The Grand Finale

Chapter Six

He was doing it again. He was dressing in front of her. The man was a flaming exhibitionist. Berry huddled under her covers and listened to the sounds of buttons and zippers. He had no modesty. He had no scruples.

“Aren’t you dressed yet?” she asked.

“Why don’t you come out from under those covers and find out?”

Berry didn’t have to come out from under the covers. She knew he wasn’t dressed. She could tell by the goose bumps on her arm. Damn him, anyway.

“Why do you have to get dressed in my room?”

“Because this is my room, too. Because this is where my clothes are. Because there are little old ladies occupying both bathrooms, and I’m in a hurry this morning. Because I get my kicks this way, and with Mrs. Dugan around kicks are hard to come by-you have to take them when you can.” He pulled the covers back and kissed her forehead. “You should have looked. It would have been a lot more fun.”

He was wearing gray slacks, and a blue button-down shirt. Berry watched him move to his closet and select a tie from a well-stocked rack. “Did you really want me to look?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You would have been the only one undressed. Wouldn’t you have been embarrassed?”

“Yeah. That’s the fun part. You know what happens when men get embarrassed? They get-”

“I know what they get. And you’d better not!”

He gave his tie a small tug and turned to face her. “What do you think? Do I look like a first-grade teacher?”

Berry thought he looked more like a fully clothed model for a Chippendale’s calendar. She sat up in bed and told her heart to stop jumping around like that. He was just a man, for goodness’ sake. An ordinary man wearing a pair of pants that were perfectly tailored across his slim hips and nifty butt. An ordinary man wearing a shirt that was exquisitely cut to fit luscious broad shoulders and a just-right muscled chest that tapered down to a hard, flat stomach. Why on earth was she getting so tense over this ordinary man?

Because he wasn’t ordinary. He was totally delicious and she should have looked. She was a fool not to have looked. After all, she had already seen almost all of him. There was only about five or six inches left to her imagination. The memory of those six inches could probably have carried her through old age. She stared at him in her best attempt at unblinking serenity.

“You look very nice,” she said. “Any first grader would be proud to have you for a teacher.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I have to run. I’ve called the rental agency. They’re sending a car around for you to use. Should be here by eight o’clock.”

A cab beeped in the driveway. Jake took keys and loose change from the bureau top and grabbed a navy blazer from the closet.

Berry listened to him bound down the stairs and out the door. She sprang from her bed and rushed to her window for one last glimpse of him. Too late. He was gone. He was dressed. “Dammit,” she whispered, “I really should have looked.”

She was still thinking about it at the breakfast table when she noticed an unusual silence. Everyone was watching her.

“Something wrong?” Berry asked.

“No,” Mrs. Fitz said.

“Nothing?”

“Uh-uh. Nothing wrong with me,” Mrs. Dugan said.

Berry looked at the clean teacups and unused cereal bowls. “Not eating?”

“Maybe later.”

“In a minute.”

“Not just yet.”

“Not even tea?” Berry asked.

Mrs. Fitz fidgeted in her seat. “Well, we brewed some. We just haven’t gotten around to drinking it yet.”

Berry poured herself a bowl of cereal and reached for the milk. She stopped short. “Oh.”

“Something wrong, dear?”

“No. Of course not.” She stared at the milk carton. She stared at the cereal. It looked like raisin bran. She gently pushed the raisins around with the tip of her finger. She raised her eyes to the three women. “Looks like raisin bran.”

“Yes.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

Berry sniffed at the bowl. “Smells like raisin bran.”

“Does it?”

“That’s good.”

Mrs. Fitz narrowed her eyes. “Okay, pour the milk in.”

Berry pushed the bowl over to her. “You pour the milk in.”

Mrs. Fitz pushed the bowl back. “Not me. No way. No, sir. Took me half an hour to get the cereal out of my hair yesterday.”

Berry compressed her lips. “This is ridiculous. This is just plain old raisin bran.” She moved her seat back a few inches and dribbled some milk into her bowl. Nothing happened.

“Stir it,” Mrs. Fitz suggested.

Berry stirred it. It didn’t crackle or pop. It didn’t fly out into space. It didn’t even bloat. “Raisin bran.”

