Bending the Rules by Susan Andersen

wine.”
    “I’ll check.”
    Poppy hooked an arm through Ava’s as they trooped down the hall. “I’m not as hungry as Janie, so I’d be interested in hearing where the new client’s party was.”
    “In a fabulous house near Volunteer Park.”
    “And you were just passing by that neighborhood at what I’m assuming was a fairly late hour why?”
    “It was the first function I put on for them and I’d told the client I’d check in when it was over to make sure she was satisfied with how smoothly it had been handled. Besides I was on my way home from the other event. One where I was an actual guest instead of the concierge making it happen.”
    Jane shot Ava a glance over her shoulder. “You attended a party in a strictly social capacity? That’s kinda unusual for you these days.”
    Ava shrugged a cashmere-clad shoulder. “They’re never strictly social anymore—and it was at one of my biggest clients’ house, which is why I felt compelled to go. Plus, I network whether I want to or not, since someone invariably brings up what I do. People in the set I grew up in are fascinated by my profession for some reason. A few, like my parents, find it embarrassing that I work in a service industry, while others seem to think it’s pretty cool.” She flashed her dimpled shark’s smile. “But all of them like the idea of ‘one of their own’ handling their affairs…which is what keeps my business building.
    “But enough about me.” Ava handed off the pastry box to Jane as they entered the dining room and headed straight for the sideboard. Squatting, she stuck her head in its cupboard and emerged a moment later with a bottle of wine in her hands. Rising to her feet, she displayed it to Poppy like a four-star sommelier, then ruined the impression by wagging her eyebrows. “Eh? Eh?”
    “Oh, bless you, my child!”
    Jane lifted the wheel of brie from the box. “What do I do with this? Throw it in the micro?”
    “Good God, no!” Ava regarded her with horror. “Put it in the oven at three-fifty for about seven minutes. It’s already been baked, so we’re just reheating it.”
    “So I ask again—why not simply microwave it? It’s faster and we don’t really have an oven oven—just the toaster variety while the kitchen’s out of commission.”
    “How did I come to be bosom buds with such a philistine? You’ve obviously been hanging out with construction guys too long. Microwaving turns the pastry to rubber.”
    “Well, eee-ow,” Jane said in a bad Cockney accent, tipping her nose ceilingward with a fingertip. “I ain’t a foine lydee such as yerself, Duchess.” But she cranked on the toaster oven, placed the wheel on its little pan and slid it in.
    Poppy smiled as she extracted the cork from the wine bottle and poured a glass each for herself and Ava. Having grown up in a household with chronic drinkers, Janie rarely touched alcohol, so Poppy fetched her a diet cola from the fridge, poured it in a glass and added ice. She transported everything to the long dining-room table. This was exactly what the doctor’d ordered—a dose of friendship, the Rx of champions.
    As if reading her mind, Jane leaned against the sideboard and looked at her. “So what’s up? On the phone you sounded a tad desperate. Your new kiddies giving you grief?”
    “More than I expected, which is my own fault for not giving the dynamics of this group more thought. I didn’t take into consideration that the kids in my other groups are in my program because they want to be. This is a first, having teens who have to be there. So, it is a little different. But sooner or later I’ll win them over. I don’t mind doing the tough-love thing until I do.”
    “So if it’s not your new group,” Ava said, propping her chin in her palm and her elbow on the gleaming tabletop, fixing Poppy with her undivided attention, “then wha—Oh. Detective Shei—Uh, Bastard Rat.” Her eyes went cool and narrow. “Is he giving you a hard