Free The Alpine Obituary by Mary Daheim

folks never mentioned it when I was here. To be candid, they weren’t quick to pick up on medical terms, even with Pa’s cancer. They were old school, the kind of people who never question what the doctor says and don’t ask for explanations.”
    “So foolish,” Vida murmured.
    “I agree,” Max said. He had the burly build of his father, but his mother’s dark coloring. In physical terms, I could imagine the son following the father into the mill. But he hadn’t. Max looked comfortable in his dark suit, pale blue shirt, and tasteful tie. I suspected he was some kind of professional man.
    “So,” Vida said, also still standing, “do you believe your mother was out of line when she said your father had been murdered?”
    “No,” Max replied. “I assume she meant murdered by cancer. Or the medical profession that couldn’t save him.”
    “I see.” But Vida sounded dubious.
    Max caught the tone in her voice. “Do you mean you put some stock in her rantings?”
    “N-o-o,” Vida answered slowly. “But it did strike me as a strange thing to say.”
    Max’s smile was ironic. “You mean my mother wasn’t a particularly imaginative woman.”
    “Nor fanciful,” Vida allowed.
    Max set his cup and saucer down on the counter. “That’s true. But why would anyone murder Pa? It’s absurd. My parents had nothing except for this house, Pa’s pension, and a bit of savings. I live alone, I don’t need money. Except for the usual bickering with his coworkers before he retired. I can’t think of any enemies he might have had. You don’t kill over who doesn’t pony up for a round at Mugs Ahoy.”
    It would have been tactless to ask if Jack and June got along, so I kept my mouth shut. Vida, of course did not: “Your parents seemed to live separate lives.”
    Max chuckled. “Are you hinting at a love triangle, Mrs. Runkel?”
    “No,” Vida responded, “of course not. But your father spent his spare time at the tavern or watching TV. Your mother was a member of the Burl Creek Thimble Club. She crocheted and read romance novels. I don’t recall them ever taking any big trips. I interviewed them only once, six years ago when they drove to Spokane for a family wedding.”
    “They didn’t like to drive,” Max said. “Not after Lynn was killed in that accident up at the summit.”
    Lynn. I recalled the name of the late Froland daughter from the obituary. I didn’t recall the accident. It must have happened before I arrived in Alpine.
    “Yes,” Vida said, “I can see how such a tragedy might affect them. But of course that was in the winter and there was black ice on the road. Your family has had its share of sadness. Especially you, Max. It seems like only yesterday that your wife passed away.”
    Max lowered his gaze. “Jackie was only thirty-two. We’d been married less than five years. You don’t expect such a young person to die of an aneurysm.”
    “Such a loss,” Vida said with a sad shake of her head. “And then to find out that she was six weeks pregnant. How did you bear it, Max?”
    Max gave Vida a grim look. “Is there a choice other than putting a gun to your head?”
    “No.” Vida glanced in my direction. “You have to be strong. And you have been, Max. I greatly admire you for it.”
    I turned away, reaching for the sugar bowl. I didn’t feel strong. And I certainly wasn’t admirable.
    Maybe I really was a grief diva.
    Maybe it was time to change.
    Vida insisted that I attend Jack Froland’s funeral the following morning. “Don’t you want to see what happens next?” she demanded.
    I started to reply that I’d attended one too many funerals already but thought of my resolve the previous evening. “Do you really expect that something will happen?”
    “Who knows?” Vida retorted. “That’s the interesting thing about funerals.” She suddenly blanched. “Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that! Never mind, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
    I searched my