The Alpine Recluse Part 30

"It was the eggs." Vida sat down in an armchair. "You know the old adage, 'You can't make an omelet without breaking the eggs.' Your mother rattled on about that, and I wondered why. Then she was obsessed with my hat and the eggs in the bird's nest. It all dawned on me earlier this evening when Emma was at my house after the fire. Eggs are a fertility symbol, a sign of new birth. I called Margaret Peterson and asked if she knew what your mother was doing in the kitchen when she let the water boil over. Margaret thought she was trying to boil eggs. Delia not only wouldn't have her meals in the dining room after that-unless you insisted-but she never ate eggs again."

Beth seemed dazed. "I don't understand."

"I don't understand how her mind works, either," Vida admitted. "But she a.s.sociated eggs with babies. She knew there was going to be a new baby in the family-but she was confused. Maybe she thought she was having the baby. She didn't want the baby-or the mother-to be abused in any way, not after what she'd gone through with your father in his drunken rages. Yes, she'd heard you talk about Tim and Tiffany and mention the word abuse. It all came back to her."

Beth waved a hand at Vida. "I never told anyone but Emma about my father's-"

"Beth!" Vida interrupted. "Do you think that people in this town didn't know? Your neighbors heard quarrels. Your mother often had bruises. And sometimes your father did, too. We-well, at least I always wondered if she didn't wait until he was asleep or pa.s.sed out, and give him a few whacks in retribution. She was small, but strong. I suppose Tim left the door unlocked, or even open because of the hot weather and the fact that Tiffany would be home later that night. Your mother probably walked in, found Tim asleep, and thought he was Liam. There was a resemblance, of course. She picked up a baseball bat and-" Vida stopped and shrugged. "But my point is, your parents' marital situation was no secret."

There never were any secrets from Vida. Still, Beth looked puzzled. "I didn't mention the conversations with Mom until just now."

Vida blinked a couple of times behind her big gla.s.ses. "I know."

Of course Vida had eavesdropped. She'd probably been in the hallway all along, but had quietly retraced her steps to make it sound as if she'd just arrived. My House & Home editor was a wizard when it came to learning secrets.

She spoke gently to Beth. "You knew your mother had gotten out of the nursing home that night, didn't you?"

Beth nodded. "I'd gotten a call around ten. She'd gone to bed, but she wasn't there when someone checked on her. She could get around quite well without the wheelchair, of course. She used it only because I guess she thought she was supposed to. And she had had several falls, even while she was still living here at home with me. Anyway, I got another call just before I heard about the fire-and Tim. Mom was back in bed. They didn't know if she'd actually left the nursing home or had just been wandering around."

Vida nodded. "She set the house on fire, I suppose."

Beth sighed. "Yes. She must have. And the fire in the linen closet tonight. She was obsessed by fire. Her brother had been burned to death in a tank in Italy during the Second World War."

"Ah. Of course," Vida said. "She mentioned something about that when Emma and I visited her. His name was Tim. He's listed on the Alpine war memorial. I'd forgotten. Of course, I was quite young at the time."

We were silent for a couple of minutes. Beth was the first to speak again. "I suppose she'll have to be put in another, more secure facility."

"Yes," Vida agreed. "You'll have to tell Milo. Your mother certainly isn't competent to stand trial."

Beth shook her head. "No. She's not."

"You could wait until morning," I said. "It won't hurt Wayne to spend another night in jail. It's already after eleven o'clock."

But Beth balked. "I can't let him do that. I'm calling the sheriff now. I want to do something right. I still blame myself for Tim's death."

"You mustn't," Vida a.s.serted. "That's foolish. You had no idea what your words would lead to."

Beth didn't look convinced. Maybe she never would be. As she reached for the phone on the end table, she glanced at me. "Would you mind checking on Mom?"

"I can do it," Vida said, starting to get up.

"You've spent over an hour with her," Beth said as she started to punch in the sheriff's number. "You must be tired, too."

"I'll go," I insisted. The truth was, I didn't want to hear Beth's painful admission to the sheriff.

The bedroom door was ajar. I opened it quietly and stepped over the threshold. A night-light was plugged into an outlet near the bed. I could see Delia's small form under the covers, which moved ever so slightly with her regular breathing. I stepped closer. She was smiling in her sleep. Sitting next to her on an extra pillow was Vida's bird's nest hat. The eggs were safe.

AFTER HIS RELEASE from the county jail, Wayne Eriks had vowed to sue for false arrest. Milo managed to forestall him by threatening to charge him with impeding justice. The ploy worked, and Wayne finally told the truth. He hadn't come home from work Monday night. Cookie was worried about him and called her parents. Dot and Durwood had rushed over to be with her, leaving Vida in the lurch.

