie on the phone, and when I heard his voice, there was no life in it.

"Tell me something," I said, knowing that there was a time limit to our conversation. "Did Carol beat you?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Ronnie sounded confused.

"Did she hit you, throw things, try to punch you out?"

A long pause. "She could get real mad." Another pause. "Sometimes, yeah, she'd whale on me. It was no big deal. I can take care of myself."

"Did you ever call the cops?"

"Huh? The cops?" This time I could hear Ronnie suck in his breath. "Well... maybe we called once. Somebody else upstairs might've called, too. We were kinda loud."

I decided not to pursue that line of questioning. I figured I already had the answer. "We're making progress," I said, putting enthusiasm into my voice. "We think the police investigation was a knee-jerk reaction. There's no real evidence against you, Ronnie."

"Then why am I in the slammer?"

"Because you got railroaded," I replied. "Oh, I found out where Budweiser is. He's with Mr. Chan's son and grandchildren."

"They'll eat him," Ronnie said in a dismal voice. "That's what those Chinamen do. They eat cats and dogs."

"Not Peter Chan," I declared. "He's as American as you are."

"I'll bet. They're all alike."

"I'll try to get Budweiser back as soon as I can," I promised.

"Hunh. I'll bet. I mean," he added hastily, "they won't let him go. Buddy's probably already in the soup pot."

"Stop that, Ronnie," I ordered. "We've learned a lot of things in the last twenty-four hours, all to your benefit. Tonight we're going to check with the bars to find you an alibi."

"Yeah, sure." He paused again, then sighed. "Wish I was there. d.a.m.n."

Either Ronnie's telephone time was up, or he had hung up on me.

"Really," Vida said after I'd ordered a vodka gimlet, "if you plan on drinking this evening, why on earth are you ordering an alcoholic beverage now?"

"I don't have to drink in a tavern," I said. "I can order a soda or coffee, just like you will. Besides, we aren't going bar-hopping for a couple of hours. Vodka goes through your system much faster than any other kind of liquor."

"What an appalling piece of knowledge!" Vida exclaimed. "You've researched drinking? Emma, I'm shocked."

"No, you're not." I grinned. "It goes back to my college days, when it was very important to know how much you could drink without puking all over your date."

"Aargh!" Vida looked as if she might become ill from listening to me.

While we waited for our orders I checked to see if I had any messages on my voice mail. Somewhat to my surprise, there was one from Milo.

"Just thought you'd want to know," he said in his familiar drawl, "the O'Neills and the Harquists got into it last night at the Icicle Creek Tavern. Stubby O'Neill is in the hospital with two broken arms. Ozzie and Rudy Har-quist are in jail. The tavern's d.a.m.ned near wrecked. Hope you're having fun in the city." He ended the conversation with an upbeat note to his voice, which indicated that he was probably looking forward to a romantic evening with his new love.

I relayed the information to Vida, who was aghast, but not for the reason I might have antic.i.p.ated. "Is that what we're in for tonight? I thought people in the city merely shot each other or used knives."

"Not all the time," I replied with a straight face. "Blood feuds aren't as common here. Aren't you a little bit surprised about the O'Neills and Harquists? I thought things had calmed down between them."

"Apparently not," Vida said. "Cap Harquist and his boys have been logging over in Idaho off and on for the past few years, but I guess they came back to stay this winter. I suppose it was only a matter of time before the feud broke out again."

Fifty years ago, when logging was king in Skykomish County, Paddy O'Neill and Cap Harquist had worked together for one of the now-defunct logging companies. They had been best friends who'd had a falling-out-not over a woman or money or who was going to buy the next beer-but over a billy goat named Ted. The goat was Cap's pride and joy. He'd put a bell around the animal's neck and a straw hat on its head. One night Ted got loose out on the Burl Creek Road. Paddy, who was drunk, ran his truck over Ted. The only thing that didn't get flattened was the hat. Cap never forgave Paddy, and the feud was on.

Paddy was now in his eighties and confined to a wheelchair. Cap, however, was still robust at seventy-seven. There were three O'Neill sons and two Harquist scions. They had all gone through school together, fighting every inch of the way until the high-school princ.i.p.al expelled all of them. Now in middle age, the five men still picked fights with each other. Sometimes Cap joined in. Fortunately, there were only daughters in the third generation. They were mostly teenagers, and contented themselves with making cruel remarks about their enemies' weight, complexions, and wardrobes. I had to wonder whether the physical or the emotional abuse was more damaging.

"So silly," Vida remarked after our orders had arrived.

"It was always a relief when either one or the other of the families left Alpine to work somewhere else. Of course," she added, more softly, "it wasn't a good sign for the local economy."

I agreed. Only one mill remained in Alpine. For those whose vocation was logging, it meant working elsewhere, either in another forest or driving their trucks between far-flung destinations. Hard times had hit Alpine in the early eighties, as the last of the great harvests were completed and the environmentalists got their way. The song of the mill whistle and the rumble of the rigs had all but faded into history.

"The women in those families are as bad as the men," Vida said between mouthfuls of lamb chop. "Vicious. Mean-spirited. Very few brains between them."

"I hope Scott Chamoud knows about all this," I said. "He certainly wouldn't have the background."

"Of course not," Vida agreed. "I've never sat him down to give it. Luckily, we'll be back on Monday."

I sipped my gimlet and fretted. My youthful reporter was a city boy, from Portland, Oregon. He was unwise in the ways of small towns. Knocking on an O'Neill or a Harquist door could prove dangerous. I took the cell phone out of my handbag and dialed Scott's number.

He wasn't in, so I left a message. Then I remembered that he was going home for Easter to be with his family.