“That woman never did have inhibitions," Jim said, turning off the faucet and looking at the drip with irritation. "This needs work, too."

“Jim, this was far worse than I remembered her," Cecily Grant said. "This poor woman who has some illness sat down next to her, and Pryce behaved like she'd been thrust into the middle of a leper colony. She called another woman a drunk and accused the mayor of embezzling the town treasury. All that before the class even started. That's when she went to work on the teacher for writing pornography.”

Katie burst in just then, and there were five minutes of hugging and kissing and shopping plans between granddaughter and grandmother.

“Jane, I ran into whatsisname today," Jim said when the greetings had died down.

“Which whatsisname?"

“VanDyne."

“Oh?" Jane was elaborately casual.

“Yeah, said he was going to give you a call. Hadn't seen you in a while."

“I've been right here.”

Jim glanced up from the offending plumbing, sur‑ prised at her arch tone. "Yeah—but he hasn't, you know. He's been teaching some law enforcement seminars out in California."

“Who are you talking about?" Cecily Grant asked. "Mel VanDyne, Mother. I wrote to you about him.

The detective I invited to Christmas dinner with us." "Oh, yes. The fabled Christmas dinner when Todd got sick."

“Todd couldn't help it. I never heard from VanDyne again. I guess he thought somebody always threw up on Christmas around here. Long family tradition. After all, if the president can upchuck at a state dinner, why should Todd be any different?"

“Jane, I'm sorry," her mother said.

“No, don't be. It's nothing," Jane said.