Free Alpine Zen : An Emma Lord Mystery (9780804177481) by Mary Daheim Page A

watch. It was seven-ten, plenty of time to drive to the bridgeclub get-together.
    I heard Vida utter an exasperated sigh. “She insists she saw a pervert lurking by some of the other cars. Naturally, she refused to give details. Too shocking, she told me.”
    “It wasn’t Crazy Eights Neffel?” I asked, only half-teasing.
    “Ella’s used to Crazy Eights, even when he’s naked. I can hardly blame him in this weather. It was probably someone visiting another Parc Pines resident. Cupcake needs bathing. He’s starting to molt.”
    I left Vida to tend to her canary’s toilette. After applying lipstick and brushing my shrublike hair, I set out for the Driggerses’ home in The Pines, Alpine’s version of an upscale development.Janet and Al had downsized to a smaller, if newer, house after their grown children moved away.
    It felt cooler when I got out of the car. The Pines had been known as Stump Hill thirty years ago before the property was converted into a residential area. Over time, homeowners had planted various types of flora, including a woebegone palm tree. Vida had told me that a couple from Santa Barbara tried to California-ize their property. They’d spent just two years in Alpine, apparently realizing they hated snow. I marveled at the palm’s will to survive, but it certainly didn’t thrive.
    Janet welcomed me at the door. “You’re early!” she cried. “We thought you’d still be entwined with your big stud. Come in, we’re almost all here.” She lowered her voice. “As usual, some of them aren’t all there.”
    I smiled at the five familiar faces in the tastefully decorated living room: Darlene Adcock, Charlene Vickers, Dixie Ridley, Linda Grant, and, of course, Edna Mae. They all smiled back, some more genuinely than others. Linda was the high school girls’ gym teacher and Dixie was married to the boys’ coach, Rip. Neither had ever been part of my rooting section. Linda was rumored to have had an affair with Milo after his divorce. I’d tried subtly to ask him if that was true, but he’d evaded the question. Or maybe he forgot. It happened before my arrival in Alpine.
    “Who’s missing?” I asked.
    “Lila Blatt,” Janet replied. “She usually plays with a spin-off group from the Burl Creek Thimble Club. Take a seat. It’s never too early to start drinking.” She picked up a large bottle of pink wine—maybe a rosé—and began filling glasses set on the two card tables. “Okay, ladies, let’s do the next best thing to screwing. Besides using your vibrators, of course.”
    No one looked shocked. We were all used to Janet’s ribaldmouth. I figured it was her way of dealing with death at the funeral home. She also took the edge off of that grim business by working part-time at Sky Travel. As Janet put it, she was sending the locals somewhere at both places, but a few of them never came back.
    The doorbell chimed as Janet finished filling the last glass. I was standing not far from the door, so I volunteered to let in the newcomer.
    “Mrs. Dodge?” Lila Blatt said with a slight squint.
    I smiled. “Yes, come in. I’m still Ms. Lord at work. Call me Emma.”
    She smiled back in a fixed sort of way, as if she were out of practice. I recognized Lila from sightings around town. She was the youngest of Vida’s Blatt in-laws, probably in her early sixties. An average-sized woman, she had short, steel-gray hair, piercing blue eyes, and chiseled features. If memory served—and it often didn’t with all the branches on Vida’s family tree—she’d married Rupert, the youngest of the Blatt brothers, who’d suffered a fatal aneurysm not long after he hit fifty.
    Apparently, Lila knew the others, especially Charlene and Darlene, her fellow Burl Creek Thimble Club members. We immediately addressed the evening’s agenda by drawing cards for partners. I ended up with Dixie; Edna Mae and Lila were our opponents. The coach’s wife had drawn the highest card among our foursome, so she was