The Alpine Uproar Part 18

"Milo's future son-in-law is half Dutch," Vida replied in her usual brisk voice. "That's why Tanya and her fiance are being married there. The nearest windmill is in Marymoor Park on Seattle's Eastside."

We walked on to the curb. "Will everyone wear wooden shoes?"

"Perhaps." Vida shrugged. "They can't do anything more unconventional than some of the marriage ceremonies I wrote up this summer. The Roberson-Corey wedding on horseback at the Evergreen State Fairgrounds was the worst. So disgusting having the bridesmaids and groomsmen carry those satin-trimmed shovels."

"And because Britney Roberson's dad owns Platters in the Sky and takes out a weekly ad, we were forced to run pictures to prove it," I murmured, opening the door on the driver's side.

As Vida waved me off, I decided to call Milo from my car. A whole crab and most of the garlic bread was left over, but Marisa and I had eaten most of the Caesar and potato salads. I dialed the sheriff's cell in case he'd left the office.

"Last call for crab," I said. "Are you interested?"

"Yeah. Six?"

For some reason I thought the single-word query was s.e.x? It took me a second to realize I was mistaken. "That's fine. See you." I rang off. The Grocery Basket was closer to my house than Safeway, but I didn't feel up to coping with the gloomy atmosphere pervading the O'Tooles' store. I turned right on Sixth, followed Cedar to Alpine Way, and continued to Safe-way, which anch.o.r.ed the northwest corner of the mall. It was starting to drizzle when I pulled into the parking lot.

The deli section was toward the front end. As I waited for the clerk to fill a medium-size carton with potato salad, I heard a commotion coming from farther down the aisle. Holly Gross had grabbed a little girl, who was kicking and yelling. A toddler in the cart's kiddy seat was screaming his head off, and a third youngster was trying to climb into the sweet potato bin. I turned away, trying to ignore the unruly Gross tribe. Memories of Adam having a tantrum at a Fred Meyer store in Portland came back to me-a frightening and embarra.s.sing occasion when he'd tried to swallow a miniature soldier I'd refused to buy for him. After much choking and turning my son upside down, the tiny GI had been dislodged. Luckily, Adam got over public displays of temper at an early age. I finally got it through his ornery little head that if he ever pulled any more stunts like that, I would never, ever buy him anything he didn't need. I'd pointed out that there was a difference between needs and wants. On my way to the checkout stand, I realized I'd forgotten to take care of Adam's most recent requests. Although they were needs, the outlay of money would shrink my meager savings. I'd go online, compare prices, and have the needs shipped directly to St. Mary's Igloo.

In the express line, I heard a familiar voice. "Are you dieting?"

I turned to see Mitch Laskey, who had placed a brick of cheddar cheese, a pint of whipping cream, and a can of pumpkin on the conveyor belt. "I don't need to do diets. Neither do you," I added, gesturing at Mitch's lanky form.

He nodded. "Brenda tries every fad diet that comes along. I don't know why. She's tall, and an extra ten pounds looks good on her. I can't eat the pumpkin pie she's going to make all by myself."

I paid cash for my purchases and waited for Mitch. "I suppose," he said after collecting his items from the courtesy clerk, "you'd like to know about our visit with Jica Weaver in Snohomish yesterday."

We stopped just short of the exit. "You found out something?"

"Yes and no," he said. "Jica a.s.sured us that Clive is a peaceful type and insisted that even provocation wouldn't drive him to violence. She didn't see the fight, and she dismissed Clive taking responsibility as some kind of n.o.ble or gallant gesture."

"To what purpose?"

Mitch looked bemused. "It translated as protecting a lady's honor."

The concept sounded unlikely. "Any lady in particular?" I asked.

"No. Frankly, I thought she was kind of nuts, but Brenda didn't agree. The word my wife used was fanciful."

I grappled with the distinction. "She means Jica is ... delusional?"

"Not exactly." Mitch stepped aside for a young couple who'd just entered the store. "Brenda thinks Jica's created an emotional haven, possibly to keep some very ugly experiences at bay."

