Chapter SevenThe next morning, Myrtle picked up the phone and called Sloan Jones, her editor at the Bradley Bugle. It was time to find out more about this reporter he’d been talking about at the drop-in.
“Bugle,” drawled Sloan, sounding as if he might be munching on his lunch.
She said, “Sloan, it’s Myrtle.”
Sloan’s voice became more alert, as it always did whenever Myrtle addressed him. Myrtle had been his English teacher many years ago and he’d never managed to put the experience behind him. He’d had a terrible time remembering to turn in his homework that year, and never could recite that soliloquy from Hamlet to her satisfaction. He’d passed the class by the skin of his teeth and she’d been relieved to be done with him. She’d been pretty appalled when he’d ended up as editor and pub
