The Alpine Quilt Read Free Page B

story in Wednesday’s edition.”
    “We didn’t know we were having it until today,” Ethel asserted. “How could I tell you something I didn’t know about?”
    It was not an unreasonable argument. “Spur of the moment, huh?”
    Ethel nodded emphatically. “None of us in the club knew Gen would be in town until yesterday.”
    “Gen?”
    “Genevieve Bayard, Buddy’s mama.” Ethel regarded me as if I should be wearing a dunce cap.
    “Oh, yes, I heard Buddy and Roseanna went into Seattle to meet her,” I said in an effort to save face. “They’re spending the weekend there, I understand.”
    “Hunh. I can’t think why,” Ethel grumbled. “All that traffic, all those people. I told Pike we should worry more about getting to the airport than having the plane crash. He don’t like to fly, you know, which is why we haven’t been to Orlando yet. I warned him if he went over thirty-five on that freeway, I’d divorce him.”
    I felt a pang for Pike, whose first name was Bickford. I also felt a pang for all the drivers who would be driven to despair—and possibly road rage—by the slow-moving Pike vehicle.
    “As for Gen,” Ethel went on, “why did she have to fly from Spokane? She could have driven here in the time it’d take to get through the airport with all that security they have nowadays. It isn’t like there’s snow to close the pass.”
    I didn’t argue, nor did I point out that Genevieve Bayard apparently wanted to see something of Seattle since she’d once lived there.
    “Anyways,” Ethel continued, barely stopping for breath, “Gen used to be a member of the BCTC”—she pronounced the initials as
Betsy
—“way back when. A fine quilter, that was her specialty. She’s getting to Alpine in the afternoon, so we decided to have a party for her. We didn’t want to wait until she got settled, because I’m leaving Tuesday so it’s kind of a send-off party for me. Not to mention the BCTC is giving me a special going-away present for winning the blue ribbon in quilting at the Skykomish County Fair this fall.”
    Another action-packed article for the paper,
I thought. “There should be a follow-up on it,” I pointed out, “since we can make our deadline if we get the story by Tuesday afternoon.”
    Ethel shrugged. “Somebody else will have to do that. Maybe Charlene Vickers. She has a way with words.”
    Charlene was married to Cal, owner of the Texaco gas station. As a member of several clubs and organizations, she was often tapped to write news releases. I nodded at Ethel. “Charlene can handle it,” I said, “but please remind her about the Tuesday deadline.”
    Ethel frowned. “I’ll try. I’ve got plenty on my mind as it is, what with the party and getting ready to go out of town.”
    I was more than ready to have Ethel go out of the office, which she did, just as Scott came in.
    “Crime wave hits Alpine,” he announced jauntily. “Lock up your valuables. And your daughters, just in case.”
    “I have neither valuables nor daughters,” I noted. “I’m safe. What now?”
    Scott handed me a copy of the police log. “A break-in last night at Cliff and Nancy Stuart’s house in The Pines,” he said, referring to the owner of Stuart’s Stereo and his wife, who happened to be Doc Dewey’s sister. “Last weekend, the Vickerses got burglarized in Ptarmigan Tract, remember?”
    “Sure,” I replied, studying the log, which included a few additions to the previous day’s reports of Halloween vandalism. “We ran the burglary article on the front page. Do you think I’m getting senile?”
    Scott gave me his killer grin. “I was thinking that if we had one more before Tuesday’s deadline, we wouldn’t have to worry about a lead story.”
    “Ah.” I smiled back at Scott. “Good thinking. Three break-ins this time of year would be real news.”
    “You mean as opposed to during the summer when the kids are out of school and at loose ends?”
    “Exactly.” I looked again