"That could be," I said. "She seems fragile in every way."

"Not a local?"

"No." I frowned. "I shouldn't say that. I honestly don't know."

"Brenda thinks Jica's in love with Clive." He shrugged. "Women are better at gauging that sort of thing than men. Why else would Jica pay for his attorney?"

I nodded. "I gathered she's very fond of him."

"So it seems." Mitch glanced outside where the rain was now pelting the parking lot. "By the way, I heard about the O'Toole kid. That's d.a.m.ned rough." He looked grim. "You know the family pretty well, I gather."

"Yes. I've already talked to Betsy and Mike's brother, Ken."

"Nothing worse for parents." Mitch paused, slowly shaking his head. "Hey," he said suddenly, "I'd better go. Brenda won't have time to make the pie for dessert if I'm not home before five."

After exiting, we walked in opposite directions to our cars. Puddles were already acc.u.mulating on the concrete and the sky had turned very dark, with the wind blowing down off the invisible mountains and through the river valley. I all but ran to my Honda. Behind the wheel, I brushed water off my face and turned on the engine and the headlights. I reversed cautiously out of the diagonal s.p.a.ce, then crept along to turn off onto Park Street and Alpine Way. My windshield wipers did their highest-setting best to let me see at least ten feet in front of me.

But I wasn't prepared for the sudden crash of metal on metal that sent me forward so sharply that the seat belt seemed to squeeze the air from my lungs. I braked, but the Honda still skidded slightly before coming to a full stop. I sat for a moment to make sure I had all my faculties and that my appendages were in working order. I turned off the ignition and looked to see where the car had been hit. A battered red beater had backed into the rear door on the driver's side. I could hear screams but couldn't tell where they were coming from. I took off my jacket, put it on over my head, and got out of the car.

Holly Gross was leaning into the beater, yelling at her children. Obviously, she had reversed out of her parking place too fast and hadn't seen my car. To my further dismay, the rear fender had been damaged, jamming it into the tire on that side. I couldn't drive my Honda home.

Holly had finally managed to quiet her trio of kids. She whirled around to look at me. "Move your d.a.m.ned car, b.i.t.c.h!" she shouted. "I can't get out of here."

Shock wore off quickly and anger took over. "I can't," I said, waving in the direction of my rear left tire. "Are you insured?"

Holly stopped by the rear end of her beater. "s.h.i.t, you can get somebody to yank that piece of metal out of the tire. Where's that tall, skinny guy I saw you yakking with?"

"Gone," I snapped.

"So?" Her sharp chin jutted. "Get him back here. He works for you, doesn't he?"

"I'm calling the cops," I said, starting back to the Honda to retrieve my purse.

"Hey! No way!" Holly yelled. "I'll get a guy from the store to do it."

I kept going. Holly followed me. Her flimsy cotton jacket was already soaked, her blond hair was dripping wet, and her eye makeup was streaming down her cheeks. As I fumbled for my cell, she leaned into the car through the open door.

"Don't even think about it," she said, her tone menacing.

"Get the h.e.l.l out of my face!" I shouted over the honking of a horn. "We're both blocking traffic."

I'd found the cell and was dialing 911 when Holly grabbed my left wrist and gave it a painful twist. "That's my kids honking!" Her eyes glittered with wrath. "Hang up!"

I swung my right arm and hit her in the head with the cell phone. She let go, reeling slightly. The call went through as I heard Beth Rafferty's calm voice on the other end.

"Safeway parking lot car wreck and catfight," I said quickly.

"Emma?" Beth said, recognizing my voice. "Got it. Injuries?"

"Not yet, but likely." Holly was coming at me again, but I'd moved enough so I could swing a leg and catch her at the knees. She fell forward into my lap. Beth had ended the call. Holly didn't get up. She was crying and blubbering. I shoved her off my lap. She sank to the ground with a dull thud.

I was able to close the car door and lock myself in. Feeling a trace of pity, I watched Holly stagger to her feet. The horn-honking continued. I couldn't be sure if it was her kids or an outraged shopper trying to get past our cars. As Holly finally stood up, I saw Dane Pearson, the Safeway manager, hurrying toward us with a couple of other employees and several customers. I rolled my window down halfway.

