handwriting was spidery.”
“Correct. I
thought
she’d written ‘Maud couldn’t want to move out of her family home because of the fossil at Chuck.’ That made no sense, of course, but what she’d scrawled was, and I quote,” Vida continued, reading from Maud’s original submission, “‘Maud couldn’t
wait
to move out of her
familiar
home because of the
gossip
at
church
.’”
“Aha.” My interest meter registered high marks. “What was the gossip?”
Vida scowled at me. “I wish I knew. Elsie didn’t know, and Maud had company. I
will
find out, given time and opportunity.”
“Which church?” I asked.
“Trinity Episcopal,” Vida replied. “I’ll go to the source, that is, Maud. Regis and Edith Bartleby are far too holier-than-thou to reveal anything,” she added, referring to the Episcopal vicar and his wife.
Back in my cubbyhole I toyed with the idea of calling Dennis Kelly and asking him about the Della Croces. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was going beyond the call of journalism and being just plain nosy. The fact that the Della Croce family lived next door to the Nystroms wasn’t a good enough reason to pry into the private lives of my fellow parishioners. Father Den probably would cut me off as Ben had done, although my pastor would be more tactful than my brother.
Instead, I polished my editorial urging more funding for the sheriff’s department. Just before I shipped the finished piece off to Kip in the back shop, I called Milo.
“I’m beating your drum,” I told him. “By the end of this week you’re going to owe me big time, big guy. How about leaning on somebody to fix those potholes in front of my little log house?”
“What’s landed on your brain this time?” The sheriff sounded slightly less than enthusiastic.
I explained about the editorial I’d just written. “What more can I do?” I asked in a plaintive tone.
“I could tell you,” Milo responded in his slightly laconic voice, “but you’d say no.”
“You’re right.” I wasn’t in the mood to flirt, even over the phone. “Instead, I’ll say, ‘How about that autopsy report?’”
“Not in yet,” he replied. “It’s only ten to twelve.”
“Where are you having lunch?”
“You want to stalk me?”
“If need be. I have a deadline, remember?”
“Thought maybe I’d stick around in case McDonough or whoever called after twelve. Maybe I’ll send Lori over to the Burger Barn to pick up something.”
Lori Cobb was Milo’s new receptionist who had replaced the Alaska-bound Toni Andreas. Lori was also the granddaughter of one of our aged county commissioners as well as a recent graduate of Skykomish Community College. She seemed brighter than Toni, although not quite as decorative. Lori was a long, lean blond with plain features but a pleasant manner.
“Maybe I’ll wander down to join you,” I said.
“Fine. Bring your own grub.”
I told him I would and hung up immediately as the light on my phone flashed to indicate I had another call.
“Is this Bel Canto?” Rolf Fisher inquired. “I’ve got the tickets, if you’ve got the time.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ve never heard
Norma
in the flesh.”
“There’s usually plenty of that with bel canto singers,” Rolf said. “They need the padding to get through all those vocal gymnastics.”
“What night?” I asked, paging through my daily calendar.
“Saturday, the twenty-fifth,” he replied. “You’ll come Friday? We can have a leisurely dinner and then…a leisurely evening with my dog, Spree.”
“Sounds lovely,” I remarked. “Pray for rain.”
“Of course. I don’t want you getting stranded up in the mountains.” He paused. “Anything interesting in your next edition?”
I told him I wasn’t sure; we might have a big story developing. “What about you?” I asked. “Are you awaiting breaking news on the AP wire?”
“We always are,” Rolf said. “We play the waiting
“Correct. I
thought
she’d written ‘Maud couldn’t want to move out of her family home because of the fossil at Chuck.’ That made no sense, of course, but what she’d scrawled was, and I quote,” Vida continued, reading from Maud’s original submission, “‘Maud couldn’t
wait
to move out of her
familiar
home because of the
gossip
at
church
.’”
“Aha.” My interest meter registered high marks. “What was the gossip?”
Vida scowled at me. “I wish I knew. Elsie didn’t know, and Maud had company. I
will
find out, given time and opportunity.”
“Which church?” I asked.
“Trinity Episcopal,” Vida replied. “I’ll go to the source, that is, Maud. Regis and Edith Bartleby are far too holier-than-thou to reveal anything,” she added, referring to the Episcopal vicar and his wife.
Back in my cubbyhole I toyed with the idea of calling Dennis Kelly and asking him about the Della Croces. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was going beyond the call of journalism and being just plain nosy. The fact that the Della Croce family lived next door to the Nystroms wasn’t a good enough reason to pry into the private lives of my fellow parishioners. Father Den probably would cut me off as Ben had done, although my pastor would be more tactful than my brother.
Instead, I polished my editorial urging more funding for the sheriff’s department. Just before I shipped the finished piece off to Kip in the back shop, I called Milo.
“I’m beating your drum,” I told him. “By the end of this week you’re going to owe me big time, big guy. How about leaning on somebody to fix those potholes in front of my little log house?”
“What’s landed on your brain this time?” The sheriff sounded slightly less than enthusiastic.
I explained about the editorial I’d just written. “What more can I do?” I asked in a plaintive tone.
“I could tell you,” Milo responded in his slightly laconic voice, “but you’d say no.”
“You’re right.” I wasn’t in the mood to flirt, even over the phone. “Instead, I’ll say, ‘How about that autopsy report?’”
“Not in yet,” he replied. “It’s only ten to twelve.”
“Where are you having lunch?”
“You want to stalk me?”
“If need be. I have a deadline, remember?”
“Thought maybe I’d stick around in case McDonough or whoever called after twelve. Maybe I’ll send Lori over to the Burger Barn to pick up something.”
Lori Cobb was Milo’s new receptionist who had replaced the Alaska-bound Toni Andreas. Lori was also the granddaughter of one of our aged county commissioners as well as a recent graduate of Skykomish Community College. She seemed brighter than Toni, although not quite as decorative. Lori was a long, lean blond with plain features but a pleasant manner.
“Maybe I’ll wander down to join you,” I said.
“Fine. Bring your own grub.”
I told him I would and hung up immediately as the light on my phone flashed to indicate I had another call.
“Is this Bel Canto?” Rolf Fisher inquired. “I’ve got the tickets, if you’ve got the time.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ve never heard
Norma
in the flesh.”
“There’s usually plenty of that with bel canto singers,” Rolf said. “They need the padding to get through all those vocal gymnastics.”
“What night?” I asked, paging through my daily calendar.
“Saturday, the twenty-fifth,” he replied. “You’ll come Friday? We can have a leisurely dinner and then…a leisurely evening with my dog, Spree.”
“Sounds lovely,” I remarked. “Pray for rain.”
“Of course. I don’t want you getting stranded up in the mountains.” He paused. “Anything interesting in your next edition?”
I told him I wasn’t sure; we might have a big story developing. “What about you?” I asked. “Are you awaiting breaking news on the AP wire?”
“We always are,” Rolf said. “We play the waiting
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