Max’s lap. He had to give her a gentle nudge.
“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re here.”
“Here? Oh.” She bounced up and opened the car door. “Brr! It’s chilly. I wish I’d had sense enough to bring something warm.”
But it was only a step to the Rivkins’ pleasant ranch house, and Miriam had hot tea waiting.
“So you ran into big trouble?” was Ira’s greeting.
“How did the houppelande work out?” was Miriam’s.
Sarah answered the more important question first. “Fine. Everyone said mine was the prettiest costume there. Didn’t they, Max? Was Davy a good boy?”
“Come and see.”
All four of them tiptoed into the guest room, where Miriam had set up her own son’s old crib as a lure. Once assured that Davy was alive, well, and sleeping the sleep of the innocent, Sarah and Max allowed themselves to collapse around the kitchen table and unwind.
“I didn’t realize I was hungry,” said Sarah, gladly accepting a slice of Miriam’s spicy dark prune bread. “Though except for a cup of coffee, I haven’t had a thing to eat since the banquet, and that’s been forever. It seems so, anyway.”
“What did they serve?” Miriam wanted to know.
“Who got killed?” Ira demanded. Max and Sarah tried to answer them both, with mixed results.
“Peacock pie? How could anybody eat a peacock?”
“It was just turkey with feathers stuck in the—”
“So here’s this guy up in the tree with just his feet—”
“Oddest thing was the frumenty. Nobody liked it but everybody—”
“Sounds to me like the cop.” Ira had the floor to himself at last. “The hell of it is, how do you go about arresting a police chief?”
“I’ll find out and let you know.” Max set down his empty cup. “What do you say, Sarah? Think we ought to get the kid home?”
“He could stay with us,” Miriam told them for the fifth or sixth time. “You could all stay. There’s room.”
“But then we’d have no clothes for the morning,” Sarah reminded her. “Could I borrow an extra blanket for Davy?”
“Take one for yourself,” Max suggested. “She was bitching about the cold all the way here.”
“I was not,” Sarah insisted. “Mainly because I was asleep a good part of the time, I have to admit. Oh, thank you, Miriam. I’ll return them tomorrow.”
After the usual amount of flapping around, they got themselves and the sleeping baby out to the car, made the short ride to their own house in perfect calm, and got Davy peacefully settled in his own crib. They were just laying their own heads on their respective pillows when he woke up and began to fuss.
“That’s gratitude for you,” Max groaned. “Shall I go?”
“No, lie still. I had that long nap in the car. He must be wet; I can’t imagine he’s hungry after a day with Miriam.”
Sarah fumbled for her slippers and went into her formerly angelic son’s nursery, sorting out the sleeves of her robe en route. “Come on, squally. Let’s find you some dry pants.”
Fresh diapers didn’t appear to be the entire solution. Sarah carried the baby, still bawling, down to the kitchen. She warmed a bottle and settled the pair of them in the rocking chair for a feeding session. Davy took two hungry sucks, gurgled a bit, and fell asleep again with the nipple in his mouth.
“Little monster.” Sarah kissed the top of his head in helpless adoration. His hair was blond and curly. Like Max’s when he was a baby, Miriam said. There wasn’t a peep out of him when she laid him back in his crib. Nor did she get so much as a grunt out of Max when at last she slid back in bed beside him. Like father, like son.
Sarah herself was wide awake by now. And what about Aunt Bodie, she wondered. Where was she, and what was happening to her?
It was hard to envision anything’s happening to Boadicea Kelling. In her well-regulated life, events didn’t simply occur. They eventuated as the result of forethought and planning. Hardly a typical Kelling trait. But then
“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re here.”
“Here? Oh.” She bounced up and opened the car door. “Brr! It’s chilly. I wish I’d had sense enough to bring something warm.”
But it was only a step to the Rivkins’ pleasant ranch house, and Miriam had hot tea waiting.
“So you ran into big trouble?” was Ira’s greeting.
“How did the houppelande work out?” was Miriam’s.
Sarah answered the more important question first. “Fine. Everyone said mine was the prettiest costume there. Didn’t they, Max? Was Davy a good boy?”
“Come and see.”
All four of them tiptoed into the guest room, where Miriam had set up her own son’s old crib as a lure. Once assured that Davy was alive, well, and sleeping the sleep of the innocent, Sarah and Max allowed themselves to collapse around the kitchen table and unwind.
“I didn’t realize I was hungry,” said Sarah, gladly accepting a slice of Miriam’s spicy dark prune bread. “Though except for a cup of coffee, I haven’t had a thing to eat since the banquet, and that’s been forever. It seems so, anyway.”
“What did they serve?” Miriam wanted to know.
“Who got killed?” Ira demanded. Max and Sarah tried to answer them both, with mixed results.
“Peacock pie? How could anybody eat a peacock?”
“It was just turkey with feathers stuck in the—”
“So here’s this guy up in the tree with just his feet—”
“Oddest thing was the frumenty. Nobody liked it but everybody—”
“Sounds to me like the cop.” Ira had the floor to himself at last. “The hell of it is, how do you go about arresting a police chief?”
“I’ll find out and let you know.” Max set down his empty cup. “What do you say, Sarah? Think we ought to get the kid home?”
“He could stay with us,” Miriam told them for the fifth or sixth time. “You could all stay. There’s room.”
“But then we’d have no clothes for the morning,” Sarah reminded her. “Could I borrow an extra blanket for Davy?”
“Take one for yourself,” Max suggested. “She was bitching about the cold all the way here.”
“I was not,” Sarah insisted. “Mainly because I was asleep a good part of the time, I have to admit. Oh, thank you, Miriam. I’ll return them tomorrow.”
After the usual amount of flapping around, they got themselves and the sleeping baby out to the car, made the short ride to their own house in perfect calm, and got Davy peacefully settled in his own crib. They were just laying their own heads on their respective pillows when he woke up and began to fuss.
“That’s gratitude for you,” Max groaned. “Shall I go?”
“No, lie still. I had that long nap in the car. He must be wet; I can’t imagine he’s hungry after a day with Miriam.”
Sarah fumbled for her slippers and went into her formerly angelic son’s nursery, sorting out the sleeves of her robe en route. “Come on, squally. Let’s find you some dry pants.”
Fresh diapers didn’t appear to be the entire solution. Sarah carried the baby, still bawling, down to the kitchen. She warmed a bottle and settled the pair of them in the rocking chair for a feeding session. Davy took two hungry sucks, gurgled a bit, and fell asleep again with the nipple in his mouth.
“Little monster.” Sarah kissed the top of his head in helpless adoration. His hair was blond and curly. Like Max’s when he was a baby, Miriam said. There wasn’t a peep out of him when she laid him back in his crib. Nor did she get so much as a grunt out of Max when at last she slid back in bed beside him. Like father, like son.
Sarah herself was wide awake by now. And what about Aunt Bodie, she wondered. Where was she, and what was happening to her?
It was hard to envision anything’s happening to Boadicea Kelling. In her well-regulated life, events didn’t simply occur. They eventuated as the result of forethought and planning. Hardly a typical Kelling trait. But then
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