Alpine Gamble Read Online Free

reminder.”
    My pen was poised over the notepad. “Bill? Bill Gates of Microsoft?”
    Blake nodded. “Right. It's always smart to touch base with the local movers and shakers. Who knows? Bill might want to get involved. We'd consider it—wouldn't we, Stan?”
    Stan's high forehead creased. “Probably. But these self-made software billionaires can be a pain. I've always felt it's better to keep the decision making in our hands.”
    The mention of
hands
recalled Blake's accident. “What happened?” I pointed to Blake's right arm. “Did you break something?”
    “Chipped, actually,” he answered as a glum Melissa brought our salads. “Right at the base of the thumb where the ligament's attached. I just got out of the cast last week. There's some permanent damage to the ligament, which causes lax or gamekeeper's thumb. It's named after a condition gamekeepers in England used to get from strangling rabbits.” Blake grinned at me. “You know—D. H. Lawrence Does Hollywood.”
    I tried to appear amused and sympathetic at the same time. The attempt felt as awkward as it must have looked. “Will it go away?”
    Blake shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Oh, it's annoying. I can't write. That's the obvious loss. But you'd be amazed at how many things you do with your thumb that you take for granted.”
    Steering the conversation back to the proposed project, we spent the next hour talking about the development's possible directions. While many of the Pacific Northwest's mineral springs had been left in their natural state, others already had been converted into modest spas, retreat centers, or destination-style resorts.
    'This is where Scott Melville comes in,” Blake declared, critically eyeing his veal cutlet. “There's not much level ground. Form will determine function, in this case. We're open.”
    It had occurred to me that I should talk to Scott Melville before I wrote the story. My watch indicated it was after one o'clock. A call to Leonard Hollenberg was also in order. I was beginning to feel the pressure of deadline.
    Consequently, when Melissa asked us if we wanted dessert—though her hostile tone dared us to do so—I declined, saying I had to get back to work. I thanked Blake and Stan for their generous hospitality and prepared to leave.
    “Let me walk you to your car,” Stan offered as Blake scanned the bill that Melissa had slapped down in front of him. “We appreciate the coverage you're giving us.”
    “It's news,” I said, nodding to Henry Bardeen, who was standing behind the front desk, looking grim. “If you go ahead with this, it'll be the biggest thing to hit Skykomish County since the railroad.”
    As usual, Stan was wearing a serious expression. “It's reassuring to have you on our side. I sense that not everybody around here welcomes Californians. But we're not all greedy opportunists.”
    We had stepped outside, into the parking lot. On the last day of May, there were only about two dozen occupied spaces. The ski season was over, and the summer tourists hadn't yet started to arrive.
    “Alpine's been going through a recession,” I admitted. “The timber industry, you know. The downturn in jobs started in the late Seventies, with the technological revolution. Then came the spotted owl ruling in Ninety-one. Sometimes it feels as if the town's at war with the environmentalists.”
    Stan's dark eyes studied the patches of snow on Mount Baldy. “Oh, yes. I know all about those environmentalists. But they have a point. Personally, we'll do everything we can to avoid causing problems. It's essential.If we harm the environment, we could ruin the hot springs. We'd certainly harm the natural setting.”
    Somewhat to my surprise, Stan seemed awestruck by his surroundings. When he finally stopped staring at the second-growth timber that marched up the mountainsides, he broke into a smile and pointed.
    “See the chipmunk? The only wildlife we have in L.A. carries handguns.”
    I smiled back. Stan