Read Online The Alpine Menace by Mary Daheim - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Daheim
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story.
“Darn,” Ed said in a heartfelt tone. “This would be a big break for you, Emma. The producer, Manny Malone, has got the contract with him. It's going to be a series, for gosh sakes!”
“It is?” I gave Vida a startled look. “What happened to the cable-TV movie?”
“It didn't pan out,” Ed replied. “Anyway, this is a much better deal. It's going to be animated.”
“Oh.” I'd maneuvered the phone so Vida could also hear. “You mean a cartoon, like
The Simpsons
or
King of the Hill
?”
“Kind of,” Ed responded, his voice dropping a notch. “Only with animals. I'll be Chester White.”
“They're changing your name to Chester White? How come?”
“It's not exactly my name,” Ed replied, sounding impatient. “I'll probably still be Ed. Chester White is my breed. I'm a pig.”
Surprise.
Maybeth Swafford wasn't home, but the resident of 1-A was. Henrietta Altdorf was a big woman of sixty, short of breath, with a florid face, graying auburn hair, and shrewd blue eyes.
“Maybeth told me you'd be coming by,” Henrietta said with a wink. “Mr. Chan, the landlord, left the key with me this morning. He's anxious to rent the place. You know what landlords are.” She winked again.
By the time Henrietta found the key to 1-B, we'd heard the story of her life. She'd been widowed once, divorced twice, and didn't have much time for men. Four years and eight months to go before she could retire from her job as an RN at Northwest Hospital. Her only son lived in Puyallup, which you'd think was four hundred miles away instead of forty. His two boys had no discipline, and his wife was a scatterbrain. Not that it mattered, since she was lucky if she saw any of them more than once a year.
“The younger generation.” She laughed in a disgusted manner. “I don't understand them. They only think of the big I.”
“So true,” Vida murmured, mildly fascinated by Henrietta's recital. “Sometimes my three daughters and I are at odds.”
Not for long, I thought as we entered Carol's apartment. Beth, Amy, and Meg hadn't inherited enough of their mother's spunk to stand up to her. But then few people could.
“Daughters must be easier to raise,” Henrietta said, stepping aside to let us cross the threshold. “More thoughtful, too.” She uttered a wistful sigh, then waved a hand. “Imagine,” she went on, shaking her head. “Two weeks ago Carol was alive and happy. Now she's gone. Life's hard, isn't it?”
“You say she was happy?” Vida commented, her gaze taking in the desolate remnants of Carol's life. A half-dozen cardboard boxes, clothes on hangers draped over the back of a chair, furniture that mingled cheap with used, and a big-screen TV that probably cost more than everything else put together. The apartment itself seemed to lie between life and death, half its contents already removed, the other half in transition.
“Happy?” Henrietta repeated. “Yes, I think so, especially after she finally got together with her daughter. I'velived here six years, and after Carol moved next door about a year ago, she'd come over and have a couple of beers with me after we both got home from work. Once in a while she'd have one too many and start to get… maudlin, I guess you'd call it. She'd talk about the baby she gave away and how she wished she knew what had happened to the child. Then, just a few months ago, who shows up but the daughter? Carol was so excited.”
“So Kendra was the one who sought her mother out?” I asked.
Henrietta nodded. “That's the way it works. Kendra turned eighteen, which meant she could learn who her birth parents were, at least her mother.”
“Did Kendra spend much time with Carol?” Vida asked, pausing in her perusal of the cardboard boxes.
“Some,” Henrietta said. “The truth is, Carol had a boyfriend, Ronnie. He's the one who killed her. Anyway, he was a lazy sort, drank too much, if you ask me, and worked only when he felt like it. I don't think he
“Darn,” Ed said in a heartfelt tone. “This would be a big break for you, Emma. The producer, Manny Malone, has got the contract with him. It's going to be a series, for gosh sakes!”
“It is?” I gave Vida a startled look. “What happened to the cable-TV movie?”
“It didn't pan out,” Ed replied. “Anyway, this is a much better deal. It's going to be animated.”
“Oh.” I'd maneuvered the phone so Vida could also hear. “You mean a cartoon, like
The Simpsons
or
King of the Hill
?”
“Kind of,” Ed responded, his voice dropping a notch. “Only with animals. I'll be Chester White.”
“They're changing your name to Chester White? How come?”
“It's not exactly my name,” Ed replied, sounding impatient. “I'll probably still be Ed. Chester White is my breed. I'm a pig.”
Surprise.
Maybeth Swafford wasn't home, but the resident of 1-A was. Henrietta Altdorf was a big woman of sixty, short of breath, with a florid face, graying auburn hair, and shrewd blue eyes.
“Maybeth told me you'd be coming by,” Henrietta said with a wink. “Mr. Chan, the landlord, left the key with me this morning. He's anxious to rent the place. You know what landlords are.” She winked again.
By the time Henrietta found the key to 1-B, we'd heard the story of her life. She'd been widowed once, divorced twice, and didn't have much time for men. Four years and eight months to go before she could retire from her job as an RN at Northwest Hospital. Her only son lived in Puyallup, which you'd think was four hundred miles away instead of forty. His two boys had no discipline, and his wife was a scatterbrain. Not that it mattered, since she was lucky if she saw any of them more than once a year.
“The younger generation.” She laughed in a disgusted manner. “I don't understand them. They only think of the big I.”
“So true,” Vida murmured, mildly fascinated by Henrietta's recital. “Sometimes my three daughters and I are at odds.”
Not for long, I thought as we entered Carol's apartment. Beth, Amy, and Meg hadn't inherited enough of their mother's spunk to stand up to her. But then few people could.
“Daughters must be easier to raise,” Henrietta said, stepping aside to let us cross the threshold. “More thoughtful, too.” She uttered a wistful sigh, then waved a hand. “Imagine,” she went on, shaking her head. “Two weeks ago Carol was alive and happy. Now she's gone. Life's hard, isn't it?”
“You say she was happy?” Vida commented, her gaze taking in the desolate remnants of Carol's life. A half-dozen cardboard boxes, clothes on hangers draped over the back of a chair, furniture that mingled cheap with used, and a big-screen TV that probably cost more than everything else put together. The apartment itself seemed to lie between life and death, half its contents already removed, the other half in transition.
“Happy?” Henrietta repeated. “Yes, I think so, especially after she finally got together with her daughter. I'velived here six years, and after Carol moved next door about a year ago, she'd come over and have a couple of beers with me after we both got home from work. Once in a while she'd have one too many and start to get… maudlin, I guess you'd call it. She'd talk about the baby she gave away and how she wished she knew what had happened to the child. Then, just a few months ago, who shows up but the daughter? Carol was so excited.”
“So Kendra was the one who sought her mother out?” I asked.
Henrietta nodded. “That's the way it works. Kendra turned eighteen, which meant she could learn who her birth parents were, at least her mother.”
“Did Kendra spend much time with Carol?” Vida asked, pausing in her perusal of the cardboard boxes.
“Some,” Henrietta said. “The truth is, Carol had a boyfriend, Ronnie. He's the one who killed her. Anyway, he was a lazy sort, drank too much, if you ask me, and worked only when he felt like it. I don't think he
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