balancing the bags of groceries and the mail in her arms.
After a few minutes the door to the small house opened. A tiny, gray-haired woman smiled up at Angel and retreated a few steps to allow her to enter. The woman’s walker squeaked slightly on the flagstone entryway.
“Come in, Angie. My, you’re looking lovely this morning. Such a pretty color you’re wearing.”
“Thank you,” said Angel, smiling.
The sea-green pullover sweater she wore matched her eyes exactly. The rest of her outfit was strictly functional—faded black jeans and sneakers, plus a rumpled black felt fishing hat that kept hair and sun out of her eyes. She’d forgotten to put on the hat, though. It hung rakishly out of her hip pocket.
“You’re looking very nice too,” Angel said. “How’s it coming with the walker?”
Mrs. Carey made a small face as she rested against the U-shaped steel support that had made walking possible since the cast had been removed from her hip. More like half of a cage than crutches, the walker offered a security that crutches did not.
Even so, it was obvious that Mrs. Carey was less than pleased at having to use a walker.
“Damned contraption hasn’t thrown me yet,” she said, both proud and defiant.
Angel concealed her smile. Mrs. Carey was one of Angel’s favorite people. The old woman’s astringent, uncomplaining approach to hardship was refreshing.
“You go on ahead,” continued Mrs. Carey. “I’ll catch up with you in the kitchen.”
“Thanks. I’m running kind of late this morning.”
Quickly Angel walked to the kitchen and began to put away the groceries she had bought for Mrs. Carey early that morning. She noticed the tea service set out with a tin of biscuits and knew that Mrs. Carey had hoped to spend some time with her over a cup of tea.
Angel glanced at the kitchen clock, hesitated, and shrugged. A few minutes more or less wouldn’t matter. If she and Hawk left by ten-thirty, they would be anchored in
Needle
Bay
well before dark.
The rubber stoppers on Mrs. Carey’s walker squeaked on the linoleum floor as she walked slowly over to Angel.
“I’ll put away the rest, dear,” said Mrs. Carey. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Angel looked at what remained to be unloaded. She could do the work faster herself, but she knew how much being dependent on anyone for help bothered the proud Mrs. Carey. Swiftly Angel set on the counter a few items that she knew went into easily reached cupboards.
“If you take care of these,” Angel said, gesturing to the pile of tins on the counter, “we’ll have it under control in no time at all.”
Angel finished with the second sack just as Mrs. Carey placed the last tin of biscuits in the cupboard.
“Teamwork,” murmured Angel, folding the empty sack triumphantly. “That’s all it takes.”
“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Carey asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to keep you if—”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Angel interrupted gently, smiling. “I was in such a rush this morning that I didn’t have tea.”
Mrs. Carey walked slowly toward the breakfast table, shaking her head vigorously.
“Nothing is more important than a cup of tea, young lady.”
Discreetly Angel looked at the kitchen clock as she sat at the table. But her impatience faded while she sat and drank tea, listening to Mrs. Carey talk about children and grandchildren, the crabapples that were almost ready to be made into jelly, and the berries that would come in later in the summer.
Gently Angel refused a second cup of tea. She stood and carried her dishes to the sink.
“I’ll call you in a few days to see what you’re out of,” Angel said, rinsing and setting aside her cup.
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t eat much.”
“If you need anything before I get back, call Mrs. Schmidt.” Angel bent over and hugged Mrs. Carey gently. “See you in a week.”
“I don’t want to bother you—” began Mrs. Carey.
“No bother,” Angel
After a few minutes the door to the small house opened. A tiny, gray-haired woman smiled up at Angel and retreated a few steps to allow her to enter. The woman’s walker squeaked slightly on the flagstone entryway.
“Come in, Angie. My, you’re looking lovely this morning. Such a pretty color you’re wearing.”
“Thank you,” said Angel, smiling.
The sea-green pullover sweater she wore matched her eyes exactly. The rest of her outfit was strictly functional—faded black jeans and sneakers, plus a rumpled black felt fishing hat that kept hair and sun out of her eyes. She’d forgotten to put on the hat, though. It hung rakishly out of her hip pocket.
“You’re looking very nice too,” Angel said. “How’s it coming with the walker?”
Mrs. Carey made a small face as she rested against the U-shaped steel support that had made walking possible since the cast had been removed from her hip. More like half of a cage than crutches, the walker offered a security that crutches did not.
Even so, it was obvious that Mrs. Carey was less than pleased at having to use a walker.
“Damned contraption hasn’t thrown me yet,” she said, both proud and defiant.
Angel concealed her smile. Mrs. Carey was one of Angel’s favorite people. The old woman’s astringent, uncomplaining approach to hardship was refreshing.
“You go on ahead,” continued Mrs. Carey. “I’ll catch up with you in the kitchen.”
“Thanks. I’m running kind of late this morning.”
Quickly Angel walked to the kitchen and began to put away the groceries she had bought for Mrs. Carey early that morning. She noticed the tea service set out with a tin of biscuits and knew that Mrs. Carey had hoped to spend some time with her over a cup of tea.
Angel glanced at the kitchen clock, hesitated, and shrugged. A few minutes more or less wouldn’t matter. If she and Hawk left by ten-thirty, they would be anchored in
Needle
Bay
well before dark.
The rubber stoppers on Mrs. Carey’s walker squeaked on the linoleum floor as she walked slowly over to Angel.
“I’ll put away the rest, dear,” said Mrs. Carey. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Angel looked at what remained to be unloaded. She could do the work faster herself, but she knew how much being dependent on anyone for help bothered the proud Mrs. Carey. Swiftly Angel set on the counter a few items that she knew went into easily reached cupboards.
“If you take care of these,” Angel said, gesturing to the pile of tins on the counter, “we’ll have it under control in no time at all.”
Angel finished with the second sack just as Mrs. Carey placed the last tin of biscuits in the cupboard.
“Teamwork,” murmured Angel, folding the empty sack triumphantly. “That’s all it takes.”
“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Mrs. Carey asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to keep you if—”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Angel interrupted gently, smiling. “I was in such a rush this morning that I didn’t have tea.”
Mrs. Carey walked slowly toward the breakfast table, shaking her head vigorously.
“Nothing is more important than a cup of tea, young lady.”
Discreetly Angel looked at the kitchen clock as she sat at the table. But her impatience faded while she sat and drank tea, listening to Mrs. Carey talk about children and grandchildren, the crabapples that were almost ready to be made into jelly, and the berries that would come in later in the summer.
Gently Angel refused a second cup of tea. She stood and carried her dishes to the sink.
“I’ll call you in a few days to see what you’re out of,” Angel said, rinsing and setting aside her cup.
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t eat much.”
“If you need anything before I get back, call Mrs. Schmidt.” Angel bent over and hugged Mrs. Carey gently. “See you in a week.”
“I don’t want to bother you—” began Mrs. Carey.
“No bother,” Angel
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