The Alpine Uproar by Mary Daheim

Borg?”
    Marlowe actually recoiled. He reached down and grabbed the strap of his mail pouch, as if it might be a weapon—or atalisman. “Give me some time, Vida. I already told Sam Heppner all this stuff.”
    “I hope,” Vida said through clenched teeth, “Sam stayed awake during the interview.”
    Marlowe looked baffled. “Because it was so late at night?”
    I thought Vida might explode. Instead, she took a deep breath before speaking again. “Please. Just tell us about the commotion.”
    Still clutching his mail pouch, Marlowe gulped. “Well … there was a lot going on. Mickey Borg said he didn’t feel good. Janie didn’t want to leave yet. Fred offered to take her home.” Marlowe stopped for a moment, maybe exhausted from speaking much faster than usual. “Fred and Janie were kind of chummy, if you want to know the truth. But they used to be married, so …” He shrugged. “Amanda Hanson told Janie she’d take Mickey home. Walt Hanson said their Miata only had room for two. Walt sounded ticked off. Holly Gross … gosh, she’s on the make most of the time. She’d been cozying up to Clive Berentsen, but he gave her the brush-off. Al De Muth got kind of mad at Clive then, said he shouldn’t be so rude to Holly. Amanda was giving her husband, Walt, some dirty looks while she talked to Mickey. Then Holly butted in on Al and Clive. I think she wanted Al to go home with her, but he said he had a headache.” Once again, Marlowe stopped for breath.
    Vida scowled. “
Al
had a headache?”
    Marlowe nodded. “That’s what he said. He was nice about it, though. The next thing I knew, Walt went over to Amanda and grabbed her arm and said they were leaving. Amanda told him to … leave her alone. All of a sudden Al and Clive went at it, and the next thing I knew, Clive swung a pool cue at Al, who went down and never got up.”
    “Where,” I asked, “were you during the actual fight?”
    “I’d moved away from the pool table toward the front door,” Marlowe replied. “I wanted to leave, but my jacket was by the bar. I couldn’t get past Spike Canby and Bert Anderson. Spike was coming from behind the bar to break up the fight. Bert was in his way. I thought maybe he—Bert—was protecting his wife, Norene. She was taking another pitcher of beer to the Peabody brothers.”
    “Who else was fighting besides Clive and Al?” Vida asked.
    “Mainly them,” Marlowe said, licking lips that had gone dry from his lengthy recital. “But I think Amanda threw something at Walt, and Janie Borg was screaming at Mickey, who was on the floor.”
    “Why,” Vida inquired, looking almost as dazed as I felt, “was Mickey on the floor?”
    “His stomach,” Marlowe replied. “He had bad cramps. After the police and everybody came, one of the medics, Del Amundson, told Mickey to get his stomach checked. It could be appendicitis.” Marlowe was holding the mail pouch in both hands. “Please. I’ve got to run.”
    “Run?” Vida said under her breath. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
    He left, displaying some fancy footwork I’d never seen before.
    “Honestly,” Vida gasped, “I am quite confused.”
    “That makes two of us,” I said.
    “Perhaps I should’ve taken notes,” she murmured. “Generally, I don’t need them.”
    As far as I was concerned, Vida’s flawless and prodigious memory was the Eighth Wonder of the World. “I hope Sam Heppner followed Marlowe’s rambling story better than we did.”
    “Sam’s detail-oriented,” Vida said. “He’s been a deputy for years, and Milo will want to be factual even …” She stopped, a curious expression on her face. “I hear a cat. Did one creep into the office?”
    “It’s been known to happen,” I said, and listened for a few moments. “It’s not a cat. But it’s close by.”
    Vida and I both jumped as Ginny’s head suddenly bobbed above the reception counter where we were standing. “Help me,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m in