panel truck lost control when the driver tried to pass a motorcyclist, crossed into the other lane and wiped out a sedan with four passengers. The truck went over the bank and into the river. Two dead, four injured.”
“Damn,” I said softly. “Anybody local involved?”
Mitch was holding his cell phone, a high-tech device that he could use as a computer, a DVD player, a camera, and possibly a uranium detector for all I knew. “Passengers in the sedan were four older people from Wenatchee apparently heading home. Driver Eugene Ferguson and passenger Helena Ferguson, husband and wife. Helena died immediately on impact, Eugene was pronounced dead before they could get him into the ambulance. The other couple, James and Erna Willis, have been taken to the hospital here. Their condition is critical. Themotorcyclist, Nathan Barfield, twenty-six, from Monroe, was treated and released.”
I held up a hand. “How did he get off so easily?”
A faint smile played on Mitch’s lips. “He wasn’t directly involved, but when he heard the crash, he turned around and went off the road. He was wearing a helmet and landed in the dirt.”
“What about the truck driver?”
Mitch grew solemn again. “This one you might know. Michael O’Toole of Alpine, twenty-four, multiple injuries, also critical condition, taken to the hospital in Monroe. He was driving an older panel truck. It was empty, so apparently he was going someplace to pick up an order.”
It took a few seconds for the name to register. “Mike O’Toole!” I finally exclaimed. “He’s one of Buzzy and Laura O’Toole’s sons. You may know Buzzy—he’s the produce manager at Jake and Betsy O’Toole’s Grocery Basket. Buzzy and Jake are brothers.”
Mitch shook his head. “Don’t think so. Brenda usually does our grocery shopping. You must know the whole family.”
“Yes.” The news was unsettling. Buzzy and Laura had gone through some rough patches before Jake finally brought his brother into the business. I didn’t remember much about their children but vaguely recalled that Mike had failed his first driver’s test. “Has the sheriff informed Mike’s parents?”
Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know. I did what I needed to do and got the hell out of there. Traffic backed up in both directions. I wasn’t sure I
could
get back to town, but I finally made it.”
“Good.” I said. “Vida’s at the hospital. She may not hear about Mike O’Toole if he was taken to Monroe.”
Mitch’s smile was more genuine this time. “Wild horses couldn’t keep her away, I suppose.”
I didn’t argue. Standing by Leo’s vacant desk, I reflected on the conflict between professional obligations and personal relationships. Jake and Betsy O’Toole were fellow parishioners and longtime acquaintances, if not close friends. I didn’t know Buzzy and Laura nearly as well. In any event, they were Mike’s parents and would probably rush to their son’s side at Valley General Hospital in Monroe. Jake and Betsy might remain in Alpine, holding down the fort at the store. I didn’t want to intrude, but it occurred to me that with the
Advocate
going online, I had to change my way of thinking about news gathering. I was about to operate in a new mode, without the luxury or the burden of waiting until deadline approached.
Mitch had poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down at his desk. “You look worried.” He paused. “Sorry, none of my business.”
I smiled faintly. “This isn’t Detroit, it’s Alpine. I may be the editor and publisher, but there’s not much difference in rank on this staff.”
Mitch nodded, tugging at one of his long earlobes, a habit I’d begun to notice when he appeared to be pondering something. “Then I’ll ask the obvious. This Mike must be in a bad way or they wouldn’t have taken him to a bigger hospital, right?”
“That’s probably true,” I agreed. “Or, because of the other two injured parties, the decision
“Damn,” I said softly. “Anybody local involved?”
Mitch was holding his cell phone, a high-tech device that he could use as a computer, a DVD player, a camera, and possibly a uranium detector for all I knew. “Passengers in the sedan were four older people from Wenatchee apparently heading home. Driver Eugene Ferguson and passenger Helena Ferguson, husband and wife. Helena died immediately on impact, Eugene was pronounced dead before they could get him into the ambulance. The other couple, James and Erna Willis, have been taken to the hospital here. Their condition is critical. Themotorcyclist, Nathan Barfield, twenty-six, from Monroe, was treated and released.”
I held up a hand. “How did he get off so easily?”
A faint smile played on Mitch’s lips. “He wasn’t directly involved, but when he heard the crash, he turned around and went off the road. He was wearing a helmet and landed in the dirt.”
“What about the truck driver?”
Mitch grew solemn again. “This one you might know. Michael O’Toole of Alpine, twenty-four, multiple injuries, also critical condition, taken to the hospital in Monroe. He was driving an older panel truck. It was empty, so apparently he was going someplace to pick up an order.”
It took a few seconds for the name to register. “Mike O’Toole!” I finally exclaimed. “He’s one of Buzzy and Laura O’Toole’s sons. You may know Buzzy—he’s the produce manager at Jake and Betsy O’Toole’s Grocery Basket. Buzzy and Jake are brothers.”
Mitch shook his head. “Don’t think so. Brenda usually does our grocery shopping. You must know the whole family.”
“Yes.” The news was unsettling. Buzzy and Laura had gone through some rough patches before Jake finally brought his brother into the business. I didn’t remember much about their children but vaguely recalled that Mike had failed his first driver’s test. “Has the sheriff informed Mike’s parents?”
Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know. I did what I needed to do and got the hell out of there. Traffic backed up in both directions. I wasn’t sure I
could
get back to town, but I finally made it.”
“Good.” I said. “Vida’s at the hospital. She may not hear about Mike O’Toole if he was taken to Monroe.”
Mitch’s smile was more genuine this time. “Wild horses couldn’t keep her away, I suppose.”
I didn’t argue. Standing by Leo’s vacant desk, I reflected on the conflict between professional obligations and personal relationships. Jake and Betsy O’Toole were fellow parishioners and longtime acquaintances, if not close friends. I didn’t know Buzzy and Laura nearly as well. In any event, they were Mike’s parents and would probably rush to their son’s side at Valley General Hospital in Monroe. Jake and Betsy might remain in Alpine, holding down the fort at the store. I didn’t want to intrude, but it occurred to me that with the
Advocate
going online, I had to change my way of thinking about news gathering. I was about to operate in a new mode, without the luxury or the burden of waiting until deadline approached.
Mitch had poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down at his desk. “You look worried.” He paused. “Sorry, none of my business.”
I smiled faintly. “This isn’t Detroit, it’s Alpine. I may be the editor and publisher, but there’s not much difference in rank on this staff.”
Mitch nodded, tugging at one of his long earlobes, a habit I’d begun to notice when he appeared to be pondering something. “Then I’ll ask the obvious. This Mike must be in a bad way or they wouldn’t have taken him to a bigger hospital, right?”
“That’s probably true,” I agreed. “Or, because of the other two injured parties, the decision
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