Free The Alpine Uproar by Mary Daheim Page B

about the horrendous accidents on Highway 2. Maybe the fresh air will inspire me.”
    I thought I heard Vida snicker.
    T HAT FRESH AIR HAD TURNED CHILLY WHEN I STARTED DOWN Front Street. Maybe we were due for an early frost. Approaching Parker’s Pharmacy, I suddenly remembered that I had to replenish my stock of Band-Aids, Kleenex, and mouthwash. Trying to recall if I needed anything else, I didn’t pay attention as I crossed the well-worn blue and white hexagonal tiles leading inside the store. The door flew open and almost hit me.
    “Watch it!” Patti Marsh shouted. “Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”
    Her greeting lacked warmth, but that was no surprise. We had a history. “Hello, Patti,” I said.
    “Hello.” She shot me a hostile look. “I hear the sheriff’s seeing Delphine Corson.”
    “I heard that, too,” I said, forcing a smile. “I guess she figures Gus Swanson and his wife are only temporarily estranged. Or maybe Delphine’s playing the field after Spike Canby dumped her.”
    “That was a while ago,” Patti pointed out, both of us stepping aside for a young woman pushing a baby in an elaborate stroller that Averill Fairbanks might have mistaken for an alien space ship. “Delphine has kept her looks,” she added.
    “Where does she keep them?” I retorted, and immediately wished I’d kept my big mouth shut.
    Patti, however, seemed to find my remark amusing. I figured it wasn’t because of my flippant response, but that she felt she’d succeeded in her attempt to rile me. “Delphine has a way with men,” Patti said. “Gus and his wife may not be divorcing, but he certainly acts like he’s crazy about her. Last Saturday, she was showing off a very pretty Judith Ripka bracelet he’d given her.”
    “Nice,” I said, trying to lighten my tone. “A man dating a florist can’t send flowers.” I refrained from saying that he shouldn’t give his girlfriend candy when she was carrying an extra twenty-five pounds.
    “I suppose,” Patti said. “Got to run. Jack and I are going to dinner at Le Gourmand tonight and I have an appointment with Stella for a foil job.” She touched her short hair, which was a different shade—or shades—of blond every time I saw her. Luckily, our meetings were infrequent.
    Inside the drugstore, I grabbed a forest-green basket and headed down the aisle that featured Band-Aids and a raft of other wound care products. I was trying to find the Quick Stop variety when something Patti had said came to mind. She’d mentioned seeing Delphine on Saturday. Where and when? I wondered. To my knowledge, Patti Marsh and Delphine Corson weren’t close. I had no idea what Delphine’s bracelet looked like, but I knew that Judith Ripka items weren’t cheap. Few women—at least in Alpine—would wear anything that expensive and elegant during the day. If Delphine was showingoff her new bauble, what better way to do it than in a social setting? Pricey designer jewelry seemed out of place at the Icicle Creek Tavern. But that didn’t mean Delphine hadn’t worn it anyway.
    I now had a question for Milo that had nothing to do with asking him if he’d jumped in the sack with the local florist. That was none of my business. Nor did I want to know.
    Strange how even in middle age we mortals can still fool ourselves.

SIX
    “W HY ,” I DEMANDED EVEN BEFORE I SAT DOWN IN M ILO’S visitor’s chair, “didn’t you mention that Jack Blackwell and Patti Marsh were at the Icicle Creek Tavern Saturday night?”
    Milo, looking a bit sleepy, scowled. “Because they weren’t. What’s with you?”
    I sat down. “You’re sure about that?”
    “Christ!” Milo snatched up his pack of cigarettes. “Yes, I’m sure. You saw the witness list. Hell, if I thought I could add that bastard Blackwell to it, I’d have done it. In fact, I’d put him at the top.”
    If there was no love lost between Patti and me, there was plenty of hostility between the sheriff and the owner of Black-well