“You’ll never guess what I saw on one of those talk
shows,” Gertrude said. “Men who love men who love
monkeys. What next?”
The query was ignored. Judith picked up the remote
and hit the mute button. “Mother, did you sign for a
package this afternoon?”
“A package?” Gertrude looked blank, then scowled
at her daughter. “Hey, turn that thing back on. I can’t
hear the news. There’s a bear loose in a used-car lot on
the Eastside.”
Judith put the remote behind her back. “Did someone deliver a package to the toolshed this afternoon?”
“Oh.” Looking distressed, Gertrude tried to sit up a
little straighter. “Yes, they did, and I’ve never seen anything so disgusting in my entire life. Who’d play such
an awful joke on an old lady? If you can call it a joke,”
she added in a dark voice.
Judith realized that her mother was serious. “The
package—where is it?”
Gertrude’s expression was highly indignant. “Where
it ought to be—down the toilet. At least it didn’t stink.
Much.”
“Oh, no!” Judith gasped. “That was . . . that
wasn’t . . . what did it look like?”
“I told you,” Gertrude said. “Like . . . you know
what. It was dark brown and all bumpy. It was just . . .
horrible. Now who would play such a filthy trick?”
Judith recalled seeing truffles in Falstaff’s delicacy
section. They had been grayish white and came from
Italy. Maybe French truffles were different. If their appearance was as loathsome as Gertrude had described,
she couldn’t blame her mother for flushing them down
the toilet.
“It wasn’t a joke,” Judith said, patting Gertrude’s
shoulder and handing over the remote. “It was a box of
truffles—sort of like mushrooms—and it was intended
for the Hollywood guests. I’ve never eaten them, but I
guess they’re extremely delicious.”
Gertrude gave Judith an elbow. “Go on with you!
Nobody, not even those movie people, would eat anything that looked so foul.”
“I’m afraid they would—and do,” Judith replied. At
least they would if the truffles weren’t floating somewhere in the city’s sewer system. “Don’t worry about
it, Mother. It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Gertrude huffed. “What are they
having for supper? Bacteria?”
Judith couldn’t discuss the matter further. She
headed back into the house, trying to come up with one
of her well-intentioned fibs to stave off the wrath of
