any possible explanation. Sorry.”
“Sure.” Judith opened the dishwasher. “One other thing,” she continued, still trying to sound pleasant. “Would you mind not letting Mayo sleep in the bathtub?”
Alicia, who had been gazing at the schoolhouse clock, whirled around. “Have you been snooping in our room?”
“I haven’t been in your room,” Judith replied quietly. “I had to use the adjoining bathroom. That’s how I happened to see your dog. Of course, the room actually belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
A look of dismay came over Alicia’s face. “Well . . . now that you mention it . . . but still . . .”
A banging at the back door stopped the argument. Startled, Judith muttered, “Now what?” before hurrying to see who wanted in. Only family members and the Rankerses came in that way.
“Where’s my pie?” Gertrude demanded, rolling along the hall in her motorized wheelchair. “I’ve been waiting since Hector was a pup.” She stopped halfway through the kitchen. “Who are you?” the old lady rasped. “The hired help?” She turned to Judith. “Since when could you afford to pay a couple of stiffs like these two? Or did you finally fire that Bible-beating nut job with the funny hair?”
“We are not the hired help,” Alicia asserted haughtily.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Gertrude grumbled. “Where’s my pie? This pair better not have eaten it.” She glared first at Alicia and then at Reggie, who was again stroking his sparse mustache. “Say, buster, what’s with that fuzzy stuff on your upper lip? You trying to rub it into sprouting some real whiskers or make it disappear? Either way, it’d be an improvement.”
“Mother!” Judith cried. “Please! This is Mr. and Mrs. Beard-Smythe from church.”
Gertrude shot her daughter a puzzled glance. “Beard? Bad name for Buster. He must be Mr. Smythe .” She stared up at Alicia. “You could use some tweezing on that chin of yours, Mrs . Beard . Or maybe you got piecrust crumbs stuck to it.”
“I think,” Alicia said stiltedly, “Reggie and I should retire now.”
“Retire?” Gertrude shot back. “From what? If Dummy here is paying you, it doesn’t look as if you’ve finished cleaning up. Get cracking.” She stared at Judith. “Okay, Toots, let’s see that marionberry pie. As Grandpa Grover used to say, my mouth’s been set for it since six o’clock.” The old lady maneuvered the wheelchair up to the kitchen table. “Well? What’s with the two blockheads standing around? Fish or cut bait, chumps. You got to earn your keep around here.”
Alicia grabbed her husband’s sleeve. “We’re going upstairs. I refuse to be insulted by such a . . . a person . Really, Judith, don’t you have any control over this . . . relic ?”
“Not really,” Judith said placidly. “She’s the house’s legal owner.”
“Oh my God!” Alicia cried, hauling Reggie out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “I’ve never been treated so shabbily in my life. I rescind my invitation asking you to join the hunt club. In fact, maybe we should have stayed at a . . .”
The rant trailed off as the Beard-Smythes stomped up the front stairs. Judith shook her head and removed the pie from the fridge.
Gertrude looked puzzled. “Hunt club? Hunt for what? Another job? They sure didn’t do a very good one here.”
Judith leaned down to kiss the top of her mother’s head. “I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment.”
“Good,” Gertrude said, patting her daughter’s hand. “I took one look at those two and figured them for would-bes, as your aunt Deb would say. I don’t know what they would want to be if they weren’t stuck being themselves, but I didn’t figure them for guests. Too pushy.”
“You’re right,” Judith said, cutting a generous slice of pie for Gertrude and a smaller one for herself. “They’re SOTS who have no heat at their house. In a weak moment, I let them spend the night
“Sure.” Judith opened the dishwasher. “One other thing,” she continued, still trying to sound pleasant. “Would you mind not letting Mayo sleep in the bathtub?”
Alicia, who had been gazing at the schoolhouse clock, whirled around. “Have you been snooping in our room?”
“I haven’t been in your room,” Judith replied quietly. “I had to use the adjoining bathroom. That’s how I happened to see your dog. Of course, the room actually belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
A look of dismay came over Alicia’s face. “Well . . . now that you mention it . . . but still . . .”
A banging at the back door stopped the argument. Startled, Judith muttered, “Now what?” before hurrying to see who wanted in. Only family members and the Rankerses came in that way.
“Where’s my pie?” Gertrude demanded, rolling along the hall in her motorized wheelchair. “I’ve been waiting since Hector was a pup.” She stopped halfway through the kitchen. “Who are you?” the old lady rasped. “The hired help?” She turned to Judith. “Since when could you afford to pay a couple of stiffs like these two? Or did you finally fire that Bible-beating nut job with the funny hair?”
“We are not the hired help,” Alicia asserted haughtily.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Gertrude grumbled. “Where’s my pie? This pair better not have eaten it.” She glared first at Alicia and then at Reggie, who was again stroking his sparse mustache. “Say, buster, what’s with that fuzzy stuff on your upper lip? You trying to rub it into sprouting some real whiskers or make it disappear? Either way, it’d be an improvement.”
“Mother!” Judith cried. “Please! This is Mr. and Mrs. Beard-Smythe from church.”
Gertrude shot her daughter a puzzled glance. “Beard? Bad name for Buster. He must be Mr. Smythe .” She stared up at Alicia. “You could use some tweezing on that chin of yours, Mrs . Beard . Or maybe you got piecrust crumbs stuck to it.”
“I think,” Alicia said stiltedly, “Reggie and I should retire now.”
“Retire?” Gertrude shot back. “From what? If Dummy here is paying you, it doesn’t look as if you’ve finished cleaning up. Get cracking.” She stared at Judith. “Okay, Toots, let’s see that marionberry pie. As Grandpa Grover used to say, my mouth’s been set for it since six o’clock.” The old lady maneuvered the wheelchair up to the kitchen table. “Well? What’s with the two blockheads standing around? Fish or cut bait, chumps. You got to earn your keep around here.”
Alicia grabbed her husband’s sleeve. “We’re going upstairs. I refuse to be insulted by such a . . . a person . Really, Judith, don’t you have any control over this . . . relic ?”
“Not really,” Judith said placidly. “She’s the house’s legal owner.”
“Oh my God!” Alicia cried, hauling Reggie out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “I’ve never been treated so shabbily in my life. I rescind my invitation asking you to join the hunt club. In fact, maybe we should have stayed at a . . .”
The rant trailed off as the Beard-Smythes stomped up the front stairs. Judith shook her head and removed the pie from the fridge.
Gertrude looked puzzled. “Hunt club? Hunt for what? Another job? They sure didn’t do a very good one here.”
Judith leaned down to kiss the top of her mother’s head. “I’ve never loved you more than I do at this moment.”
“Good,” Gertrude said, patting her daughter’s hand. “I took one look at those two and figured them for would-bes, as your aunt Deb would say. I don’t know what they would want to be if they weren’t stuck being themselves, but I didn’t figure them for guests. Too pushy.”
“You’re right,” Judith said, cutting a generous slice of pie for Gertrude and a smaller one for herself. “They’re SOTS who have no heat at their house. In a weak moment, I let them spend the night
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