Alpine Hero by Mary Daheim Page B

also retired from the air force, a widower, and courageous enough to take Vida on her own terms. They had met in a roundabout way through our personal ads, which made me feel vaguely responsible for their future. With less reason, Vida always acted as if she were responsible for mine.
    “There’s no point in talking about Tom and meanymore,” I said pointedly. “I’m starving. Let’s go eat at the Venison Inn.”
    Vida had parked next to my Jag, which was also covered with snow. There was a light on at the newspaper office. “Did you forget to flip the switch?” Vida asked.
    “No.” We got out of the car. The door was unlocked. Cautiously, we went through the front office where Ginny usually held sway, and entered the newsroom.
    Leo was at his desk, working on the computer. He looked up in surprise. “Hey—what’s up?” Leo asked around the cigarette he held between his lips.
    “Investigative reporting,” Vida replied tersely. “My, but you’re diligent.”
    Leo ignored the sarcasm in Vida’s voice. “I have to be. At the last minute Platters in the Sky decided to hold a post-Valentine’s Day sale. They took inventory over the weekend and came up with a bunch of old tapes they couldn’t unload.”
    I’d forgotten that Tuesday was St. Valentine’s Day. We’d run a special insert the previous week featuring ads with the usual hearts, cupids, and amorous lovers. Vida had written a feature on local couples who had been married for over fifty years. Carla had put together a photo story on newlyweds. I’d coaxed Father Dennis Kelly, my pastor at St. Mildred’s, to write a piece on the real St. Valentine, or both of them, since historical data indicated there were two saints with the same name.
    “We’re going to dinner,” I informed Leo. “Want to join us?”
    Leo shook his head. “Thanks, but I was in the middle of my Cordon Bleu cheese sandwich when they called from Platters. I’ll take a rain check, okay?”
    “Sure.” I started for the door. Vida was already there.
    “Hey,” Leo called. “Some guy came in about ten minutes ago with a personal ad. He seemed a little weird.You might want to check him out when he comes back tomorrow. I’m not sure Carla can tell the difference between normal and otherwise.”
    I was puzzled as to why Leo hadn’t taken the ad himself. While Ginny handled all our classifieds, Leo was, after all, our ad manager. “What’s he coming back for?” I inquired.
    “I couldn’t find the forms in Ginny’s desk. Carla’s moved everything. Ginny will be pissed.” Leo put his cigarette out and shifted his concentration to the computer screen.
    I was still curious. “Was his personals ad kinky?”
    Glancing up, Leo almost managed to conceal his impatience.
“Personal
ad, not
personals
ad.” The distinction was made between the standard classifieds and our special matchmaking section inaugurated by Ginny the previous spring.
    “What was it?” I pressed. “ ‘Thank you, St. Jude’?”
    “No.” Leo was again eyeing his computer graphics. “That was part of the weirdness. The message was, ‘One down, one to go.’ The guy seemed to think it was hilarious. He thought everything was hilarious, including the fact that I had a deadline to meet. That’s why he was so damned weird.” Leo turned to glare at Vida and me.
    Vida, however, was looking owlish. I knew what she was thinking. “Who was he?” she asked.
    “I don’t know, Duchess.” Leo was no longer hiding his exasperation. “We didn’t get to the name-and-address routine because I couldn’t find the freaking form. I’ve never seen him before in my life. Average height, average weight, brown hair, jeans, parka, boots, and six bricks shy of a load. Now go stuff yourselves and let me get this little hummer put together.”
    There was no point in being miffed. Vida and Iunderstood deadline pressures. We headed through the snow to the Venison Inn.
    “That’s very suggestive,” Vida declared after