her. She had not danced professionally in
fifteen years, though she taught master classes at the prestigious Wayne Studio until she was
fifty-five.
Dennis had attended public schools in San Francisco, and Humboldt State. He had
worked for the Forest Service summers while he was still in school and permanently after that.
Single-minded, our Dennis. He had spent two years in Alaska and the rest of the time in northern
California. He had had girl friends but had never married. (Poor Ginger.) Everybody thought he
was a nice guy. Nobody thought he would amount to much.
The Huffs were slightly more colorful than Dennis. Bill's father, who inherited the paper
from his father, had built a reputation as a crusty eccentric. Bill attended Muir, majored in
journalism, and landed a job as a reporter for the Chronicle after three years with the
Navy. He covered the police beat for awhile and did sports, married Janey's mother, and sired
two daughters. When his father died of a heart attack, Bill moved the family to Monte and took
over the paper. They had seemed a model family. The divorce came as a big surprise to
everybody, including, apparently, Bill's wife. Bill and Lydia got acquainted at meetings of the
county arts council. When they met, Lydia was already widowed, no children.
Lydia had grown up in the Midwest, the daughter of a hardware store owner with a
fondness for hot cars. She went to college in Iowa and was still famous at her sorority for
daredevil pranks and speeding tickets, but her marriage to an insurance broker had seemed sedate
enough.
When he died in a plane crash, she moved west and tried her hand at several small,
craftsy businesses. That was during the seventies when craftsy businesses sprang up all over
California like magic mushrooms. Lydia had managed to avoid bankruptcy, no mean feat, but
had never made a killing. Her interest in paper-making and book-binding was the key to her
connection with Bill Huff, and from then on it was love's middle-aged dream. Both Huffs were
popular locally, and Lydia had a reputation for public service. She was on the library board.
The Huff Press had been expanded ten years before. It enjoyed a growing reputation for
excellence, both in the quality of the writers represented and in the workmanship of the books. It
was not particularly profitable, but it broke even. The paper, by contrast, produced solid profit
margins every year, probably because it was the only newspaper in the county. It carried the book
publishing end.
As far as Jay could find out, Janey Huff was squeaky clean. Her mother had taken the
daughters north to Portland after the divorce. The mother had eventually remarried and now ran
three successful newsletters out of her home. Janey's sister was a graduate student at the
University of Oregon. Janey had attended the University of Washington. Neither girl was
married. Dull stuff, I thought.
Jay was close-mouthed about Winton D'Angelo. D'Angelo had a Ph.D. from Stanford
and had begun his academic career on the tenure track at Presteign, a small, very exclusive liberal
arts college. He had married at twenty-five, the year he took the job at Presteign, and divorced at
thirty, the year he came to Monte. Two sons. Was known as a man-about-town. Skied. That was
as much as Jay was going to give me. I accused him of holding back.
He sighed. "D'Angelo's holding back. I don't know what. Why don't we watch It
Happened One Night on cable and forget about the damned case? I don't want to think about
it any more. How's Ginger?"
I told him about that, and we watched half the film and went to bed.
Chapter VII
"Poor darlings." Lydia gave the tall stalk of delphinium a delicate pat. "They don't like
the heat."
I had not wanted another garden tour, but the charcoal briquets had proved balky and the
steaks weren't yet done. We had already endured a tour of Bill's gun room--lots of hunting rifles.
A deer-head had stared down at us from above Bill's desk. I do not like guns. In
fifteen years, though she taught master classes at the prestigious Wayne Studio until she was
fifty-five.
Dennis had attended public schools in San Francisco, and Humboldt State. He had
worked for the Forest Service summers while he was still in school and permanently after that.
Single-minded, our Dennis. He had spent two years in Alaska and the rest of the time in northern
California. He had had girl friends but had never married. (Poor Ginger.) Everybody thought he
was a nice guy. Nobody thought he would amount to much.
The Huffs were slightly more colorful than Dennis. Bill's father, who inherited the paper
from his father, had built a reputation as a crusty eccentric. Bill attended Muir, majored in
journalism, and landed a job as a reporter for the Chronicle after three years with the
Navy. He covered the police beat for awhile and did sports, married Janey's mother, and sired
two daughters. When his father died of a heart attack, Bill moved the family to Monte and took
over the paper. They had seemed a model family. The divorce came as a big surprise to
everybody, including, apparently, Bill's wife. Bill and Lydia got acquainted at meetings of the
county arts council. When they met, Lydia was already widowed, no children.
Lydia had grown up in the Midwest, the daughter of a hardware store owner with a
fondness for hot cars. She went to college in Iowa and was still famous at her sorority for
daredevil pranks and speeding tickets, but her marriage to an insurance broker had seemed sedate
enough.
When he died in a plane crash, she moved west and tried her hand at several small,
craftsy businesses. That was during the seventies when craftsy businesses sprang up all over
California like magic mushrooms. Lydia had managed to avoid bankruptcy, no mean feat, but
had never made a killing. Her interest in paper-making and book-binding was the key to her
connection with Bill Huff, and from then on it was love's middle-aged dream. Both Huffs were
popular locally, and Lydia had a reputation for public service. She was on the library board.
The Huff Press had been expanded ten years before. It enjoyed a growing reputation for
excellence, both in the quality of the writers represented and in the workmanship of the books. It
was not particularly profitable, but it broke even. The paper, by contrast, produced solid profit
margins every year, probably because it was the only newspaper in the county. It carried the book
publishing end.
As far as Jay could find out, Janey Huff was squeaky clean. Her mother had taken the
daughters north to Portland after the divorce. The mother had eventually remarried and now ran
three successful newsletters out of her home. Janey's sister was a graduate student at the
University of Oregon. Janey had attended the University of Washington. Neither girl was
married. Dull stuff, I thought.
Jay was close-mouthed about Winton D'Angelo. D'Angelo had a Ph.D. from Stanford
and had begun his academic career on the tenure track at Presteign, a small, very exclusive liberal
arts college. He had married at twenty-five, the year he took the job at Presteign, and divorced at
thirty, the year he came to Monte. Two sons. Was known as a man-about-town. Skied. That was
as much as Jay was going to give me. I accused him of holding back.
He sighed. "D'Angelo's holding back. I don't know what. Why don't we watch It
Happened One Night on cable and forget about the damned case? I don't want to think about
it any more. How's Ginger?"
I told him about that, and we watched half the film and went to bed.
Chapter VII
"Poor darlings." Lydia gave the tall stalk of delphinium a delicate pat. "They don't like
the heat."
I had not wanted another garden tour, but the charcoal briquets had proved balky and the
steaks weren't yet done. We had already endured a tour of Bill's gun room--lots of hunting rifles.
A deer-head had stared down at us from above Bill's desk. I do not like guns. In
Similar Books
