7 Madness in Miniature by Margaret Grace

simultaneous smile took the edge off her reaction. “You got that right,” she said, and entered the room.
    Skip addressed me in a low voice. “Beverly and Maddie are waiting for you in my cubicle.” I supposed it wouldn’t have been cool for him to refer to Bev as “Mom” within earshot of an official witness.
    “I’m on my way,” I said. I was tempted to pinch his cheek in retaliation for all the grief he’d given me lately, but lucky for him, I was in an accommodating mood. Also, he slipped into Interview Three to join Megan before I could make my move. Smart guy.
    * * *
    “We want to hear everything, Grandma,” Maddie said.
    Bev smiled. “ We certainly do,” she said, emphasizing “we” for Maddie’s benefit.
    “Did you mail your letter?” I asked.
    “Uh-huh. And Aunt Beverly showed me where they keep all the cars she helps them drag in from the street. They’re not stolen or anything, except some of them might be, but they’re all abandoned. Like, the owner walked away because the engine wouldn’t start, or something. Or sometimes, they’re just lost. Right, Aunt Bev?”
    So what if Maddie was avoiding my question. I looked at Bev who gave me a slight nod, which I took to mean that she’d seen the addressee on Maddie’s letter. I’d get the scoop later from my peer. Hooray! Good old (that is, the young bride) Bev, sensing that I’d want to know about the letter without my mentioning it.
    Bev glanced at her watch. “It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning, too early for ice cream.”
    I thought about my promise to Jeff and my disappointing visit with Bebe. “Who’s up for a video game?” I asked.
    * * *
    The light ping of Video Jeff’s door was the same alert he’d always had, left over from before his remodel using SuperKrafts money. Much of the interior was different, though dim light still prevailed. Instead of tripping over boxes and remotes in a cluttered, crowded space, I’d entered a neatly laid-out store. One wall was lined with used games for various brands of equipment; the center of the store held rows of bins with what looked like new shrink-wrapped packages. Jeff had set up monitors with headsets in one corner of the store—the modern version of the pinball machine—and that’s where the wide-eyed Maddie was headed.
    Jeff greeted Maddie first. “Hey, Ms. Porter, guess what? You are the one-hundredth person to walk in that door today,” he said.
    “One hundred? Already?” Maddie asked.
    “You bet,” Jeff answered. “And every day I give a prize to the one-hundredth person.”
    I noticed the heads of four young boys turn in our direction, but Jeff ignored them and tended to Maddie. He tore off a receipt slip, the old-fashioned kind that most Springfield Boulevard retailers still used, whether to impress the tourists or to avoid buying and having to learn new equipment, I didn’t know. He wrote on the lined paper: ONE HOUR FREE FOR ANY GAME. At the bottom next to Total, he wrote PAID IN FULL TO 100TH GUEST.
    “Wow,” Maddie said, grinning. She thanked Jeff and stood in the middle of the store spinning around to decide which direction she’d run to first. The boys, meanwhile, had returned to their own games. If they wondered about the new hundredth-visitor policy, they didn’t say.
    Bev had begged off the field trip to Video Jeff’s. “The life of a civilian volunteer is a hard one,” she’d said. “I have phone duty during the regular girl’s breaks and lunch hour. Who knows what favorite pet has been lost? Or what parking ticket was totally, totally unfair?”
    Jeff was left with me and a few intensely occupied teens and preteens. “Bebe throw you out?” Jeff asked.
    Wise little brother, I thought. “She’s trying to stay independent, counting on her innocence to bring her home.”
    “We all know how well that works,” Jeff said, leading me to wonder if he’d had his own bad experience with the police.
    “She looks good,” I lied. “They