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wouldn’t have a little drink for an old lady?”
    â€œHow about a nice glass of cranberry juice?”
    â€œHow about a Black Russian?” She smiled as he dug into the cupboard. “How’s my darling niece getting along?”
    â€œShe’s enjoying herself immensely,” said Tim.
    Tiffany took the fudge off the burner, set it aside to cool. “We were talking about the wedding.”
    â€œI’m looking forward to that.” Pearl took the glass Gregoire held out.
    â€œWe were just saying something always seems to happen when Miss Miller is around,” said Gregoire.
    Pearl waved that off. “Don’t blame Miss Miller. Blame Rudley. We haven’t had a week without sirens blaring since he bought the place.” She paused. “I can still see that unfortunate man dangling from the ski lift.”
    Tiffany mixed a teaspoon of vanilla into the fudge, poured it into a pan, and set it aside. “I’m glad I wasn’t here to see that.”
    Pearl tested her drink, gave it a nod of approval. “The wedding’s going to be a real wingding. I’ll never forget my wedding.”
    They leaned toward her expectantly.
    â€œSt. Albans. Great old thing from the seventeenth century. I wore a full-length gown with seed pearls. The bridesmaids were a veritable rainbow of pastels. Winnie and his attendants in morning suits. Cute little flower girl — fifth cousin or something. Cute little ring bearer. John Elgie from Coventry, the best church organist outside of London, played the wedding march. Lovely reception at my parents’ country home. Then off to a honeymoon on the continent.”
    â€œSounds lovely,” said Tiffany,
    Aunt Pearl thought for a moment. “Actually, it was a real bore. How Mother roped me into that, I can’t imagine. By the time it was over, Winnie and I were wishing we’d eloped.” She drained her glass. “So a night in the woods. That’s Margaret’s camping trip.”
    â€œI think it’s just a trial run,” said Tim.
    Gregoire sniffed. “Yes, it is a trial run. Mr. Rudley is hoping Margaret will be so put off by the experience, she will beg him not to repeat it.”
    Tiffany smiled. “I think they really just wanted some time to themselves.”
    â€œI have to admit, Margaret, it is rather relaxing here.”
    Margaret emitted a soft snore.
    â€œSo much for lying awake deep into the night, listening to owls and so forth.” Rudley folded his arms behind his head, stared up at the nylon ceiling. Time was, a tent was canvas, he thought. Wonderful chemical smell.
    He’d loved camping out when he was a boy. He and his pal Squiggy Ross would hike up into the woods, pitch a tent, do a little fishing. They’d fry the fish over an open fire, bake potatoes in the coals. Toast a few marshmallows. Take turns telling ghost stories. No one thought anything of letting two young boys go off into the woods overnight. It was a more innocent time.
    He smiled. His old friend Squiggy, the blue-eyed boy with the blond curls and gap-toothed smile. Squiggy was still camping out, but now it was in downtown Galt, minus teeth, minus hair, with a cap between his knees, collecting change for a cheap bottle of wine.
    Like most boys, Squiggy wanted to be a fireman. Rudley had always assumed he’d be a doctor like his father. Then he took a summer job at the Baltimore Hotel and he knew he’d found his calling.
    The Baltimore was a magical place. He relished entering the lobby every morning. The gleaming oak hardwood floor with its scarlet runner. The long solid oak front desk with its leather-bound register, and the bell you struck smartly for service. The amber wainscoting and old-fashioned wallpaper with its pastoral motif. The umbrella stand just inside the front door. He chuckled. Back then, it was safe to leave a good umbrella in a public stand. Everybody in town knew your umbrella.