Ready-made meals in the homemade style were what endeared Bobbi to the otherwise shabby deli on the street corner near her office. All the way home, she floated on the scent of fresh lasagna and garlic bread. Emmy would be easy to convince with just the plea that Bobbi craved lasagna alone and wanted to treat her. Tomorrow it would be the turkey pie. Then there would be a late night at the office or one of her feigned lapses in appetite, staved off with a well-concealed sandwich. So far, Emmy had been too polite to call her out, if she even noticed the ruse.
She approached Lyndsey’s parked bicycle in the driveway and rested her hand on his helmet. Whatever news he brought her about Peter, she decided, was unwelcome in the extreme. Were there anything truly worth knowing, Polly would have shared it, thorough as she was. She hadn’t spared Bobbi any of her own shortcomings and let her tiny disappointments in Lyndsey show plainly through. Maybe Lyn was tired of her constant presence in his life and strove to cut her off before she could forge yet another pathway in. She recalled the light in Peter’s eyes and her cheeks flared. No, it’s too good to miss, she decided. Besides, there wasn’t enough lasagna for all of them. Sorry, Lyn.
Bobbi swept into the unit, taking in the strong mingled scents of things burnt and things gone rancid. The familiar smell of Emmy preparing food was enough to confirm her choice of pleasantly aromatic and wonderfully safe food from the deli.
“I’m home,” Bobbi called.
“Oh, good,” Emmy called back. “Hurry into the dining room, dear. I have something for you to see.”
Bobbi rehearsed a pleased look, although she dreaded the visit. She wore a smile that felt overdone and her cheeks still seemed too warm. She rubbed one with her hand, hoping to tamp down her heightened response.
Lyndsey rose from his chair in a tipsy manner, staggering enough to jostle his seat and shake the cups on the table. Coffee flowed out over the saucers. “My doilies!” Emerald exclaimed, rushing to staunch the flow before it soaked into the decorative lace. “Sorry,” Lyndsey murmured, his eyes locked on Bobbi.
Lyn sidled up to Bobbi and lowered his voice. “Something’s askew in this house.”
Emmy chuckled at him as she mopped up the spilled coffee. “I hear that! Professor, you are a paranoid man. Just because you think that was a lot of money for an old woman. You don’t know what it’s like to have such a devoted nephew like my Bertie.”
“What money?” Bobbi asked.
In answer, Emmy produced a clip from her pocket. The bills were few but all were hundreds.
