Part 17 (1/2)
Curtis didn't look pleased, but he refrained from arguing. ”You want to use my lead for the homicide story?”
”I haven't seen it,” I said. ”Let me have a peek.”
”Sure.” He got up from the chair. ”I'll zap it in to you.”
I watched him leave the cubbyhole. From where I was sitting, I could see only the front of his desk. After he disappeared out of sight, I waited. And waited. Finally he came back into my office.
”Sorry,” he said ruefully. ”I must've deleted it by mistake. Oh, well. Too bad. It was a real grabber.”
I didn't ask if he could remember what he'd written. Or if he'd written anything. ”That's okay. I'll wing it.”
As soon as Curtis left, I dialed Snorty Wenzel's number. He answered-and snorted-on the first ring. ”The local media,” he said, chuckling and snorting. ”First KSKY, now the newspaper. Not to mention the local law enforcement last night. I feel like a celebrity.”
”You've done a radio interview?” I asked as Spencer Fleetwood's hawklike face sprang before my eyes.
”Just coming from the station,” Snorty replied. ”Fleetwood's playing it on the half-hour turn at nine-thirty. You ought to tune in.”
”Right,” I said without enthusiasm. ”Could you stop by the newspaper office? I'd like to do a face-to-face interview.”
”Sure. I can be there in five minutes. Hold the presses.”
I tried to ignore the several snorts he'd made during his part of the conversation. It might be even worse up close and personal. But I thanked him and rang off.
I went into the newsroom. Leo had left, Curtis was on the phone, and Vida was tapping away at her keyboard. ”Snorty Wenzel's on his way,” I announced, glancing up at the clock. It was nine-fifteen. ”He'll be here in time for his taped session with Fleetwood at nine-thirty.”
Vida looked up. ”Oh, dear. I suppose that was to be expected. Spencer would naturally want to follow up on the murder. Which reminds me, I need a guest tonight for *Cupboard.' Maud Dodd has come down with a virus. A shame, since I could've helped promote her senior citizen column for the paper.”
”Vida's Cupboard” was a weekly fifteen-minute radio program of local lore and gossip. The ratings were excellent, and Vida never used items that should have run in the Advocate. In April, the time slot had been changed from Wednesdays to Tuesdays in order to beat the multiple grocery chains' mailings and thus bring in more ad revenue for KSKY.
”Have you got a backup for Maud?” I asked.
”Not yet,” Vida replied.
”What about Mrs. Hines?” I suggested. ”I'm doing a brief front-page article about the possibility of converting Pines Villa into condos.”
Vida scowled. ”Must you? It seems so out of place.”
”That doesn't mean it won't happen,” I pointed out.
”She might not want to drive back to Alpine this evening.”
”You could do it over the phone,” I said. ”Spence can hook you up.”
Vida shook her head. ”No, no. I dislike that sort of thing. So impersonal. Maybe I'll try Reverend Nielsen. He and his wife are going to Scandinavia this summer. Again.”
Ginny trudged in carrying the mail. ”Catalogs!” She shook her head. ”Why do we get so many catalogs? Most of them have nothing to do with newspapers, and they're so heavy.”
”Get on one list, get on all lists,” I said. ”I'm told you can request that individual companies stop mailing them to us.”
”I tried it,” Ginny said, putting a six-inch stack in Vida's in-basket. ”Three times. The catalogs keep coming. Marlowe Whipp gets really annoyed when he has to deliver all of them. His back's going out.”
”Oh, piffle!” Vida cried. ”Marlowe is a chronic complainer. The last I heard was that he wanted the post office to get him one of those contraptions that big city employees use on hills, like meter readers in Seattle do. An elaborate and expensive sort of motorized tricycle. So silly. The hills here in Alpine are good exercise.”
A short, stocky, balding man stopped in the doorway and rapped on the frame. ”Anybody home?” he inquired-and snorted.
I hurried to greet him. ”Mr. Wenzel,” I said. ”Come in.”
