Alpine Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

lunch and dinner and for drinks. Sometimes I invited Milo to my place for a meal, alone, or with others. He and his three grown children had spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with me, along with my son, Adam, and my brother, Ben, and a few other guests. Upon reflection, I realized that instead of the once-a-monthdinner
à deux
, Milo and I had been eating together a couple of times a week. The frequency hadn’t occurred to me until now. But if anyone had noticed, it would be Vida.
    That didn’t mean that Milo and I were in love. What we were trying to figure out was if we were out of love—with other people. Neither the sheriff nor I was prone to impulsiveness. I had always considered Milo a plodding sort. I was more generous in describing myself, calling it caution.
    Thus, Vida’s comments nettled. I trusted her to handle the murder story, though the assignment really wasn’t fair to Carla.
    And Carla was quick to tell me so. Five minutes after I went into my office, she came in and asked if she could close the door. That request from a staff member usually meant trouble.
    “Look, Carla,” I said after she had stated her case, “you’re doing double duty as it is with Ginny gone on her honeymoon.” Our office manager, Ginny Burmeister, had become Mrs. Rick Erlandson the previous Saturday night. The newlyweds had flown to Hawaii for a week. Carla had been saddled with covering the front office for her close friend and coworker.
    “This is Monday,” Carla said, raking a hand through her hair. “Ginny will be back a week from tomorrow because you gave her Presidents’ Day which the rest of us don’t get but I don’t mind because you pay us overtime.”
    “Which,” I interjected, “means you’re getting overtime on the holiday for both your job and Ginny’s.”
    Carla nodded. “Right, that’s great. But once we get this week’s edition out, all I really have to do is answer the phones and take a few classified and personals ads. Ginny can do the rest when she gets back.”
    There was some truth in Carla’s words. But I wasn’t going to let her cover the murder story. I was sufficiently piqued at not doing it myself. As far as I was concerned, Vida and I still hadn’t played our final inning in that journalistic game.
    “What about that tip we got from Cal Vickers about the big new house that’s being built along the Skykomish River on the other side of Index?” Cal, the owner of the local Texaco station, had called me Monday morning about what looked like the foundation of an elaborate residence. He had come across it while on a fruitless steelheading expedition.
    “I’ll call the county this week to see who’s applied for a permit,” Carla replied, pouting. “That’s no big whoop. It’s probably some commuter place or a summer cabin. I want something with meat in it for a change.”
    Carla had forced my hand. “The fact is,” I said, “I do need you for something else. I’ve decided to go ahead and reopen the back shop.” It was only a small lie, since the plan had been festering in my brain for almost a year. “We won’t print the paper here, at least not at first. But we can do desktop printing. Look what Ginny had to pay for her wedding invitations. I’m sure we could offer better prices. I’d like you and Ginny to be in charge. You can start by checking out what kind of equipment we’ll need.”
    Carla brightened. “Computers? Desktop? Wow! I’d like that! Ginny will, too, I bet.”
    In all honesty, the idea was long overdue. The back shop had lain idle ever since I’d taken over
The Advocate
six years earlier. The space was used only for storage, and wasn’t earning us a dime.
    My inspiration not only buoyed Carla’s spirits, but galvanized me as well. I’d procrastinated too long. AsCarla left my office, I silently thanked her for goading me into action.
    I goaded myself into work. My editorial on a new bridge over the Skykomish River was ready to roll, as was most of the