"What the h.e.l.l ...?" Dane put an arm around the sobbing Holly before looking at me. "Ms. Lord?" he said, incredulous.

"I called the cops," I said. "Medics, too."

"Okay." Dane pa.s.sed Holly on to a slim young man who guided her back to the beater. "What happened?" the store manager asked, leaning down next to my car.

"See for yourself." I gestured behind me at the wreckage.

Dane and the third employee, a middle-aged woman, inspected the damage. Meanwhile, Holly had gotten back into her car with the young man's help. The gawking customers had sought cover from the downpour in their own vehicles or inside the store. I could hear sirens in the distance.

Dane walked over to me. "Did Holly back into you?"

"Yes." I took a couple of deep breaths. "She must've been going too fast for these conditions. I was barely doing ten miles an hour when she crashed into me."

"Okay." He moved to get in front of my Honda, where he waved and shouted to the patrol car that was pulling in. A moment later Dustin Fong headed my way. He spoke briefly to Dane before reaching my Honda. "Are you hurt?" the deputy asked, polite and calm as usual.

"I don't think so," I replied. "I'm kind of shaky, though."

Dustin looked apologetic. "You'll have to fill out an accident report. What happened?"

I explained how Holly had backed out too fast and too blindly. "You should make sure her three kids are okay," I added. "I think she lacks proper maternal instincts."

He turned to look around. "How many? Holly and two kids are headed this way."

"Oh, c.r.a.p!" I cried. "Now what?"

Dustin was up to the challenge. His st.u.r.dy six-foot frame blocked the Gross onslaught. Holly had stopped crying, but was shrieking invective over the deputy's shoulder. Most of it, I gathered, was aimed at me. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was almost five. I decided to call Milo and ask him to pick me up. The Honda would have to be towed.

"Slow down," the sheriff ordered in that laconic tone I knew so well. "You're a wreck but you're safe in a park?"

I kept an eye on the Gross gang as Dustin led them to his patrol car. "Hang on," I said to Milo before leaning out the window. "Get the toddler, Dustin!" I yelled. "There's one more kid still in the car."

Apparently Holly wasn't counting heads, Dustin hadn't remembered there were three kids, and Dane was dealing with more gawkers. The medics were just pulling in.

"Okay," I said into the phone as I slumped in my seat, "if you want to eat crab, you'll have to collect the cook from Safe-way's parking lot. Holly Gross backed into me and my car's not drivable."

"s.h.i.t." Milo groaned. "Some weekend. Okay, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Have you called Cal Vickers to tow your car away?"

"No. I'll do that now." I rolled up my window. "I also have to fill out an accident report."

"Skip that," Milo said. "I'll bring one with me. I should stop by the office anyway. Doe's going off duty at five and I want to make sure that Bill Blatt is up to speed on everything."

"I'll wait inside the store. Dustin's got all of the Grosses rounded up and they're getting into his ... hold it, he's coming this way. I'm hanging up."

"Ms. Lord," he said as I rolled my window back down. "There's room in the patrol car for you, too. Do you want to come with us?"

I gaped at the deputy. "Are you kidding? The only way I'd ride with that bunch is if you gave me a weapon. Your boss is picking me up. He's also bringing along an accident report form."

Dustin looked as if he was trying not to smile. "That's good. We'll need your side of the story. Ms. Gross insists it was your fault."

"She would." I shook my head. "Those poor kids. Are they okay?"

"I think so." Dustin looked uneasy. "They've got a ton of energy. But the medics will check them out. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'd better be," I said, "or else your boss is going to go hungry. If I suddenly collapse, the sheriff can haul me off to the ER."

Del Amundson had gotten out of the medic van. Dustin excused himself to meet the medic in front of the patrol car, which, I noticed, was rocking a bit. I could only guess what mayhem the Gross clan would commit before Dustin finished with them.

Dane had disappeared briefly, but I saw him coming over to my Honda. He was carrying four grocery bags, presumably containing Holly's purchases. "I suppose this will be in the Advocate," he said.

