Matt eased himself out of bed and padded barefoot in his underwear to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and ran a comb through his hair. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft loose sweater in shades of black and sapphire, wondering wryly if anyone would mistake himfor a member of the Disciples. After giving up the search for his errant Loafer, he settled for beat-up sneakers and headed for the foyer and the source of the cacophony.
The group looked like the assembled cast of a farce, Matt thought as he descended the stairs slowly, having left his cane behind. There was Sarah in her plain uniform and bright wide eyes, eager to serve and to please; a chubby couple in their fifties, outfitted in color-coordinated tourist garb, complete with cameras hanging from their necks like giant pendants; and a woman who looked to be some kind of aging beauty queen with unnatural-looking russet hair piled on her head like cotton candy, enormous sunglasses perched on her nose, enormous breasts, and a pile of dead foxes draped around the shoulders of her trim ivory wool suit.
Blossom sat on Sarahs feet with her ears perked and her head tilted, staring with quizzical amazement at the limp hides hanging over the woman's mountainous chest. The basset hound's rubbery lips quivered and she issued a whispered woof, as if she were trying to unobtrusively gain the attention of the pelts.
“Oh, isn't this just the cutest little ol& place!” the beauty queen drawled, beaming a smile all around the front hall, though how she could see anything through her dark glasses was beyond Matt. She twirled around and gave Saraha pat on the cheek. “And aren't you just the cutest thing! A real Amish person. Isn't that clever! Wait'll Tim sees you! He's out in the car right now, tryin' to get the price on pork bellies, but he'll be in directly. Just wait'll he sees how cute you are!”
Sarah gave the woman her Mona Lisa look and said nothing.
Matt felt a fist of tension tighten in his chest.
“Marvin, get a picture,” the plump wife ordered, elbowing her husband's belly.
Marvin chewed on the stub of an unlit cigar, grumbling as he lifted his camera and fiddled with the knobs. “Cripes, Peg, all I've been doing all day is taking pictures of Amish.” He pronounced Amish with a long
A.
His voice was as gritty as gravel, and he spoke in staccato bursts of words, as if his weight and his smoking had constricted his lungs. “They all look alike. We're going to get home and have two hundred and eighty pictures of the same person.”
Peg squeezed her bulldog face into a horrific pinched look, glaring into the end of her husband's zoom lens. “Just do it, Marvin. Just humor me. We're on vacation. We're having fun.”
Whether you like it or not, Matt added mentally. He watched in amazement as Marvin backed down the hall so he could focus his oversize lens. Mrs. Marvin sidled up next toSarah as she might have to a cigar store wooden Indian and creased a smile into her pudgy face. The beauty queen moved into the picture as well, sweeping her fur from her shoulders with the drama of a runway model.
Blossom snarled, grabbed a mouthful of fluffy fox tails, and bolted for the kitchen. The beauty queen squealed and ran after her. Marvin, looking at the whole thing through the distorted view of a two-hundred-twenty-millimeter telephoto lens, didn't have a chance. The dog hit him in the ankles, knocking him off balance, and the beauty queen gave him a shoulder in the midsection as she ran bent over trying to grab the flying ends of her fur. Marvin flew backward into the kitchen door, which obligingly swung back on its hinges.
They ended up in a heap on the polished linoleum, Marvin with the fox stole draped across his face and Miss Alabama 1967 sprawled unceremoniously over his belly. Blossom took one look at the scene and made a hasty escape through the doggy hatch in the back door.
“Oh, Mrs. Parker, Mr. Morton, I'm so sorry!” Sarah held
The group looked like the assembled cast of a farce, Matt thought as he descended the stairs slowly, having left his cane behind. There was Sarah in her plain uniform and bright wide eyes, eager to serve and to please; a chubby couple in their fifties, outfitted in color-coordinated tourist garb, complete with cameras hanging from their necks like giant pendants; and a woman who looked to be some kind of aging beauty queen with unnatural-looking russet hair piled on her head like cotton candy, enormous sunglasses perched on her nose, enormous breasts, and a pile of dead foxes draped around the shoulders of her trim ivory wool suit.
Blossom sat on Sarahs feet with her ears perked and her head tilted, staring with quizzical amazement at the limp hides hanging over the woman's mountainous chest. The basset hound's rubbery lips quivered and she issued a whispered woof, as if she were trying to unobtrusively gain the attention of the pelts.
“Oh, isn't this just the cutest little ol& place!” the beauty queen drawled, beaming a smile all around the front hall, though how she could see anything through her dark glasses was beyond Matt. She twirled around and gave Saraha pat on the cheek. “And aren't you just the cutest thing! A real Amish person. Isn't that clever! Wait'll Tim sees you! He's out in the car right now, tryin' to get the price on pork bellies, but he'll be in directly. Just wait'll he sees how cute you are!”
Sarah gave the woman her Mona Lisa look and said nothing.
Matt felt a fist of tension tighten in his chest.
“Marvin, get a picture,” the plump wife ordered, elbowing her husband's belly.
Marvin chewed on the stub of an unlit cigar, grumbling as he lifted his camera and fiddled with the knobs. “Cripes, Peg, all I've been doing all day is taking pictures of Amish.” He pronounced Amish with a long
A.
His voice was as gritty as gravel, and he spoke in staccato bursts of words, as if his weight and his smoking had constricted his lungs. “They all look alike. We're going to get home and have two hundred and eighty pictures of the same person.”
Peg squeezed her bulldog face into a horrific pinched look, glaring into the end of her husband's zoom lens. “Just do it, Marvin. Just humor me. We're on vacation. We're having fun.”
Whether you like it or not, Matt added mentally. He watched in amazement as Marvin backed down the hall so he could focus his oversize lens. Mrs. Marvin sidled up next toSarah as she might have to a cigar store wooden Indian and creased a smile into her pudgy face. The beauty queen moved into the picture as well, sweeping her fur from her shoulders with the drama of a runway model.
Blossom snarled, grabbed a mouthful of fluffy fox tails, and bolted for the kitchen. The beauty queen squealed and ran after her. Marvin, looking at the whole thing through the distorted view of a two-hundred-twenty-millimeter telephoto lens, didn't have a chance. The dog hit him in the ankles, knocking him off balance, and the beauty queen gave him a shoulder in the midsection as she ran bent over trying to grab the flying ends of her fur. Marvin flew backward into the kitchen door, which obligingly swung back on its hinges.
They ended up in a heap on the polished linoleum, Marvin with the fox stole draped across his face and Miss Alabama 1967 sprawled unceremoniously over his belly. Blossom took one look at the scene and made a hasty escape through the doggy hatch in the back door.
“Oh, Mrs. Parker, Mr. Morton, I'm so sorry!” Sarah held
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