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to see
for himself. "Like Sleeping Beauty--"
"Who's
Frankie Two Shoes?" Beulah asked.
"The guy with the numbers painted on his boots,"
Glad said. "He's our only witness."
"Numbers?"
"He drinks," I said. "One is for left, two
is for right."
"I don't know him," Beulah said. "Should I?"
"His dad was an inventor," Glad said. "So
is Jim."
"I didn't know that," Beulah said seriously.
"I'm glad to hear it worked out. What are some of Jim's inventions?
You say he's working on robots?"
Glad glanced at me as I stared at the fireplace,
at the river stones and the blackened crack that angled upward toward
the mantel, at the glass eyes of the elk, ram, Rocky Mountain goat.
"Let's leave it for now," I said. "We don't
know much." I looked back at Beulah.
"I see," Beulah said. "Secret police business."
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"What
about Web Olson?" Glad said. "Ever see him?"
"I don't think anyone's ever seen him, not
for years. Sally used to mention him. Her father was Web Olson's attorney."
"Really?" I said.
Beulah frowned.
"She and Jim were pretty liberal, idealistic.
I think Olson and her father represented the vested interests, big
money and power, the cattle barons. I'm sure Sally's father wasn't
taken with Jim--"
Beulah stopped and stood up. She's leaving,
I thought.
For a moment the blue flower's scent returned,
strong and sweet, and instantly, fleeting as a thought, disappeared
in the pine-scented summer air.
"We're going to have coffee," Glad said with
alarm. "Don't you want some? There's ice cream."
"I've got some dessert in the car," Beulah
said. "And something else. I forgot--"
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