Mrs. Fitz filled her bowl. “Thank the Lord, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

Miss Gaspich served tea, and all three women sipped timidly.

“Tastes like tea,” Miss Gaspich offered.

Mrs. Dugan agreed.

Mrs. Fitz swallowed a spoonful of cereal. “Don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed, but I’ll tell you one thing. Tomorrow morning I’m getting up in time to have breakfast with Jake. From now on he eats everything first.”

Berry ladled a generous helping of tomato sauce onto a pizza round and covered it with mozzarella. She drizzled a smidgen of olive oil and fresh basil across the masterpiece and looked up as the front door swung open and Jake sidled through carrying two grocery bags. He was followed by an elderly man, also carrying a grocery bag. From the corner of her eye Berry saw Mrs. Fitz wipe her hands on her apron and pat her hair into place.

“Bandit at six o’clock,” Mrs. Fitz whispered, “I’m going in for the kill.”

“Mrs. Fitz, you’ve been watching too much television.”

“Movies. Isn’t that Brad Pitt a honey?”

Jake set the bags on the counter and extracted four plastic cartons containing salad. “Where’s Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Dugan?”

“Their night off.”

Jake pulled a stool up to the counter. “Here you go, Harry. We’re missing two ladies. Guess you’ll have to eat lots of salad.” Jake made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Berry and Mrs. Fitz, I’d like you to meet my good friend Harry Fee.”

Mrs. Fitz held out her hand. “My name’s Lena. Here’s a fork. You want to go to the movies later?”

Berry raised her eyebrows at Jake. “I’d like to see you back by the refrigerator, please.”

Jake brought a bag with him and haphazardly transferred food from the bag to the refrigerator.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Berry whispered.

“Putting the food away.”

“I don’t mean about the food. Wait a minute, why are you putting all this food in here? Yogurt? Oranges? Is this tuna salad?”

“You never eat anything. When the ladies were upstairs they made you come up for supper. Now that they’re at my house you make do with candy bars.”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my sources.”

“It’s a lie. I take good care of myself… most of the time,” Berry said.

“Nobody could take care of herself with the schedule you’re running. You’re suffering from too little time and too little money. You study for school while you roll out pizza dough, and you’re wearing running shoes that are held together with surgical tape because you’re trying to save money to buy a new Jeep. If that isn’t enough, you constantly let your heart rule your head. The ladies are lovely people, but they require naps, they can’t drive, they can’t deliver.” He paused and looked longingly at Berry’s mouth. “They can’t kiss.”

“Of course they can kiss, and how did we get to talking about kissing, anyway?”

He nibbled on her left earlobe. “You have this erotic effect on me.” He kissed the pulse point in her neck. “It’s become an obsession. All I ever think about is kissing you. Well, that’s not totally honest. I think about doing other things to you, too, but they’re related to kissing.”

“Get serious.”

His knee nudged against the inside of her thigh. “I’m trying. You’re not cooperating.”

Berry tried to concentrate, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why they were back there, standing against the refrigerator. It might have something to do with tuna salad. No, she thought, that’s not it.

Mrs. Fitz bustled around the front of the shop. She gave Harry Fee a Coke and a hot piece of pizza. “We’ll have to go to the late show,” she told Harry. “I have to help Berry until the place closes.”

Jake nuzzled Berry’s hair and molded his hand to her hip. “That’s okay, Mrs. Fitz, I’ll help Berry tonight.”

Berry wriggled away. “No!”

“Yes.” Jake was firm.

“You helped me last night and the stupid car got stolen. I don’t want your help. You’re nothing but a pain in the neck.”

Jake put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “She’s crazy about me,” he told Harry. “But she’s shy. You know how women are.”

Mrs. Fitz got her sweater and her purse. “She’s a ninny,” she mumbled to Harry. “Don’t know opportunity when it comes knocking,”

Harry smiled. “I bet you don’t pass up any opportunities, Lena.”

“Not if I can help it. Trouble is, opportunities don’t come along often enough.”

Harry held the door for her and winked at Jake. “Don’t wait up.”

Berry narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean by that?”

