with her glass of Canadian whiskey cradled in her
lap, “Bruno shows the viewer how certain periods of
history contributed to our evolution as a civilization.
He puts a positive spin on it, concentrating on early
forms of writing, the invention of paper, the printing
press, and so forth. Thus, he jumps from ancient
Egypt and China all the way up to the present. The
only problem that I can see is that it takes him four
hours to do it.”
“Wow,” said Judith. “I knew it was a long movie, but
isn’t that
“There’s an intermission,” Renie responded. “I
gather Bruno wanted to do a real epic, sort of the upside of D. W. Griffith’s
“I’ll wait for the video,” Joe said. “I prefer scheduling my own snack and bathroom breaks.”
“I don’t blame you,” Renie said, “except that you’ll
miss the spectacle unless you see it on a big screen.”
Joe shrugged. “I’ll use my imagination. Besides,
how spectacular can it be watching Gutenberg set type
in his basement?”
The question went unanswered as Winifred Best entered the kitchen. “Where are the truffles?” she demanded. “Bruno must have his truffles. Served raw, of
course, with rosy salt. I assume you know how to prepare rosy salt?”
Joe’s expression was benign. “Three parts salt, two
parts paprika, one part cayenne pepper.”
Judith was always amazed by her husband’s knowledge of fine cuisine. But she looked blankly at
Winifred. “I don’t recall seeing any truffles. Were they
shipped with the caviar and the other delicacies?”
Winifred’s thin face was shocked. “No! They were
shipped separately. Perigord truffles, from France.
They should have arrived this afternoon.”
Judith thought back to Phyllis’s comment about the
delivery truck that may or may not have stopped at
Hillside Manor. “I’ll check,” she said.
“You certainly will,” Winifred snapped. “And you’ll
do it now. Do you have any idea how rare, how delicate, and how
Judith didn’t, but refused to admit it. She immediately dialed the number of FedEx’s tracking service.
They had made all the previous deliveries, so she assumed they had—or hadn’t—shipped the truffles.
“Yes,” the woman at the other end of the line said,
“that parcel arrived at your house and was signed for
by a Mrs. Gertrude Grover.”
Judith sucked in her breath, barely managing to
gasp out a thank-you. “Could you wait here?” she
asked Winifred. “I think I know where the truffles are.”
Winifred was aghast. “You
Judith didn’t pause for further criticism. She rushed
out to the toolshed, where Gertrude was watching TV
and finishing supper. The volume was so loud that Judith cringed upon entering the tiny living room.
