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simply read:
    good luck,
maid 4
     
    Inside was a beautiful Irish lace tablecloth with bright red trim that she had crocheted herself. Maid 1 and Maid 3 were already ancient when Vivian was born and had no real relationship with her at all. And it was clear that Maid 2 disliked Vivian chatting at her because inevitably she would end up burning herself with the iron. But unlike the others, Maid 4 did speak to Vivian but only when they were on outings like to the Shepherd house. And although they never had true conversations and most of Maid 4’s orders consisted of “Hurry up!” or “Watch your step!” and “Don’t be late!” Vivian interpreted her deep Irish brogue barking as kind and protective words of wisdom.
    Vivian had lovingly spread the lace tablecloth out over the dining room table. She then laid out two settings of her multi-color Melmac plastic dinnerware and matching hand-blown goblets, pairing them up with vintage silverware she had picked up at a garage sale. She gathered several candlesticks from around the house and had timed lighting the candles to coincide with Paul’s arrival.
    •  •  •
     
    Hours later, Vivian stood in the doorway of the dining room and looked at the candles that had burnt down and out. Paul had ordered her never to call him at work but worried that something serious had happened, either a robbery or a shooting, she wondered if she should dial the precinct.
    Working the front desk, Stew had his head buried in a phone book while fellow Officer Pete O’Reilly sifted through a pile of papers.
    “Stew, maybe she spells it G-A-Y-T-E-S?”
    He shook his head. “I think the problem is, she’s just too new for the system.”
    Stew took off his hat revealing a premature friar’s tuck. The perfectly round balding pattern on the back of his head looked like a child’s beanie cap had worn it away. As a policeman, what he lacked in projecting authority and brawniness, he made up for with fairness and compassion. And as much as he tried to hide it, the torch he was carrying for Vivian was blazing bright and strong. He was determined to catch Paul in the act and save Vivian from anymore heartache.
    Pete got up and went to a file cabinet. “Maybe she moved here in time for the latest census.”
    The phone rang and Stew answered it in a forced, gruff voice. “Precinct Four, Officer Parker.”
    Vivian was on the other end. “Stewie?”
    His voice softened. “Oh, um, hi Viv.”
    “Can I speak to Paul please?”
    “Paul?”
    She half-laughed. “Yes, my husband?”
    Stew panicked. “Aw, gee, Vivian. He’s ah, not here right now. He had an emergency.”
    “Oh no,” she said clearly upset. “I knew something was terribly wrong.”
    “No, he himself didn’t have an emergency. There was a call and he, well, um, he had to go to the scene of an emergency.”
    Vivian paused, trying to take this all in. “Are you all right?”
    Officer Pete came up beside Stew. “Gates, I found it.” Stew quickly covered the phone’s receiver.
    “Stew, did someone say Gates?”
    “Um, no, Viv. Cakes.” Stew turned his head away from the phone knowing how stupid that sounded. “It’s a couple of the guy’s birthdays this week and we’re celebrating and Pete found the cakes.”
    “Oh, OK. Stew, I’m sorry for bothering you . . . ”
    “Not at all.”
    “But I always get nervous when Paul’s late and doesn’t call. And I’d never check up on him unless it was important but tonight is our wedding anniversary and . . . ”
    This really fired Stew up. “Not to worry, Viv. Sit tight. You have no idea how sorry I am that you’re having to go through all of this.”
    Vivian looked puzzled, trying to decipher what he was referring to. “OK.”
    Stew caught himself and tried to cover. “I promise you he’ll be back before you know it.”
    “Thank you.” Confused, Vivian slowly hung up the phone.
    Stew put down the receiver as Pete came over. “She’s at 12 Morton