“He meant they’re going to have an enjoyable evening at the movies, and we shouldn’t wait up.”

“That dirty old man has designs on Mrs. Fitz,” Berry said.

“I don’t believe this. You’re doing a Mrs. Dugan.”

“If anything happens to that dear, sweet old lady, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m worried about Harry.”

Berry took several pizzas from the oven and shoveled them into boxes. “Is he a really good friend? How long have you known him?”

Jake looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”

“What?”

“I met him in the supermarket. Actually, I had him lined up for Mrs. Dugan. Guess I’ll have to go back to prowling the frozen food section tomorrow. Frozen food is a good place to meet old guys.”

“You purveyor!” she sputtered, wide-eyed and furious. “I know what you’re up to. I’m not stupid. You’re getting rid of my ladies. You’re getting them out of the house so you can talk about soap!”

“Yup.”

“You admit it?”

“Yup.”

“That’s despicable.”

He slouched casually against the counter, hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Dugan and Miss Gaspich are three terrific ladies. They’re bright and lively and lonely. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d like some male companionship once in a while. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d have to be Houdini to get you into bed with Mrs. Dugan around. I think I’ve reached a creative solution to everyone’s problem.”

Berry turned on him. “It’s not the ladies who are the problem. You’re the problem. You’re ruining my plan. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want your tuna salad. I was doing just fine until you came along. For the first time in my life I knew where I was going. I had goals, direction, purpose. I had self-esteem. Now I don’t know what I have. Now I have hot flashes and uncomfortable cravings.”

Jake looked outrageously pleased at that. “Really?”

“I don’t need uncomfortable cravings. I need to study my art history. You can understand that, can’t you?” Berry pleaded.

Jake took a step toward her. “What sort of cravings?”

“None of your business.”

“Ah, but it is my business.” He stood so close Berry could feel the warmth from his body swirl around her. “I feel an obligation to take care of these uncomfortable cravings.”

He didn’t understand, Berry thought sadly. She had plenty of the type of cravings he was referring to, but they weren’t the ones that scared her. It was the pudding cravings, and the baby cravings, that turned her stomach into a churning turmoil. It was the way she felt when she did his laundry and found herself fondling his clean white sweat socks, worrying if they were soft enough, white enough.

“Right now I’m going to take care of the food craving,” Berry said, digging in to her salad.

“It’s a start,” Jake said.

Rain slashed down the plate-glass windows of the Pizza Place, casting the small shop in funereal shadow. The ovens were warm against Berry’s back, but the fluorescent lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of cold April showers.

The front door swung open and two bedraggled men entered, stomping the rain off their sneakered feet. Their first reaction was to sniff the air and smile appreciatively.

“Lady, if I were you, I’d move my bed down here. The pizza smells great.”

Berry handed them each a slice on a paper plate. “Are you done? Is my carpet all installed?”

“Yeah. Boy, I was never so glad to be done with a job in my life. Nothing personal, but your apartment really stinks.”

“There was a fire,” Berry said. “And it’s just been painted.”

“What kind of paint did you use? That place smells like old socks.”

The second man shook his head. “Worse than old socks. That place smells like dead socks.”

Berry looked at Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Fitz. “Maybe I’d better go investigate.”

She and Jake had checked on it this morning, and it had definitely had a strong paint odor. She hadn’t been able to open the windows because of the rain, but she’d assumed the fumes would have dissipated by now.

When she reached the top of the stairs her eyes began to sting. Paint, new carpet, dead socks. They were right. It smelled bad, really bad. Worse than this morning. The walls were eggshell white, and the insurance had paid for not the best but not the worst grade of beige wall-to-wall carpet. The windows were sparkling clean. There was insurance money for new curtains and a new couch but no time to shop for them.

She turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and smiled at Jake before he pulled her to him and kissed her hello. Just as he always did. As if they belonged to each other, she thought. Casual husbandly kisses. Hello, good night, good morning.

Jake wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s my apartment,” she said, moaning. “How am I going to live in this?”

“Don’t worry. It’s probably just a combination of fresh paint and new carpet. It’ll be better in a few days.”

