The Black Heart Crypt

“Fly home, Virginia?” said Hannah. “Whatever is the problem?”

“It’s Zachary,” said Ginny, quickly looking around to make certain no one was eavesdropping. “Georgie’s son has—the gift.”

“Oh, dear,” said Hannah.

“Oh me, oh my,” added Sophie, nervously nibbling the sprinkled edge of her second Pop-Tart.

Ginny was about to give them more details when the boorish nephew returned with a sloppy bowl of mush, which he slammed down so hard in front of his wheelchair-bound uncle, chunky gray clumps leapt up and splattered his bathrobe.

“Hah! Look at you, sitting in your high chair, food all over your face. No wonder you need diapers! You’re a big baby!”

Ginny had seen enough.

She placed her banana peel on the table and plucked the plastic straw out of her water glass.

“Sisters?” she said, angrily arching an eyebrow.

“We three agree,” said Hannah and Sophie.

Ginny held up the straw as if it were a conductor’s baton she meant to fling at the oafish young man.

But she didn’t.

Because at that very instant, the baboon seemed to slip on something very slick, very wet.

Why, it was almost as if he had stepped on a banana peel.

He lost his footing and, arms whirling, fell into the swimming pool.

Ginny smiled.

So did her two sisters.

So did Uncle Gus in the wheelchair.

“I believe our work here is done,” said Ginny, plopping the plastic straw back into her water glass. “Shall we go upstairs and pack?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sophie.

“Indeed,” added Hannah.

The three sisters walked over to the elderly man left stranded in his wheelchair.

“Would you like us to take you up to your room, Augustus?” offered Hannah.

“Thank you. How very kind of you.”

Then the three Jennings sisters, with Hannah piloting the wheelchair, left the poolside patio, ignoring the frantic pleas of the young brute flailing about in the water so violently, he would probably slosh it all out before he remembered he knew how to swim.