There Was an Old Woman by Hallie Ephron

truck. Enough to get you to a service station, anyway. I’ll bring it over tomorrow. Around ten? After our morning rush.”
    â€œThat’s perfect. Thanks. I’ll be here.”
    â€œIt’s okay if you’re not. I’ve got a key to the garage.” Evie’s surprise must have shown on her face because he added, “Your mother has us leave deliveries there.”
    â€œReally?” She wondered if her mother’s deliveries had included cases of cigarette cartons. She could understand her mother not wanting them deposited at her front door.
    â€œWell,” he said, taking a step closer. She could feel his body heat. “Guess I better go.”
    â€œThanks for the beer.”
    â€œThanks for the company.” He put his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. Her heart felt like it was pounding a mile a minute, but before she could decide whether she wanted to kiss him or not, he kissed her on the nose and headed for the door.
    â€œDon’t forget to lock up,” he shot over his shoulder. “Sleep tight. See you in the morning.”
    The instant he was gone, she realized that she did want to kiss him. Wanted to be kissed. But she was also desperately tired and glad he’d known not to press his advantage.
    Evie cleared a space in the living room for a twin mattress she dragged down from the upstairs bedroom. The sheets already on it were clean, despite the squirrels. She’d meant to call Ginger and tell her about the envelopes of cash, but it was much too late. Tomorrow. First thing.
    She got the money out of the refrigerator and slid it under the mattress, then changed into an oversize T-shirt, brushed her teeth, and got into bed. Before she closed her eyes she took a minute to contemplate the mess that still surrounded her. Why had her mother even bothered to drag in broken aluminum lawn chairs? Had it been drunken inspiration? And had she done that before or after she got the flat-screen TV?
    Evie rubbed her nose. She could still feel Finn’s lips. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Chapter Nineteen
    The sound track of Mina’s dreams that night was the roar of heavy equipment. She saw herself standing helplessly across the street as a wrecking ball slammed, over and over, into the front of her house. She could hear poor Ivory meowing and see a skeletal Angela Quintanilla rapping at the front window, both of them trapped inside.
    She woke up, drenched in sweat, to find that Ivory really was mewing and rattling the closed bedroom door. This was Ivory’s morning routine, sticking her paw under the door and trying to pull it open. Mina had done everything she could think of to discourage her. Quiet would reign again only after the cat had been fed.
    Mina tried to sit up, but she felt like a cement block was resting on her chest. Her heart pounded, and the acrid smell of diesel filled her head. What finally got her up was the cat. Not mews but silence. Like a quiet toddler, that was never a good sign.
    Sure enough, when she got out to the kitchen, Ivory was perched on the counter, licking a puddle of liquid that had dripped off the package of chicken parts that Mina had left to thaw on the shelf and forgotten all about. Before Mina could stop her, Ivory sat back on her haunches, tail twitching, and leaped for the shelf, catching the edge of the plate, which came down with a crash.
    â€œBad cat!” Mina scooped Ivory off the counter and dropped her with a thud on the floor. Ivory gave her a sour look and a reproachful meow.
    Mina had put the chicken into the refrigerator and was sweeping up the broken plate when she noticed it was nearly eight o’clock. She hadn’t slept that late in years. No wonder the cat had been frantic with hunger. As if sensing her advantage, Ivory started to complain again.
    â€œAll right, all right already,” Mina said. She opened a can of Fancy Feast tuna and mackerel, even though she hated