Berry felt like screaming. In a few days she’d be a babbling, drooling idiot. She needed to get away from Jake Sawyer. She needed to get out of his bed, out of his house, away from his shower. Especially his shower. A morning shower used to be a wake-up ritual. Now it was an erotic experience that brought her to the breakfast table cracking her knuckles, wondering if Jake was really as good with soapsuds as he claimed.

Jake looked down at her. “You have a peculiar expression on your face. Sort of desperate.”

Desperate. The perfect word. She turned from him so he wouldn’t see the fib. “Not desperate. Just disappointed. I’d hoped to move in tonight.”

“Obviously that’s out of the question. Looks like you’re destined to stay with me a little longer,” he said cheerfully.

“Maybe it’ll smell better tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. Not if it keeps raining, and you can’t open the windows.”

“You seem awfully pleased about all of this.”

“I like having you in my bed… even if I’m not there with you.”

Berry was sure her heart stopped beating. It went thud and then there was nothing but singing. Julie Andrews singing that song from The Sound of Music. Plus the Hallelujah Chorus. Sometimes Jake Sawyer said things that knocked Berry off her feet. And truth was, Berry liked being in his bed, too. She liked imagining him next to her, his arm possessively curled across her chest, his lips pressed against her shoulder.

“Admit it,” Jake said. “You like being in my bed.”

“It’s very comfy.”

“And what else?”

“Nice sheets.”

“What about me? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to have me in bed next to you?”

“Never. Absolutely never. And stop grinning like that.”

“Sometimes you’re such a goose,” he said, draping his arm around her, ushering her down the stairs. “So, how are you and Mrs. Dugan doing today? Selling lots of pizzas?”

“Mrs. Dugan isn’t working today. Miss Gaspich is working today.”

He stopped and grasped her shoulders. “Are you kidding me? I asked Mrs. Dugan at the breakfast table, and she said this was her shift.”

“She decided to trade with Miss Gaspich. It had to do with irregularity, I think.”

“How could she possibly have irregularity? We’ve got stewed prunes, prune juice, dried prunes, and bran nuggets.”

“I’m afraid to ask why you’re so concerned about Mrs. Dugan’s work schedule.”

Jake removed his slicker and wrapped it around Berry’s shoulders. He opened the downstairs door and gave her a push into the rain. “Run for it.”

Miss Gaspich didn’t bother to look up when Berry and Jake burst into the store. She was instructing a burly elderly gentleman in the art of pizza making. “My goodness, you’re good at this,” she murmured to him.

“Used to be a cook in the navy. And then when my hitch was done I was a butcher. Ran my own shop for forty years, until I retired seven years ago.” He shook his head. “Should never have retired. Life is damn boring. The wife and I were going to travel, but she died before we did much of anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Gaspich whispered.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s okay. We had a good life together.”

Berry glared at Jake. “You’ve done it again.”

“He was supposed to be for Mrs. Dugan.”

“You were going to fix Mrs. Dugan up with a man who has a tattoo on his arm?”

Jake grinned. “It’s an anchor.”

Miss Gaspich slid the pizza into an oven and waved to Berry. “This is William Kozinski. I was showing him how to make pizza.”

William Kozinski extended his hand. “Bill. I’m Jake’s friend.”

Berry looked at him through slitted eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Everyone wants pizza delivered tonight,” Miss Gaspich said. “No one wants to go out in the rain.”

Jake balanced the boxes in his arms. “Come on, Berry. You drive. I’ll deliver.”

Berry looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Fitz?”

“She just left.” Miss Gaspich beamed. “She had a date!”

Bill held up his large butcher’s hand. “Don’t worry about a thing. Mildred and I can handle things here. You young folks go off and do your deliveries.”

Berry turned to Jake. “I’m not leaving this geriatric Lothario alone with my cash register,” she whispered.

“He’s my sister’s father-in-law.”

“Oh.”

Berry slid behind the wheel and turned the key. Rain buffeted the car and dark clouds roiled overhead. “Where’s the first delivery?”

“Sudley Road.”

Berry faced him. “Sudley Road? That’s pretty far away. Don’t we have anything closer?”

“Nope.”

