Read Online Sticks & Scones by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
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every ventilation fan I could find. Within minutes, the smoke had abated and the alarm had mercifully quieted.
Sukie stopped crying, inspected her fingers, and wrapped a wet towel around her left hand. Arch continued to give me his I-
really
-need-to-talk-to-you look. I didn’t know what to say.
Excuse me, Sukie, but may my son and I leave you, your burned hands, and your smoke-stinking kitchen so we can confer in your nondairy buttery?
Arch tugged my sleeve. “Ah, I need to drop my stuff somewhere before I go to school. I need to do my hair, too, and finish getting ready. Okay? Please? And I do want Miss Kirovsky to take me to school, so you, Mom, can track down that lawyer and find out where Dad is.”
“Okay,”
I promised in a low voice. I pressed the power button on my cell phone. The tiny screen told me the phone was
Looking for service
, which is the telecommunications euphemism for
You’re out of luck!
“Sukie, I’m desperate for a telephone. Is there one nearby?”
She said patiently, “It is just half past six.”
“It’s okay,” I replied.
It’s half past eight in New Jersey, and that’s the only time that counts right now.
I said, “I really need to talk to my husband before he leaves for the airport.” After that, I would fulfill my promise to Arch and leave a message for Pat Gerber, the assistant district attorney for Furman County. Clearly, the Department of Corrections was taking its sweet time getting around to informing us of its plans for the Jerk. Pat Gerber would give me the straight scoop—if I could find her.
“There is a phone on that wall—” Sukie began, butwe were interrupted at that moment by the entrance of Eliot Hyde.
He banged open the heavy wooden door, glided into the kitchen, and surveyed his wife, his caterer, and his caterer’s son. Then he sniffed the air suspiciously. The flickering chandelier turned errant strands of his hair to gold. This morning, Eliot’s movie-star features and sad brown eyes seemed even more striking than before. He wore the ubiquitous silk scarf above a long, flowing bathrobe of royal blue velvet.
Tender Is the Nightgown.
Arch stared at Eliot Hyde with his mouth open.
“Cheerio!” Eliot called to us, as if we numbered in the hundreds, instead of just three. “Welcome to our castle!”
“Mom!” Arch was tugging on my sleeve again. “When can we—”
“Honey,” I pleaded. “Stop! You’re driving me nuts!”
Ignoring this, Eliot Hyde sniffed the air again and looked around. “Aw, honeykins, did you burn another one?”
To my dismay, before Sukie could reply, my son turned and bolted from the kitchen. After a stunned second, I scooted after him, paddling hard through an ocean of guilt.
Eliot called plaintively after us, “What did I
say
?”
CHAPTER 5
I caught up with Arch by the well. “Look, hon—”
“I want to leave. I want to see Dad. I want to know why our window was shot at. What if someone tried to shoot at
Dad
, too? Maybe that’s why he hasn’t gotten in touch with me. Did you ever think of that, Mom? Maybe somebody’s trying to get us all.”
Most of the time, Arch kept his feelings well in control. Now he was worried about his father, worried about the house, worried about me. Added up, this was too big a burden for a teenager.
“Arch, please,” I told him, “the cops are working on the bullet through the window. Once, when I was little? Somebody threw a snowball packed with gravel through our picture window. Who ever heard of such a thing happening in a nice neighborhood of a small New Jersey town? The kid who threw it said it was a prank. So that’s what I think. Whoever shot out our window was either drunk or playing a joke. Trust me, your father can take care of himself. Please, let’s go back.”
He mumbled, “If that’s true, then it’s a
stupid
joke,” but grudgingly returned to the kitchen. Sukie had her hands in a bowl of ice water. Eliot had moved to the counter to make tea, and Arch
Sukie stopped crying, inspected her fingers, and wrapped a wet towel around her left hand. Arch continued to give me his I-
really
-need-to-talk-to-you look. I didn’t know what to say.
Excuse me, Sukie, but may my son and I leave you, your burned hands, and your smoke-stinking kitchen so we can confer in your nondairy buttery?
Arch tugged my sleeve. “Ah, I need to drop my stuff somewhere before I go to school. I need to do my hair, too, and finish getting ready. Okay? Please? And I do want Miss Kirovsky to take me to school, so you, Mom, can track down that lawyer and find out where Dad is.”
“Okay,”
I promised in a low voice. I pressed the power button on my cell phone. The tiny screen told me the phone was
Looking for service
, which is the telecommunications euphemism for
You’re out of luck!
“Sukie, I’m desperate for a telephone. Is there one nearby?”
She said patiently, “It is just half past six.”
“It’s okay,” I replied.
It’s half past eight in New Jersey, and that’s the only time that counts right now.
I said, “I really need to talk to my husband before he leaves for the airport.” After that, I would fulfill my promise to Arch and leave a message for Pat Gerber, the assistant district attorney for Furman County. Clearly, the Department of Corrections was taking its sweet time getting around to informing us of its plans for the Jerk. Pat Gerber would give me the straight scoop—if I could find her.
“There is a phone on that wall—” Sukie began, butwe were interrupted at that moment by the entrance of Eliot Hyde.
He banged open the heavy wooden door, glided into the kitchen, and surveyed his wife, his caterer, and his caterer’s son. Then he sniffed the air suspiciously. The flickering chandelier turned errant strands of his hair to gold. This morning, Eliot’s movie-star features and sad brown eyes seemed even more striking than before. He wore the ubiquitous silk scarf above a long, flowing bathrobe of royal blue velvet.
Tender Is the Nightgown.
Arch stared at Eliot Hyde with his mouth open.
“Cheerio!” Eliot called to us, as if we numbered in the hundreds, instead of just three. “Welcome to our castle!”
“Mom!” Arch was tugging on my sleeve again. “When can we—”
“Honey,” I pleaded. “Stop! You’re driving me nuts!”
Ignoring this, Eliot Hyde sniffed the air again and looked around. “Aw, honeykins, did you burn another one?”
To my dismay, before Sukie could reply, my son turned and bolted from the kitchen. After a stunned second, I scooted after him, paddling hard through an ocean of guilt.
Eliot called plaintively after us, “What did I
say
?”
CHAPTER 5
I caught up with Arch by the well. “Look, hon—”
“I want to leave. I want to see Dad. I want to know why our window was shot at. What if someone tried to shoot at
Dad
, too? Maybe that’s why he hasn’t gotten in touch with me. Did you ever think of that, Mom? Maybe somebody’s trying to get us all.”
Most of the time, Arch kept his feelings well in control. Now he was worried about his father, worried about the house, worried about me. Added up, this was too big a burden for a teenager.
“Arch, please,” I told him, “the cops are working on the bullet through the window. Once, when I was little? Somebody threw a snowball packed with gravel through our picture window. Who ever heard of such a thing happening in a nice neighborhood of a small New Jersey town? The kid who threw it said it was a prank. So that’s what I think. Whoever shot out our window was either drunk or playing a joke. Trust me, your father can take care of himself. Please, let’s go back.”
He mumbled, “If that’s true, then it’s a
stupid
joke,” but grudgingly returned to the kitchen. Sukie had her hands in a bowl of ice water. Eliot had moved to the counter to make tea, and Arch
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