“To you, maybe,” he grunted. “But they gotta be just right.”

“They’re fine,” she repeated a bit more forcefully, while continuing to stare at the display. After a moment she clucked her tongue and said, “You know, one of these days you’re going to have to explain to me exactly how you became so obsessed with nutcrackers.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“One hundred twenty-two of them, Ben? And you buy at least one new one every year.”

“I collect ‘em. It’s a hobby.”

Constance shook her head. “Sure, okay. Whatever you say. Now quit playing with your dolls and come show me where you keep your paprika. Rowan and Felicity and your sister are going to be here soon, and I still have to change. I’d really like to have dinner ready on time.”

“Paprika… Ain’t that the red stuff ya’ use ta’ decorate deviled eggs?”

“It’s not for decorating,” she sighed. “It’s for seasoning. You do actually have some, don’t you? Please tell me you do.”

“Hell, I dunno,” he grunted as he followed her toward the kitchen. “I try not ta’ cook unless I absolutely have to.”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed. Well if you don’t have any, then you need to run to the store.”

“Why me?”

“Because I’m cooking, and like I said, I still have to change before our guests arrive. Not very observant for a cop, are you?”

He chuckled. “Funny. Real funny.”

A muted electronic tone sounded and then began to warble into a series of syncopated notes that steadily gained in volume. Ben pulled the chirruping cell phone from his belt and gave the screen a glance before quickly flashing it at Constance.

“Speakin’ of our guests…” he announced and then exclaimed, “Oh, damn! I was s’posed to call Row about Firehair’s present.” He unfolded the phone then placed it against his ear and answered with, “Merry freakin’ ho, ho, ho, Kemosabe…”