Another one of those nights, she thought, sighing. It was hard to make money when she was driving all over the county. In fact, the profit on these nighttime deliveries was marginal once she surpassed a three-mile radius. Heat from the pizzas drifted forward, warming Berry’s neck, and the cozy aroma of fresh-baked dough filled the car.

Jake relaxed in the seat next to her, content with his role of riding shotgun. Berry watched him from the corner of her eye and thought that sometimes life was very comfortable with Jake. There wasn’t the need to fill every moment with chatter. In fact, if she had to analyze her feelings for him, she would have to admit to feeling… married. It was especially disconcerting since she had been legally married to Allen for four years and never once felt this companionable affection. Life was strange, and there was no accounting for emotions. Emotions went their own way willy-nilly, without consulting The Plan.

Jake sat up straighter as they turned onto Sudley and checked the house numbers. “The white ranch on the left.” He grabbed the pizza box and splashed his way to the front door. By the time he got back he was soaked.

Berry grimaced at the sight of his ruined loafers. She should never have let him do the deliveries. He wouldn’t accept any pay. Yet every day he came directly from school and worked at the Pizza Place until closing. The fact that she was beginning to rely on his help only compounded her feelings of guilt.

After the third delivery he didn’t bother with the hood to his jacket. He couldn’t get any wetter. After the seventh pizza he took his shoes off and rolled his pants to midcalf. It was six o’clock and getting dark.

“That’s it,” he announced, squishing into the car. “I’m going home. I’m not delivering any more pizzas.”

Berry looked in the backseat. “We have one last delivery.”

“Too bad. Let them eat cereal. I’m cold and I’m wet and this whole thing is stupid. You’re not even making any money on these deliveries.”

“But I always deliver.”

“Not any more you don’t. We’re going home to talk.”

“Just what are we going to talk about?”

“We’re going to talk about this pizza business. Then we’re going to talk about us.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. My pizza business is doing fine, and there’s no us. What we have is a living arrangement soon to be terminated. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You’ve been very kind-”

“Kind?” he shouted. “You think I’m kind?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’ve been kind to your three old ladies, but I haven’t been kind to you.”

“What have you been?”

“Waiting, mostly. Trying to get rid of Mrs. Dugan. I can’t get ten minutes alone with you. The only time we’re alone is when we’re delivering pizzas, and then I’m busy with my nose in a map or you’re falling asleep on the seat beside me. Your lifestyle is not conducive to romance.”

“I know that, Sherlock.” Berry turned, into Ellenburg Drive. “I’ve told you before. I don’t have time for romance.”

“Wrong. You don’t want to have time for romance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re still running scared from your first marriage.” His finger lightly stroked her cheek. “Let it go, Berry. Give yourself a chance to fall in love again.”

“You don’t understand. I have goals.”

“You make falling in love sound like a terminal illness.”

Berry pulled into the garage and cut the ignition. “I feel guilty about this last pizza.”

“I don’t. I’m sure the people who ordered it have already eaten something else. It took us almost two hours to deliver seven pizzas in this damn rain. Let’s heat it up in the warming oven and eat it.” He opened the kitchen door for Berry and set the pizza on the counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a hot shower and change my clothes.”

Berry paced in the kitchen. Jake was wrong. She didn’t make herself busy just to avoid romance. Did she? Of course not. But if she did, it was for good reason. She had priorities. She had a plan. Damn that plan. She was beginning to hate it, and it was all Jake’s fault. He made her dissatisfied. He dangled all sorts of forbidden pleasures under her nose. For crying out loud, she’d had a hard enough time doing without butterscotch pudding-now she had romance added to her list.

She heard the water stop running in the upstairs bathroom. Jake was done with his shower. She popped the pizza into the warming oven and hastily scribbled a note telling Jake she’d gone back to the Pizza Place to help Miss Gaspich. Was she running away from romance? Darn right she was.

Miss Gaspich looked up when Berry walked in. “Did you get all the pizzas delivered?” she asked. “I was worried about you out there in this rain. It’s a real soaker.”

“I was fine,” Berry said, “but Jake almost drowned. He’s home drying off.”

