Free Scraps of Paper by Kathryn Meyer Griffith Page B

it, but I never saw it. Oh, yes, Jenny had a white cat. Can’t remember its name.”
    “I have a white kitten now.”
    He sent her a humorous look. “So the storm kitty returned, huh? Couldn’t get rid of it?”
    “No, the funny little thing. She hides and then pounces out at me like a great tiger. She doesn’t know she’s as tiny as a gnat.” They both chuckled.
    They were at Stella’s by then and as usual the diner was packed. “Does this place ever empty out?” she wanted to know as they squeezed in and claimed a booth.
    “Sure, but I told you breakfast here on a holiday was a tradition. Everyone shows up.”
    As they ate bacon and eggs Frank introduced her to more of her neighbors. Children ran in and out, setting off firecrackers and cherry bombs in the street. Abigail had never seen a place go so crazy over a holiday. The town was decorated with flags; red, white and blue streamers and balloons were everywhere. Everyone was celebrating. Everyone seemed happy.
    Martha came in with a young woman and headed for them. The woman looked about twenty-something, wore thick glasses and carried a notepad. Abigail smelled reporter.
    “Abigail,” Martha spoke first. “This is Samantha Westerly, Senior Editor of our town newspaper, The Weekly Journal .”
    Samantha zeroed in on Abigail, “So you’re our new townie? Moved here from the big city, I hear. Martha tells me you’re an artist and doing a watercolor of her house. How about letting me do a story on you? Our readers would enjoy knowing more about their new neighbor and that you do house portraits. The personal touch, you know.”
     Abigail had had enough of newspapers, having worked at one for years, but it would be free publicity and it could get her commissions. “Let me think about it?” And Samantha nodded.
    Then Abigail had a thought. If she got Samantha interested in a story about the Summers disappearance as an unsolved old mystery piece like: What happened to the Summers? She might get some answers. Heck, it could even tie in as a personal look back at the times and people of Spookie thirty years ago. Bring the whole town into it. It was worth a pitch, but Abigail didn’t feel comfortable talking about it in the middle of a crowd. She’d visit the newspaper one day next week and talk to Samantha then. With that in mind, she was friendlier to the editor than she would normally have been, which was easy because Samantha turned out to be an interesting, amiable woman and Abigail liked her.
    The picnic was fun. Main Street was crowded with craft booths covered from the sun and decked out in American flags. She went from booth to booth chatting with the artists. There were potters, painters, watercolorists, glassblowers and a woman who made tiny button people. Food booths served fried chicken to Baklava and everyone was friendly.
    The birdhouses in a few of the booths were exquisite but inexpensive. Abigail bought one with elaborate trim and a shiny tin roof for her collection.
    Frank remained nearby most of the day, though he left for a while in the late afternoon to take care of his dogs. He wasn’t gone long.
    Frank hadn’t returned yet when Martha asked, “How’s my house portrait coming along?”
    “Nearly done. It’s ready for you to see. Come by tomorrow, if you want.”
    “I’m dying to. I have three other people, if they like what you do for me, in line to have their houses painted as well. I should demand commissions.”
    “You should.” Abigail was encouraged at the prospect of more work. Between the freelancing, owning her house, having no debt and her savings, she would make it fine for about another year. Then if her artwork hadn’t caught on she’d have to find at least a part time job somewhere. But she’d been stashing money away like crazy the two years before she moved to Spookie and if she lived simply she could make it last for a long time.
    When Frank reappeared they rode the Ferris Wheel and a roller coaster. Martha