The Alpine Nemesis Read Free

services to see if there were any items with a local tie-in. A fatality accident had occurred this morning outside of Monroe on the dangerous stretch of road known as the Highway to Heaven. Too far from Alpine, and the victim was from Yakima. There was talk of resuming logging operations in central Oregon. Right industry, wrong state. A break-in had occurred at the naval station in Everett. No one from town currently worked there; the commute was too difficult in the winter. I was reminded of my former reporter, Carla Steinmetz Talliaferro, who had once solved the problem of a slow Tuesday by filling up three inches on the front page with a piece that began, “There was no news to report this week from the Snoqualmie National Forest ranger station….” And then proceeded to try to explain why.
    Half an hour later, Mayor Fuzzy Baugh showed up, looking pleased with himself.
    “Emma, how about a big front-page story?” he asked with the faint Louisiana drawl that still lingered in his voice.
    My heart leaped. “Really? What's going on?”
    Fuzzy, who has been Alpine's mayor since before I moved to town, eased himself into one of the visitor's chairs. “Tell me, darlin', what's the thing you'd most like to see as a civic improvement in this fine city?”
    “Well …” I considered the dozens of editorials I'd written over the years, calling for more street repairs, sewer improvements, funding for the library, a bigger budget for the sheriff, trying to get the three old farts who made up the county commissioners to stay awake at the monthly meetings and actually accomplish something. “Schools,” I finally said. “I think it's time we tried topass another levy. The K-12 teachers haven't had a real raise in four years.”
    Fuzzy nodded slowly. “My, yes, that's an outstanding plan. But I'm thinking of an even more pressing need. Now, Emma, you've heard the complaints about Alpine's great lack.”
    “Lack of what?” I had no idea what Fuzzy was talking about.
    Fuzzy put both freckled hands on my desk and leaned forward in the chair. “A public toilet, that's what.”
    “A … public toilet?” I repeated stupidly.
    Fuzzy nodded some more. “I can see your headline now: ‘Mayor Brings Relief to Alpine Voters.’ I mean Alpine
residents,”
he hastily corrected himself.
    To be fair, there had been criticism over the years because the town didn't provide public toilets, not even in Old Mill Park. Originally there had been two privies in the park, but they'd had to be moved every autumn and new holes had needed to be dug. Some four or five years earlier, there had been an early frost, right after Labor Day. Since Alpine is three thousand feet above sea level, the ground had remained solid until April. The city council got into a squabble over the placement of the new privies, and didn't resolve the matter until late September, when it was again too late to dig. Somehow, the whole issue got tabled, leaving the public stranded.
    Milo and his deputies were forced to cite individuals who relieved themselves in public. And, because of my policy of printing the names and charges of everyone on the police blotter, I became the butt, so to speak, of the irate citizens who had not enjoyed seeing themselves charged with PIP, or Peeing/Pooping in Public.
    “You see, Emma,” Fuzzy went on, “Granite Falls is putting in a public toilet. If they can do it, so can we.”
    Granite Falls was another former logging town, north of us on the Mountain Loop Highway. Whatever wasgood for Granite Falls apparently was good for Alpine. Fuzzy wasn't going to be outdone.
    “When?” I inquired. “It's already June.”
    “Before the summer solstice parade, June twenty-first,” the mayor replied, looking pleased with himself. “There's enough money in the parks department budget to put in two toilets. Nothing fancy, of course, just the basics.”
    “That's great, Fuzzy,” I said, trying to show enthusiasm. “Can you give me the