“We didn’t have any walk-in business and no new orders so I’m just cleaning up. I’m almost done. Bill is coming over, and we’re going out for dessert and coffee. He’s such a nice man.”

“I know almost nothing about you,” Berry said. “You never talk about yourself.”

“Not much to tell,” Miss Gaspich said. “I was a personal secretary to the president of an insurance company for fifty years. I took the job right out of high school, and when my boss died at age eighty-three I retired. That was five years ago. I gave up my apartment and moved into the hotel for ladies on my pension and small savings. I never thought I’d find myself living in a train station. I suppose I should have put more away for a rainy day, but I always thought…” Miss Gaspich gave her head a shake. “I don’t know what I thought. I never had a good head for business.”

“Never married?”

“No. The right man never came along, and I wasn’t the one to settle. I always had a cat.”

Berry entered the darkened kitchen on tiptoe. It was twelve o’clock, and if she had any luck at all, no one would wake up. She inched across the floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, and almost screamed out loud when she stumbled into Jake.

His voice was soft and lethally lazy. “It’s late.”

Berry used to go fishing with her uncle Joe back in McMinneville. They’d sit all day in the warm shade of a willow tree, listening to the hypnotic drone of dragonflies and crickets, and then when she was just about asleep, Uncle Joe’s voice would buzz low in her ear. “Well, look at this. This big ol’ catfish is finally taking my bait. If we just wait here nice and quiet that fish’ll hook himself and we’ll have catfish for dinner.”

That was the sort of voice Jake had used. A catfish-catching voice.

Berry made an effort to swallow the panic that was rising in her chest. “Miss Gaspich and Bill left early, and I stayed around to tidy up.”

His hands were at her neck, massaging little circles. “You feel tense.”

You bet I’m tense, she thought. I’m not as dumb as that ol’ catfish. I know when I’m about to get reeled in.

She felt his breath whisper through her hair while his hands slid over her shoulders and nestled against the fullness of her breasts. It was an act of gentle possession. As was the taking of her mouth: a silent affirmation of the power he held over her. His tongue touched hers in confident intimacy, and she felt his arousal stir against her belly. She placed both hands against his chest and pushed away. “Lord, you’re probably murder on catfish, too.”

Even in the dark she could see the look of astonishment on his face. “Catfish?” He rested his head against the refrigerator and groaned. “Do you hear someone at the front door?”

“Miss Gaspich?”

The door opened, and Bill’s voice drifted through the dark house in a stage whisper. “Mildred, I had a great time tonight.”

Miss Gaspich’s answer was low and indiscernible. There was a prolonged silence.

“Holy smoke,” Berry said, “you don’t suppose they’re…”

“Sounds to me like he’s got a more cooperative partner than I do.”

Berry and Jake cringed at the unmistakable thump, thump, thump of Mrs. Dugan thundering down the hall, stomping down the stairs. A light flashed on in the living room.

“Mmmmmmmildred!” Mrs. Dugan pronounced it like a drum roll.

“This is Bill Kozinski,” Miss Gaspich said. “We were just saying good night.”

“He has a tattoo.”

“It’s an anchor. He was in the navy.”

A car door slammed in the driveway, and Mrs. Fitz and Harry joined the party.

“What the devil is this?” Mrs. Fitz demanded. “Why isn’t everyone asleep?”

Mrs. Dugan stood her ground. “You’d like that. You’d like to have the living room all to yourself, I suppose.”

“Darn right. How’re we supposed to neck with you standing there gawking at us?”

Bill put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Time to leave.”

They made a quick exit.

Mrs. Fitz glared at Mrs. Dugan. “See what you’ve done. You made them go away.”

Mrs. Dugan shook her finger at Mrs. Fitz. “You’ll never catch a man that way. Everyone knows men don’t buy what they can get for free.”

“Well, that’s fine with me ’cause I don’t want to be bought.”

“Me either.” Miss Gaspich giggled. “I don’t want to be bought, but I might be persuaded to give it away for free.”

Mrs. Dugan and Mrs. Fitz instantly turned scarlet. “Mildred!”

“I think we should all go into the kitchen and make a nice pot of tea.” Miss Gaspich smiled pleasantly. “I’m just dying to tell someone about Bill.”