the head itself. “This thing is hot. And now it’s wet
from the rain. I smell like a sheep, not a panda.”
“What does a panda smell like?” Renie inquired in
a musing tone.
“Not as bad as I do,” Cathy complained.
“Now, dear,” Arlene soothed, “we all have to suffer
for love.” She gave Carl a sharp glance. “Think of what
I’ve had to put up with over the years.”
“Stick it in the oven, Gretel,” Carl shot back.
Bill waddled over to the cupboards by the work
area. “Quack, quacky, quack?” He addressed Renie.
“In here,” Renie replied, opening a cupboard underneath the counter. “Judith has four kinds of cocoa. You
choose.”
“Quack,” Bill said, pointing to the German chocolate brand, then to a row of cereal boxes on the bottom
shelf. “Quack,” he said, indicating the Cheerios.
“Quack,” he continued, tapping the Grape-Nuts.
“Quack,” he concluded, nudging a box of bran.
Renie placed her Daisy Duck head on the counter.
“You should have had your evening snack at home,”
she said in mild reproach. “I’ll have to heat the cocoa
in the microwave. All the burners are in use.”
“Quack,” said Bill.
Judith shook her head. She’d never understood how
her cousin, who was usually so fractious, could wait on
Bill hand and foot. At least some of the time. But
Renie was equally willing to spoil their children. It
seemed out of character, and therefore illogical. And
logic was the cornerstone of Judith’s thought
processes.
Bill had finished his snack and the final preparations
were being made when the first of the limos arrived
back at Hillside Manor. Judith went to the door.
The wind and rain seemed to blow the trio inside.
As Cleopatra, Ellie Linn was shivering with the cold,
despite the black cloak that hung from her shoulders.
“T-t-this awful weather!” she cried. “I’m g-g-going
t-t-to catch pneumonia!” She burst into hysterical
laughter and fled into the downstairs bathroom.
“That’s how she handles adversity.” Winifred
sneered. “The silly twit.” In her nun’s habit, Winifred
moved closer to Bruno. She seemed to be holding him
up as he stumbled through the entry hall. “Scotch,
quickly!” she cried. “Mr. Zepf isn’t feeling well.”
The liquor bottles that the guests had brought with
them were on the makeshift bar in the front parlor, but
