Free The Alpine Legacy by Mary Daheim

west of town in what is known as Ptarmigan Tract. The development, which was built in the Sixties, is made up of modest two- and three-bedroom homes that have generally been well kept.
    Mel and April's split level was in a cul-de-sac which already was crowded with cars, SUVs, and pickup trucks. Vida and I both parked around the corner and made our way along the unshoveled sidewalk.
    The door was answered by Mel, a burly, crew-cut man of fifty. I had indeed seen him many times, usually driving a Blue Sky Dairy truck. He greeted us with surprise, even confusion.
    “Is this going to be in the paper?” he asked, ushering us down three steps into the living room, where his wife was on the phone.
    “We'll have to run an obituary,” Vida said at her most solemn. “It would be wonderful to have a photo.”
    April Eriks had hung up the phone. She jumped to her feet and hurried to greet Vida, who wrapped her in a warm embrace. “April, dear,” Vida murmured. “I'm so very sorry. I was so close to your late parents. Lester and Erla were like an uncle and aunt to me.”
    I'd never heard Vida mention Lester and Erla Bird, but I suppose it could have been true. The soft soap that Vida applied seemed to make people come clean. April clung to her like moss, and I exchanged awkward glances with Mel, who was picking his teeth with a pipe cleaner.
    At last, Vida released April, who began to dab at her eyes with a crumpled Kleenex. “I'm so glad you came by. You, too, Ms. Lord,” she added as an afterthought. “We only found out about poor Crystal an hour ago, whenSheriff Dodge came to see us. I've just been on the phone, trying to reach our kids and some of the other relatives. Whatever shall we do, Mrs. Runkel?”
    “Do?” Vida's eyes grew owlish behind the big glasses. “Precisely what do you mean, April?”
    April, who was a small, slim, prematurely gray woman with big brown eyes, indicated that we must sit. “About the services. Crystal wasn't a believer. Or so she pretended. I was just talking to Pastor Poole at the Baptist church where we go—well, we go most of the time—and he said we should give Crystal the benefit of the doubt because that's what God would do. What do you think, Mrs. Runkel?”
    “I think that's very sound advice,” Vida said, easing herself into an orange-and brown-striped armchair. “We never really know what people believe or don't believe, do we?”
    “Crystal had so many opinions,” April said, wringing her thin hands. “Still, sometimes I felt she took the opposite view just to upset me. Isn't that right, Mel?”
    Mel, who was still stabbing at his gums with the pipe cleaner, grunted. Then he glanced at Vida and me. “You writing all this down?”
    “Goodness no,” Vida said in a tone that suggested such a notion was impossible. “We're here only to offer a small piece of comfort.”
    Mel grunted again, then turned his back and stared out the window. April watched him for a moment then clapped her hands to her head. “I'm such a goose! I should have offered you something. Coffee? Tea? Hot cider?”
    “No, no,” Vida asserted. “We just ate lunch. Tell me, April dear, when was the last time you saw your sister?”
    April pressed her fingers against her lips, apparentlytrying to remember. “Mel, when did we see Crystal? Was it just after Halloween?”
    Mel didn't turn around. “Could be.”
    “I think it was the first week of November,” April said. “She stopped by to see if we had any chains that would fit her car. That was when we had our first big snowfall.”
    “Yes,” Vida agreed. “November fourth. Six inches. How did Crystal seem?”
    Again, April had to think about the question. “She was in a hurry. She was afraid she might not be able to get back to her cabin unless she had the chains.”
    “Cal,” Mel grunted.
    “I know, Mel,” April said. “But she didn't want to spend the money buying chains from Cal Vickers if we had a spare set. As it turned out, we