and homemade biscuits. Jennifer had savored those Sunday dinners. Of course, that was before Grandma discovered the wonders of refrigerated biscuits and canned gravy. And before Jennifer had had her philosophical awakening about meat.
"It smells delicious," Jennifer assured her, sitting down, the distinct odor of Italian sausage filling the apartment. If the sausage chunks were big enough, she could pick them out. Otherwise, she'd try to isolate the noodle/cheese layers from the sauce. If all else failed, she could always plead morning sickness.
"Can I give you a hand?" Jennifer offered.
"Oh, no. It'll be in the oven for another ten minutes. The salad is in the fridge, and I just popped in the garlic bread."
Mrs. Walker sat down close to Jennifer on the sofa, seemingly oblivious to the diminutive monster who had caught his spindly incisor in the woven leather of Jennifer's shoe right next to her little toe. Jennifer had to get the woman out of the room.
"Could I have a glass of water?" Jennifer croaked.
Mrs. Walker patted her knee. "You most certainly may. I've got some nice bottled spring water in the pantry. I'll be back in a shake."
As soon as Mrs. Walker cleared the doorway, Jennifer took hold of Tiger, disengaged his tooth from her shoe, and held him high in the air. "I thought we had an understanding." He growled his disagreement.
She had to keep him off of her, but she didn't know any way short of sacrificing one of her shoes. Limping back to Macon was not part of her game plan. She looked pitiful enough already.
With her free hand, she frantically searched through her purse. Her hand closed on a leather glove, and she pulled it out.
She lifted the skirt on the sofa and tossed the glove under it, shoving Tiger in after, just as Mrs. Walker returned with a large tea glass of sparkling water.
"There you are, dear." She looked about the floor. "Has Tiger disappeared again? It's strange, but many times when I have company, I'll step out of the room for just a moment, and the little darling vanishes."
Jennifer just bet he did.
The sofa emitted a muffled rumble.
"Did you hear something?" Mrs. Walker asked.
"It's just my stomach. I had a light breakfast, and the smell of your cooking is making me hungry."
"Good for you, dear. You must nourish our little one and drink plenty of water. It's absolutely essential."
Jennifer took a sip from the glass and placed it on the coffee table. She now had an idea of Penney Richmond's front door security. The only other way into the apartment was a small balcony. Maybe it would offer easier access.
Jennifer put a hand to her mouth, closed her eyes, tried to think pale , and fanned her free hand rapidly in front of her face. "I think I need some air. Do you mind if I…" She motioned toward the spectacular view.
"No, of course not. Feeling a little queasy, are we?"
Jennifer gulped back a reply having to do with just who we were and followed the older woman to the windows. The glass gave the impression of standing on a precipice, a clear drop of twelve stories to the ground.
The door to the balcony was custom-built and looked like one more large, double-paned panel. The lock was standard. Security had been pretty lax when they put in these doors, or so Jennifer thought, until she stepped outside into the cacophony of downtown Atlanta.
"I don't come out here too often," Mrs. Walker yelled.
"I can understand why." Jennifer could also see why security had scrimped on the balcony lock. The narrow platform was not much more than a two-person perch above the city. It was about six feet long and wrapped to the left around the brick wall so as not to obstruct the view of the windows.
Each balcony was a good distance from the other, spanning most of the length of the apartment, way too far to leap from one to another. But the balconies beneath all lay in a straight, vertical line. Someone with mountain-climbing equipment could make their way up fairly easily. Don a black
"It smells delicious," Jennifer assured her, sitting down, the distinct odor of Italian sausage filling the apartment. If the sausage chunks were big enough, she could pick them out. Otherwise, she'd try to isolate the noodle/cheese layers from the sauce. If all else failed, she could always plead morning sickness.
"Can I give you a hand?" Jennifer offered.
"Oh, no. It'll be in the oven for another ten minutes. The salad is in the fridge, and I just popped in the garlic bread."
Mrs. Walker sat down close to Jennifer on the sofa, seemingly oblivious to the diminutive monster who had caught his spindly incisor in the woven leather of Jennifer's shoe right next to her little toe. Jennifer had to get the woman out of the room.
"Could I have a glass of water?" Jennifer croaked.
Mrs. Walker patted her knee. "You most certainly may. I've got some nice bottled spring water in the pantry. I'll be back in a shake."
As soon as Mrs. Walker cleared the doorway, Jennifer took hold of Tiger, disengaged his tooth from her shoe, and held him high in the air. "I thought we had an understanding." He growled his disagreement.
She had to keep him off of her, but she didn't know any way short of sacrificing one of her shoes. Limping back to Macon was not part of her game plan. She looked pitiful enough already.
With her free hand, she frantically searched through her purse. Her hand closed on a leather glove, and she pulled it out.
She lifted the skirt on the sofa and tossed the glove under it, shoving Tiger in after, just as Mrs. Walker returned with a large tea glass of sparkling water.
"There you are, dear." She looked about the floor. "Has Tiger disappeared again? It's strange, but many times when I have company, I'll step out of the room for just a moment, and the little darling vanishes."
Jennifer just bet he did.
The sofa emitted a muffled rumble.
"Did you hear something?" Mrs. Walker asked.
"It's just my stomach. I had a light breakfast, and the smell of your cooking is making me hungry."
"Good for you, dear. You must nourish our little one and drink plenty of water. It's absolutely essential."
Jennifer took a sip from the glass and placed it on the coffee table. She now had an idea of Penney Richmond's front door security. The only other way into the apartment was a small balcony. Maybe it would offer easier access.
Jennifer put a hand to her mouth, closed her eyes, tried to think pale , and fanned her free hand rapidly in front of her face. "I think I need some air. Do you mind if I…" She motioned toward the spectacular view.
"No, of course not. Feeling a little queasy, are we?"
Jennifer gulped back a reply having to do with just who we were and followed the older woman to the windows. The glass gave the impression of standing on a precipice, a clear drop of twelve stories to the ground.
The door to the balcony was custom-built and looked like one more large, double-paned panel. The lock was standard. Security had been pretty lax when they put in these doors, or so Jennifer thought, until she stepped outside into the cacophony of downtown Atlanta.
"I don't come out here too often," Mrs. Walker yelled.
"I can understand why." Jennifer could also see why security had scrimped on the balcony lock. The narrow platform was not much more than a two-person perch above the city. It was about six feet long and wrapped to the left around the brick wall so as not to obstruct the view of the windows.
Each balcony was a good distance from the other, spanning most of the length of the apartment, way too far to leap from one to another. But the balconies beneath all lay in a straight, vertical line. Someone with mountain-climbing equipment could make their way up fairly easily. Don a black
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