Alpine Gamble Read Online Free Page A

Levine might not be quite as relaxed as Blake Fannucci, but his company was more relaxing. The ninety-minute concept lunch had worn me out.
    “It's quiet up here,” I remarked. “And it usually smells good. Damp earth. Evergreens. Wood smoke, from the cedar mills.”
    Stan took a deep breath, appreciating my litany. “And just plain fresh air.” Abruptly, he turned to me, exhibiting almost boyish excitement. “Do you know I saw a MacGillivray's warbler this morning?”
    I must have looked blank. “You did?”
    Again he nodded, this time with enthusiasm. “They breed in all the western mountains, from Vancouver Island to Arizona. Townsend's, the hermit, and the black-throated gray warbler all nest around here, too. 1 haven't seen them yet. I hear the cedar waxwing winters here. Now there's a handsome bird! I'd love to sight one of those.”
    I wouldn't know one warbler from another, but I recognized the cedar waxwing. In fact, a pair of them were frequent visitors to my backyard. A bit shyly, I asked Stan if he'd like to drop by on Saturday.
    “If you and Blake are still in town,” I added.
    Stan considered the invitation. “We may be. It'll depend on how things go with HoUenberg. Have you got fruit trees in your yard?”
    I didn't. My cozy log house was virtually built intothe forest. The waxwings perched among the Douglas firs and western hemlock.
    “Waxwings usually nest in orchards,” Stan said, once again very serious.
    “The neighbors have a couple of apple trees,” I said, edging toward my aging Jaguar XJE. “Stop by, if you can. I've got binoculars.”
    “So do I,” Stan replied, his smile returning. “I take them everywhere. You never know when you're going to find something startling.”
    How true. How prophetic. How sad.

Chapter Two
    I WASFORCED to hang up on Leonard Hollenberg. Not that the old windbag was telling me anything, but Ginny Burmeister had shoved a note onto my desk saying that my brother Ben was on the phone from Tuba City, Arizona. I interrupted Leonard's coy evasions about the proposed hot springs sale and pressed line two.
    “Hey, Sluggly,” said Ben in his crackling voice, “you owe me two hundred bucks.”
    “Like hell,” I retorted. “Listen, Stench, if you were dumb enough to fork over Adam's speeding fine, that's your problem. Besides, it was only one fifty. And stop calling me Sluggly. We're not ten years old anymore.”
    “Then stop calling me Stench,” Ben ordered, though I knew neither of us was inclined to surrender our childhood nicknames. Maybe, in our forties, it was a way to hold on to our youth. “Has Adam left for Tempe?”
    “About two hours ago,” Ben replied, now sounding slightly disgruntled. “I know the ticket wasn't two hundred. I took the extra fifty out of the poor box so he could buy beer.”
    I ran a hand through my shaggy brown hair. “Great. You shouldn't have given him anything. The boy—the
man
—has got to grow up.”
    “Why?” Ben shot back. “So we can feel
really
old? Hell, Emma, I was forty-six on my last birthday. Besides,I wanted to get him out of here. Things are a bit ticklish in Tuba City just now.”
    “The war?” I wasn't sure whether to take it seriously. “What's happening?”
    Ben sighed. “Some Navajo sheep got their throats cut. There was a fire at a Hopi cornfield early this morning. I'm trying to get everybody to talk it through, but let's face it, I'm an outsider. You know what that's like.”
    I certainly did. After five years in Alpine I still hadn't been completely accepted into the community. Probably I never would be, unless I died. Non-natives can only expiate the sin of being born elsewhere by getting buried in Alpine's cemetery. The locals will embrace a headstone before they take another human being to their collective bosom.
    “Are you going to be able to get away for a couple of weeks?” I asked, beginning to sense that Ben wasn't talking about a tempest in a teapot.
    “I hope so,” my brother