I nodded. "We report all accidents. It's not your fault, Dane."

His round, rain-spattered face looked bleak. "I know that, you know that, but Holly says she's going to sue me for not providing decent lighting in the parking lot. Not to mention," he went on, juggling the sacks, "it looks to me as if her kids shoplifted a bunch of candy. The bill was on top and I noticed that there weren't any M&M's or Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter Cups. They've done it before." He sighed. "Glad you're all right, Ms. Lord. I guess I'll write off the candy as a business expense." Trying to avoid the ever-growing puddles, he headed for the patrol car, where the Gross children were getting out and being herded to the medic van.

I dialed Cal Vickers's number. The Texaco service station was by the mall, just a couple of minutes away from Safeway. His son, Chuck, answered and told me he'd come right over.

The patrol car pulled out as soon as the medic van moved out of the way. Dane waved a weary arm at me as he walked by my car and headed back toward the store. The slim young employee returned. He was wearing a rain poncho and carrying a big flashlight. I guessed that he'd been sent to guide traffic around the parking lot's blocked aisle.

Chuck Vickers and Cal's towing truck entered and stopped at the far end of the row. I flashed my headlights. He reversed, coming slowly in my direction. A moment later, he approached me.

"Hi," he said bending down. "Do you want me to take your groceries out first?"

"I've only got a couple of items," I said. "Go ahead, I'll walk to the store and wait inside for my ride." I didn't mention who was picking me up. Tales of Sheriff Dodge coming to the rescue of Publisher Emma are the stuff that rumors are made of.

"No way!" Chuck grinned, looking like a younger, more animated version of his dad. "I'll take you there before I tow your car. Deal?"

I smiled back. "Sure." Grabbing my purse and the salads, I checked to make sure I wasn't leaving anything vital behind. "Let's go."

We hurried to the tow truck's cab. Chuck stayed right behind me, making sure I didn't break a leg climbing into the pa.s.senger seat. "What," he asked after he got behind the wheel, "about the other car?"

"It belongs to Holly Gross," I said. "She's gone off with one of the deputies to fill out an accident report."

"Holly!" He snickered. "My dad swears she hit on him the last time she got gas at our place. She didn't have enough money to pay, so she ... well, you know. I guess she usually goes to Gas 'n Go at Icicle Creek. Maybe she works off the bill with Mickey Borg." He grimaced. "Sorry, Ms. Lord. I shouldn't say stuff like that."

"It's fine," I said as Chuck shifted out of neutral into drive. "I'm no fan of Holly. If she doesn't get her car towed, Dane will have to do it."

"Right." Chuck turned the truck toward the store entrance. "That's a real b.u.mmer about Mike O'Toole. It rocked my world. We went through high school together and you never think somebody your own age is going to die. And then ... blam!" He shook his head in disbelief.

"You were friends?"

"We hung out in high school," Chuck replied. "We were both on the football and basketball teams." Pulling up in front of the store, he gave me a rueful look. "He was a starter in both. I kept the bench warm. Remember that game five, six years ago against Sultan? We were underdogs, but with seconds to go, Mike intercepted a pa.s.s and scored a touchdown. Big upset for the Turks, big win for us Buckers."

I vaguely recalled the game. A win against any team in any sport was unusual for Alpine High's athletes. But I hadn't remembered Mike's key role in the victory. "He must've relished being a hero," I said.

"Oh, yeah." Chuck had turned somber as he gazed through rivulets of rain on the windshield. "Before I started at Washington State, I asked him if he'd ever thought about going on to college and playing football. Mike told me he didn't want to. He was tired of school. He'd always been into cars." Chuck shrugged. "I figured he'd take those mechanic courses the community college offers, but he never did. I guess he thought on-the-job training was better."

"As in being taught by Alvin De Muth?"

"Right. I guess Al was a good mechanic. n.o.body in our family ever had him work on a car or truck, because Pop can do it." Chuck paused and frowned. "Now both Mike and Al are dead. Weird, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, and wondered if weird was the right word.