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cover your head, dear…or sit in the last row.”
    No one could put an end to a discussion like Mother. After the dishes were cleared (by me) and washed (by the dishwasher), I gave Peggy Sue a quick refresher course on how much dog food and insulin Sushi needed while Mother and I were away.
    Then I kissed Soosh on her mouth (I know, yuck) and bade them all good-bye, never once considering that any of these humans I was related to might deserve a smooch.
    While Mother made one last trip to “the little girls’ room” (as she insisted on calling it), Sis corralled me in the entryway.
    “You will use good judgment on what you buy.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Of course,” I said.
    She raised a forefinger and somehow managed not to waggle it. “Remember, Mother is on a fixed income, and if these antiques don’t sell…”
    “I realize all that.”
    Peggy Sue frowned. “You don’t have to be defensive.”
    “I’m not.” I wasn’t.
    “Need I mention the fake Grandma Moses painting you once bought?”
    Okay, now I was.
    “I got my money back,” I sputtered. “Anyway, Peggy Sue, this isn’t about money.”
    “Isn’t it?”
    “No, and anyway I have four thousand dollars, thanks to that incredibly rare Indian head penny I found.”
    My ex-husband had paid off the monthly alimony a while back in pennies, trying to get my goat; Mother and I had gone through every one of them (my father having been a coin collector), and henceforth I’ve encouraged my ex to continue payment in pennies, though so far it’s only been that once.
    “If it’s not about money…”
    “Peggy, this is about keeping Mother occupied in a productive way. She’s reeling from this blow Bernice dealt her.”
    “Ah. The theater director position.”
    “Yes. Idle hands are the devil’s playground.”
    “I see.” Nothing condescending; she really did seem to. “Thanks for looking after her.”
    “Hey, she’s my mother, isn’t she?”
    Mother appeared, tugging at her girdle. “Shall we go, Brandy, dear? Good-bye, everyone! Farewell!”
    Peggy Sue, Bob, and Ash all echoed Mother—well, not the “farewell,” just the “good-bye”—and then we were out the door and into the cool night and off to the Emerald City, leaving our blind Toto behind.
    The federal auction Mother and I were attending the next morning was being held in Rockford, Illinois—not exactly Oz, but not bad—a three-hour drive by interstate. Mother had brought along a Nero Wolfe book on CD that was about the right length for us to find out who the murderer was before we got back home. (If the story was too long, she’d make me drive around until it was finished, so I hoped she calculated correctly.)
    Mother popped the first CD in, settled back with a self-satisfied sigh, and said, “I love that man.” (Nero, Archie, or Rex? I didn’t ask.) Then she promptly fell asleep.
    I drove through the night, stewing about a number of things, mostly my strained relationship with Peggy Sue, my stalled relationship with Officer Brian Lawson, and my shattered relationship with Jake. Therefore I paid only intermittent attention to the CD.
    About an hour into the trip, Mother woke up with a snort. “What happened?” she asked.
    “What do you think happened? You fell asleep.”
    “No…No! I mean, what happened in the story, dear? Did Nero Wolfe leave his house?”
    Since I hadn’t been listening, I made a bunch of stuff up, based on eleven or twelve other Nero Wolfes we’ve listened to.
    Mother frowned and murmured, “Not Stout’s best,” and went back to sleep.
    Sorry, Rex.
    At about eleven that night we finally pulled into the Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Rockford. After some fancy maneuvering in the technically full parking lot, I invented a spot (or two) for our U-Haul-bearing vehicle, and then Mother and I checked in.
    The check-in was uneventful, Mother being too tired to indulge in theatrics. Our room was spacious with two beds, and within minutes we had