Chips is from the Midwest.”
“Even if he appears younger than he really is,”
Renie noted, “he couldn’t be over fifty.”
“Grandson, maybe?” Judith suggested.
“Oh.” Renie got up from the chair at the counter and
went to the refrigerator to claim another Pepsi. “That
could be. On the other hand, Chips often talks about
his mother, but not his father. I wonder why?” She
paused, then shook her head. “It can’t be Chips.
What’s the motive?”
Judith gave Renie a helpless look. “I’ve no idea. Un-
less the novel was written by Chips’s father—big
stretch, I know—or grandfather, and Bruno stole it.
Remember, I told you that the book had keepsakes in
it. Obviously, it had been treasured by someone for
many years.” She suddenly jumped up. “Keepsakes!
What’s wrong with me? Where did I put that book?”
Frantically, she looked around the kitchen as the wind
rattled the windows.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I didn’t
put it anywhere. Joe brought it down from Room
Three.” Cautiously bending down to favor her artificial
hip, Judith opened the bottom cabinet drawer next to
the wall. “Here it is. Let’s see if we can learn anything
from these keepsakes.”
Renie wore a resigned expression but said nothing.
The cousins had just sat down at the counter again
when Sweetums sidled up to Judith. He had a partially
eaten chicken breast in his mouth, which he began to
wrestle around the kitchen floor.
Judith scowled at the cat. “Where did you get that?
Here, let me have it.”
Sweetums wasn’t in the mood to oblige. He backed
away, with the chicken still in his teeth. Judith chased
him into the pantry, where he got under the lowest
shelf, just out of reach. In recent months, Sweetums
had figured out that his human was limited in her capacity for capturing him.
“Damn!” she cried as she heard the cat chewing
lustily on the chicken. “He must have gotten that out of
the garbage. I’d better make sure the can didn’t blow
over.” Grabbing her jacket from its customary peg, she
headed outside.
Driven by the wind, the fog swirled around the
backyard like smoke from a beach fire. The light in the
toolshed appeared and disappeared as if it were coming from a lighthouse. Gertrude kept late hours, requiring less sleep as she got older. Of course, Judith
thought as she hurried to the garbage cans and recycling bins by the side of the house, her mother dozed