Snorty's handshake was on the weak side; his skin felt very soft. He turned toward Vida. ”You must be the famous Ms. Runkel. Your popular radio show airs tonight, I hear. Spence absolutely raved about you.”
Vida's guarded expression didn't change. ”He did, did he? He ought to. I bring in a goodly sum of advertising for him. And please call me Mrs. Runkel.”
Snorty made a little bow. ”I am delighted to do you that honor...Mrs. Runkel. You are, I understand, one of the brightest stars in Alpine's firmament.”
”Really.” Vida looked less than pleased.
Snorty-who, naturally, had snorted his way through all this fulsome verbiage-turned to look at Curtis, who had hung up the phone and was obviously trying to keep a straight face. ”And this das.h.i.+ng young man?” Snorty inquired of me.
”Curtis Mayne, our new reporter,” I said, noting that Ginny was furtively leaving the newsroom after finis.h.i.+ng her mail delivery.
Snorty saluted. ”Truly pleased to make your acquaintance. Ah, youth! I remember it well. So encouraging to see that newspapers still attract the younger set. I'm sure you're on your way to making a name for yourself in the business.” He paused and glanced up at the clock. ”Nine-twenty-five, I see. Where shall we listen to the broadcast?”
”Right here,” I said. ”Have a seat.” I indicated Leo's empty chair. ”I'll get my radio. There's coffee and baked goods on the table under the clock.”
Snorty snorted with pleasure and made a beeline for the freebies. By the time I returned with the radio and plugged it into the outlet by Vida's desk, he was in Leo's chair with two doughnuts, a cup of coffee, and several napkins.
After turning the radio on, I sat on the edge of Vida's desk. Curtis was sitting with his head propped up by his fists; Vida's posture was ramrod straight as she stared straight ahead; Snorty was smacking his lips over a jelly doughnut. KSKY's ”Morning Medley” was playing Connie Francis's ”Stupid Cupid” from the fifties. It was one of those oldies that convinced me popular music had gotten better, not worse, over the years. Snorty, however, was rocking in Leo's chair and wagging his head.
A canned commercial for Safeway followed. Then Spence's mellifluous radio voice floated over the airwaves. ”This is your *Mid Morning' host, Spencer Fleetwood. We promised our listeners in beautiful Skykomish County an interview with a local Realtor, Snorty Wenzel, who had business dealings with the unidentified man shot to death last Friday in Alpine. However, due to technical difficulties, we're unable to air that segment at this time.” Brief pause. ”Now let's take another stroll down Memory Lane with Dean Martin's *That's Amore'...”
I clicked off the radio. ”That's too bad,” I said. ”Maybe Spence will run it later.”
Snorty looked crushed. Curtis was still trying not to laugh. Vida scowled at the radio.
”Spencer better not have technical difficulties when I do my show this evening,” she declared. ”Two weeks ago my chair broke. Fortunately, it was during a commercial.” She turned her gaze on Snorty. ”You might as well recount what you said in the interview.”
I kept my eyes averted. Leave it to Vida, I thought, to make sure she got in on my interview. Not that I minded-she'd be a help, not a hindrance.
”Well...” Snorty used a napkin to brush a bit of doughnut off his lower lip. ”It's kind of complicated. Want me to begin at the beginning?”
Vida nodded. ”If that's necessary, please do.”
”It is.” He scratched his thick neck. ”I met Ed Bronsky at the country club a while back. He was thinking about selling that amazing house of his. I told him I was in the real estate business and would be glad to handle it for him. A couple of weeks later, he agreed and we made a deal for an exclusive listing.” He tugged at the collar of his green, blue, and white-striped too-snug Polo s.h.i.+rt. ”Now let's face it-there aren't many people in SkyCo who'd be able to afford or maintain a fine property like Ed's, so I listed it on the Internet.”
He paused and grimaced at me. ”Sorry about that, but your paper's circulation doesn't attract a large readers.h.i.+p of wealthy buyers. Location, location...it cuts both ways in real estate.”
I nodded. ”Go on.”