Wayne explained that for most of the evening, he'd been drinking heavily at Mugs Ahoy, upset about the situation with Tiffany and Tim. The dinner at the ski lodge had not gone well between the in-laws. Wayne refused to believe Tim's insistence that Tiffany was behaving in an abusive manner. Intending to take out his drunken frustration on Tim, Wayne discovered that the house was on fire. Sobering up in a hurry, he tried to get inside, and was burned in his efforts. Realizing it was hopeless, he left in a panic. When he got home and learned that Tim had been killed, Wayne suspected his daughter. Maybe Tim had been right after all. At least, that was his rationale for his phony report about seeing Old Nick by the football field. He wanted to shield Tiffany. Wayne and Cookie Eriks had had plenty of practice doing that over the years.

On Monday, we didn't lack for news to fill the upcoming edition of the Advocate. The Rafferty story was a delicate matter, so I wrote it myself. There was no way to cover up Milo's error in judgment in arresting Wayne. Nor could I do much about the terrible part that Delia had played except to be compa.s.sionate and explain the ravages of Alzheimer's disease. Scott promised to do a series on early detection and ongoing research. Vida was going to write about support groups for family members and how to seek outside help.

There was other news, too, including an overturned double-wide trailer home near Deception Falls bridge, broken windows in the middle school, and a break-in at Donna Wickstrom's art gallery Sunday night or early Monday morning. As usual, I let Scott handle those items, along with other, more minor police reports that had come in during the weekend. I'd call Donna later about the break-in, but a.s.sumed she kept no cash on hand after she closed up on the weekends.

I didn't finish work until going on six. Clouds had gathered over the mountains, but the air remained heavy and oppressively warm. I'd had no word from Rolf Fisher. Still limping and very tired, I headed home to my empty log cabin. I'd left all the windows open to air the place out. No burglar in his right mind would break in anywhere during the heat of the day. I fretted that the hot weather could last into October. It had happened before. We used to call it Indian summer. Now the climate aberrations bore names such as the Pineapple Express. I called them Living in h.e.l.l.

I ate a ham and cheese sandwich and carrot sticks for dinner. It was still too hot to cook. There had been no messages on my answering machine. Around seven-thirty, I reached for the phone on the kitchen counter. I had to apologize to Rolf. I missed him. I liked him. I could even learn to love him. But love seemed to come with a high price tag these days. When love died, sometimes people did, too. Maybe that was the difference I sensed in the Eriks and the Rafferty houses. Beth still selflessly loved her mother. Wayne and Cookie had invested the wrong kind of love in their surviving daughter. Tiffany didn't know how to give it back. She knew only self-love. I wondered if she had any real love to give her baby.

Love suddenly seemed too complicated for my weary brain. My hand froze on the receiver. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe my emotional and physical resources had been completely sapped by the events of the last week. My roots need to be watered, I thought. I'm withering like a fir in the forest.

I wandered into the living room and sensed that something was different.

It took me a few moments to figure out what it was. Then I saw it.

On the wall where Monet's water lilies had hung was Sky Autumn. A small sc.r.a.p of paper was taped to the frame.

I caught my breath as I limped across the room and detached the paper. There was writing on it, difficult to read, but I finally made it out.

"So you don't have to wait for autumn on the Sky. Craig."

I couldn't believe it. I stood there staring at the painting, awash in its beauty and power.

And when I finally turned around, I looked outside.

It was raining.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

MARY DAHEIM is a Seattle native who started spinning stories before she could spell. Daheim has been a journalist, an editor, a public relations consultant, and a freelance writer, but fiction was always her medium of choice, and in 1982 she launched a career that is now distinguished by more than forty novels. In 2000, Daheim won the Literary Achievement Award from the Pacific Northwest Writers a.s.sociation. Daheim lives in Seattle with her husband, David, a retired professor of cinema, English, and literature. The Daheims have three daughters: Barbara, Katherine, and Magdalen.

BY MARY DAHEIM.

The Alpine Advocate.

The Alpine Betrayal.

The Alpine Christmas The Alpine Decoy The Alpine Escape.

The Alpine Fury The Alpine Gamble The Alpine Hero The Alpine Icon.

The Alpine Journey.

The Alpine Kindred The Alpine Legacy The Alpine Menace The Alpine Nemesis.

The Alpine Obituary The Alpine Pursuit.

The Alpine Quilt.

The Alpine Recluse.

end.