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that ended in a sob. He knew she loved the horses more than she loved him.
    He started back toward the door, blinded by tears, tripped and fell violently to the floor. He lay there against the cement, feeling lonely and abused.
    Finally, he picked himself up and limped back to the house. He went to the liquor cabinet, poured an ounce of Scotch and downed it in one gulp. He poured another and took it to the couch. He turned on the television, hoping there might be something on that would cheer him up, found himself staring at a blurry version of something called Lady Hoggers . He turned the television off, took a slug of his drink. The Scotch tasted good. He comforted himself with the knowledge that his daughter, Terri, was coming home the next day. He hoped to God Evelyn would be in a better mood by then. He hated Terri to know things weren’t a bed of roses at home. He finished the drink and lay down, waiting for her to return.
    Tiffany sat on a stool, stirring a pot of fudge. The aroma of chocolate filled the kitchen. “This is like being at a slumber party.”
    Gregoire checked the oven, then poured coffee all around. “I will have to take your word for that.”
    Tiffany gave the fudge a few lazy swirls, then rested the spoon along the handle of the pot. “When I was a teenager, my friend Hortense and I would make fudge every Friday night while my parents were out shopping.”
    Tim hoisted his coffee. “So this is like having the parents out shopping.”
    â€œThe parents were most anxious about how we are managing here,” said Gregoire.
    Tim took out his notebook. “Very well, I would say. We’ve taken nine dinner reservations, checked in two guests, confirmed six reservations, and solved the plumbing problem in the Elm Pavilion. Thanks to yours truly.”
    â€œI never thought you had it in you to be a plumber,” said Gregoire.
    â€œHaving three old ladies with a compromised commode is a great motivator.” Tim reviewed his notes. “Caught a mouse headed toward the Sawchucks’ room. Live release. Tiffany fed the cat. Mr. Simpson walked Albert. I would say everything is in order.”
    â€œI hope Mr. and Mrs. Rudley will be all right,” said Tiffany.
    â€œThey are only three hundred yards from the back porch,” said Gregoire.
    â€œThat’s quite a long way in the woods. They could be attacked by a bear.”
    The fudge began to boil. Tim reached for the spoon.
    â€œPerhaps we should check on them during the night,” said Tiffany. “We could take turns.”
    Gregoire turned to Tiffany. “Believe me, there is nothing to worry about.”
    Tim opened the refrigerator, scanned the shelves. “I thought we had some roast beef left over.”
    â€œI gave you the last for Mr. Carty. You said he wanted a doggy bag.”
    â€œHe’s a bottomless pit,” said Tim.
    â€œHe’s a growing boy. There is chicken and ham if you want a sandwich.”
    â€œLet’s have chicken sandwiches and talk about the wedding,” said Tim. “That will take Tiffany’s mind off the Rudleys being gnawed by bears.”
    â€œIt is marvellous,” said Gregoire, “Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson choosing to have their wedding here.”
    â€œIt’s so romantic,” said Tiffany.
    â€œKnowing Miss Miller, it should be an eventful affair,” said Tim. He paused. “I hope no one gets murdered.”
    There was a long silence.
    â€œThat’s a horrible thought,” said Tiffany.
    â€œBut not outlandish,” said Tim.
    â€œNothing like that will possibly happen,” said Gregoire.
    They turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of steps across the dining room floor.
    â€œAunt Pearl,” said Tim.
    She went immediately to the stove, peered into the pot. “Fudge. Wonderful. I just bombed out in the Snakes and Ladders tournament. A big one. Anaconda, I think.” She nudged Gregoire “You