Small white cafe tables for two and chairs with plump floral-patterned cushions were set up on the porch. At the center front of the house itself, one walked into what had once been a front hall, with a parlor and dining room to each side. The area had been opened up, and sparkling glass display cases enclosed an unbelievable array of deli foods. Jane assumed the back rooms of the first floor were kitchens and storage areas. There was no staircase visible, but Jane had heard that the second floor had been kept as living quarters. Conrad and Sarah Baker would be "living above the shop," as many small shopkeepers used to.

The decorating plan was in keeping with the Victorian house — lots of ferns and lush greenery — but everything was white and bright and clean instead of characterized by the dark sobriety that had been fashionable when the house was new. Jane and Shelley had arrived early, but so had many other curious neighbors. Nearly all the little tables on the porch were occupied by people sampling Conrad's cooking when Jane and Shelley arrived. Conrad, in a chef's white jacket and hat, greeted them with a tray. "Ladies, how good of you to come!" he said heartily. "Have a seat or roam around as you like.”

Conrad was a large, florid-faced man who obviously enjoyed eating as much as cooking. He wasn't fat, just big and fairly solid-looking, as ex-football players often get in middle age.

His wife, Sarah, was behind him, passing out plates and silverware. She was a small, thin woman with tiny, delicate features and a mop of curly dark blond hair held back with clear plastic combs. She had a shy, quiet manner, and though she was smiling, she looked as if this sort of mingling was painful.