Part 7 (1/2)

”Where did it happen?” I asked.

”Just past the ranger station,” Dustin replied. ”In fact, one of the forest service people called it in. The truck was heading west, just beyond the Skykomish deli.”

”Got it,” I said. ”Thanks.”

As soon as I reached the sidewalk, I called Mitch on my cell.

”I'm all over it,” he said. ”I was just coming back from lunch when I heard the sirens. I'm crossing the bridge right now. Later.”

I hurried back to the office. It seemed strange to find the reception desk vacant. Only Leo was in the newsroom, and he was about to leave. ”Bad accident, I hear,” he said, shrugging into his brown tweed sport coat. ”I'm off to see the Wizard of the Airwaves. a.s.suming Fleetwood hasn't raced to the wreckage to do a remote broadcast.”

”Don't forget to ask him about Jica Weaver,” I said.

”Can't forget that name,” Leo responded as he went out the door.

Before I could reach my office, Kip breezed in from the back shop. ”Ta-da!” he exclaimed in an unusual show of exuberance. ”We're online!”

”We're what?”

”You know the last couple of computer expenses I asked for?”

”Sort of.” Despite the goatee he'd grown in the past year, Kip's face was still boyishly excited. ”And?”

”The Alpine Advocate is up and running on the Internet.” He beamed at me. ”Want a look?”

”Yes, sure.” I let him lead the way into my cubbyhole. After a couple of seconds he'd brought up our brand-new website. I was flabbergasted. ”This is what you were talking about when you asked me to pay for all the high-tech stuff?”

Kip nodded enthusiastically. ”You'd never let me explain what it was for, so I went ahead and did it.” He suddenly looked uneasy. ”Are you mad at me?”

”No!” I laughed and hugged him. ”I should've let you do this a long time ago. I'm almost as bad as Vida about dragging my feet into the twenty-first century. I know that other dailies and weeklies have sites, including The Monroe Monitor and The Snohomish Tribune. We can get extra advertising, right?”

”Sure,” Kip said. ”I showed it to Leo a few minutes ago. He thinks it's great. But the best part-well, just as big a deal-is that we can print news when it happens on the site.”

”We can?” I said, reverting to my usual low-tech, no-tech self.

”That's right.” He moved the cursor to a heading that read BREAKING NEWS. ”We go to this and write up what's just happened. Granted, it probably won't beat KSKY most of the time, but you'll be able to stop beating yourself up when there's big news before pub day.”

I wanted to make sure I knew what Kip meant. ”So if this accident is really bad, we can put it on the site now?”

Kip looked blank. ”What accident?”

”A truck and another vehicle near the ranger station,” I replied. ”You didn't hear the sirens?”

Kip shook his head. ”No. It's hard to hear stuff in the back shop. That part of the building seems more insulated. Plus I was pretty focused on finis.h.i.+ng this by the time you got back from lunch.”

I understood. When Kip was doing his computer thing, he retreated into a world where other humans could not follow, especially a cyberphobe like me.

I got back to concepts I understood, namely news reporting. ”But can we put the accident on this site?”

”We could,” Kip replied. ”We can, I mean, but until everybody knows we have a website, n.o.body's going to check it out. We'll run the announcement in the next edition, then we can start with the other functions. Besides, there are a couple of bugs I want to work out between now and then.”

”Okay. That sounds fine. I a.s.sume Leo will be telling our advertisers about this in the meantime.”

Kip nodded. ”You bet. He's going to e-mail them this afternoon.”

”Good.” I felt stupid. ”What would I do without you? Why didn't you make me listen?”

”Well ...” Kip lowered his eyes. ”You've been through a lot lately.” He paused. ”Those people who wanted to buy the paper and your ... fiance's kids showing up. Leo getting shot. And that weirdo dude who took Scott Chamoud's place as a reporter. All that was really rough on you.”

”Yes,” I agreed. ”It was rough on all of us.”

”You had the worst of it, though,” Kip said in one of his rare moments of candor. ”Anyway,” he went on, apparently embarra.s.sed by being so open, ”I've been thinking about the website for the last year or two, but I'm not good with the design part. I had to talk to some of the other people who'd set up newspapers online and pick their brains. That helped, but it was Chili who actually pulled it all together. My wife's got some artistic talent. In fact, since we had our baby, she's thinking of writing and ill.u.s.trating a children's book. I think she did a pretty good job on the Advocate, don't you?”

”Oh, yes! I especially like the photo of the trees and Mount Baldy at the top above our logo. Who took that?”

”Buddy Bayard,” Kip replied. ”I paid him out of the production budget. That's okay, isn't it?”

”Definitely.” Buddy and his wife, Roseanna, owned a photography studio. Until we were able to update our equipment, we'd had Buddy do all of the Advocate's photo work. He and Roseanna hadn't been happy when we pulled our business, but in recent months we'd used some of his stock photos and also asked him to provide pictures for a couple of special sections. He'd even done some news photography during the interim after I fired our previous reporter and before I hired Mitch.

”We can use more of his scenic stuff online,” Kip suggested. ”If you look at some of the other newspaper sites, many of them are cluttered and not just with advertising.” He stopped and looked out into the newsroom. ”Hey, Mrs. Runkel, want to see our new gig?”

Our House & Home editor had just returned from lunch and was looking vexed. ”New gig?” she inquired, coming into my office. ”What on earth do you mean?”

Kip stepped aside. ”Take a look.”

Vida leaned down to study the screen. ”Well now. That's quite nice. We can change this all the time?”

”Yep,” Kip said. ”Post news, change ads, art, whatever. We've gone modern, Mrs. Runkel.” Having known Vida since childhood, somehow Kip could never call her by her first name, a habit that she never discouraged.

”My, yes.” Vida's voice was musing. ”I wonder now ... is this where I should start my advice column?”

”You're going to do an advice column?” Kip asked in surprise.

Vida glanced at me. ”We've discussed it, haven't we, Emma? Is the timing right?”

I had to think about it. ”Maybe,” I hedged. ”If you do, it might be better to run it in the paper.”

”If I have room,” Vida countered. ”That's often a problem. I wouldn't want to shortchange my responses to ...” She stopped and her ears seemed to p.r.i.c.k up like a cat's. ”The sirens again. Dear me, that sounds like something very bad.” Turning swiftly, she headed into the newsroom and out to the front office.

I thanked Kip again and followed Vida, who was standing in the open doorway looking out onto Front Street. ”A big wreck,” I explained, giving her a quick rundown of what I knew.

”I heard the sirens as I was finis.h.i.+ng lunch with Maud Dodd,” Vida said. ”That was the ambulance, wasn't it? It didn't turn at the main intersection so it must be headed for the hospital on Pine Street.”

We waited a few seconds. The siren stopped, indicating that Vida was probably right. I was about to speak when I heard a second siren. ”The medic van,” I murmured. ”More than one injury, and maybe a fatality.”

Vida shook her head in dismay. ”That short stretch between Index and Alpine has so many narrow shoulders and sharp curves. Something must be done by the state highway department.”