Treasure Me by Christine Nolfi Page A

her reverie. Through the pass-through window, Finney was growling at a whimpering Ethel Lynn. Delia leapt out of the way, allowing Ethel Lynn to flee toward the sink. The mayhem in the kitchen was accented by heavy footsteps approaching through the dining room.
    “Are you getting a dose of Justice?”
    The worrisome double meaning spun her around. The grating voice erupted from the throat of an old woman. Given the heavy thump of the woman’s gait, she expected to find a lady of substantial girth. What she discovered rooted before the counter was a petite, scrappy-looking crone wearing a Davy Crocket-style buckskin jacket oddly matched up with a felt hat. The hat sprouted silk roses. A few of the buds drooped over the old woman’s black, beady eyes.
    Their gazes connected and the woman’s mouth froze. Birdie wasn’t sure what to make of the surprise glinting in her expression. She appeared startled, as if the sight of a waitress dressed in a whore suit would turn her into a pillar of salt. Wary, Birdie edged away from the counter separating them.
    Just as quickly the old woman blotted the strong emotion from her eyes. Her ebony features became glass, like the sea before a typhoon.
    “Would you like a menu?” Birdie asked, too frightened to move toward the stack.
    “I’ve had lunch, you fool. It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
    No one called her a fool and got away with it. Let someone walk over you and they made it a habit. “I left my watch upstairs, which isn’t as bad as you leaving your manners at home. Pack them the next time you leave the house, Parsnip.”
    The woman slapped her buckskin satchel onto the counter. “What did you call me?”
    “Huh?” Birdie feigned confusion. Hell, the gnome was older than God. Playing with what little grey matter she had left might be fun. “I’m sorry—what did you say, Avocado?”
    “Are you messin’ with me?” The woman screwed her ridiculous hat further down on her brow. “I’m not much for vegetables but I can fricassee your hide if you don’t watch it.”
    Birdie offered a saccharine smile. “My apologies.” With flourish, she picked up a menu as if she were a game show host revealing the item behind door number two. “It’s sensational. You won’t believe what’s inside, Tomato.”
    “Stop sassing me. There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
    “What?” She widened her eyes in what she hoped was a fawnlike expression.
    The gnome blinked. Baring her false teeth, she patted her satchel. “I’ve got a .32 caliber. Don’t make me use it.”
    The threat drained the amusement from Birdie’s face, not to mention the blood from her head.
    Satisfied, the old woman settled onto a barstool. “Got anything else to say, ruffian?”
    “Checkmate?”
    “Game over is more like it.” She broke out a devilish grin. “The name’s Theodora Hendricks.” She jabbed a finger toward the coffee station. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
    Birdie sloshed coffee into a mug. Theodora Hendricks’ narrowed attention stuck on her like glue, sending waves of nervous tension racing across her skin. It was the sort of hard appraisal she received from the police on those rare instances when they suspected her of snitching wallets. The urge to flee nearly got the better of her.
    “Here you are.” She placed the mug on the counter. “Just wave your pistol if you need anything else.”
    When she started to move off, Theodora snapped her fingers. “Stay put. We’re not done talking.” She tapped the counter with one bony finger, and Birdie visualized a fairy tale witch and an oven. “Tell me your name.”
    “Um… it’s Birdie.”
    “Birdie?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Your last name?”
    “Kaminsky.”
    “Sounds Polish.”
    “You want to make a joke?”
    “Not particularly.”
    Theodora’s narrowed gaze stayed put, even as she rifled around her satchel and withdrew a corncob pipe. Birdie might have laughed if her stomach wasn’t roiling with a queasy sort of