The Mother Hunt

Chapter 20

At my breakfast table in the kitchen one morning last week, the kind of a snowy blowy January morning when it’s nice to be inside a window looking out, I chewed slowly on my third bite of scrapple, swallowed it, and turned to Fritz.

“Creating again?” I asked.

He beamed at me. “You’re learning to taste, Archie. To distinguer. In ten years more you’ll have a palate. Can you tell me what I did?”

“Certainly not. But you did something. What?”

“I reduced the sage a little and added a touch of oregano. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a genius. Two geniuses in one house, and one of them is easy to Uve with. You may quote me to the other one.” I took a bite of scrapple, no bacon. Ordinarily I take bacon after the first two or three bites of scrapple, but I wanted to develop my palate. “Speaking of him, I suppose you’ve read the morning paper?”

“Yes. That murderer, that Haft, his appeal was denied.”

“He’ll try again. With money to pay lawyers you can do a lot of dodging. That’s one of the disadvantages of being poor, you don’t dare kill anybody.”

He was at the range, flipping the next slice of scrapple. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Archie, but the griddle was cold. I didn’t expect you down until later. You said you were going to the Flamingo.”

I swallowed scrapple and bacon. “Circling around again,” I said. “You could just ask, why did I not go to the Flamingo, and if I did go why did I come home early.”

“Bien. I ask.”

“Good. I answer. First, I went. Second, I came home early because we left early. Third, why did we leave early. The baby had a temperature and my companion was worried about it. A worrying woman should not be dancing. Does that cover it?”

“Yes.” He came and got my plate, and in a moment returned it with a slice of hot scrapple. “He is worried too, Archie. He thinks there is danger that you may marry that woman.”

“I know he does. That suits me fine. In a month or so I can hit him for a raise.” I took a bite of homemade scrapple with a touch of oregano.