Page 106 of Half Baked

My blood pooled in my feet.

“I’m hungry!” my aunt called from the living room. “Where’s my food?”

I glanced down and realized I’d finished making the tuna salad and toasted two pieces of bread while on autopilot. I slathered the salad onto the toast, cut the sandwich in half and put the halves on two plates. I added some crackers to my aunt’s plate, then piled some chips onto the other and set it in front of Gina.

“I’ll be right back.”

Aunt Deidre turned away from the TV as I walked into the room. She took one look at the plate and her upper lip curled. “What is this?”

“It’s your lunch, Deidre,” I said sweetly. “Tuna salad on toasted wheat bread. One of your favorites.”

“I hate tuna salad.”

“Really? Because Albert said you loved it.” I blinked to ease the burn in my eyes. Her behavior wasn’t her fault, but this wasn’t the woman I knew and loved. She’d be horrified to know she was talking to me this way.

She glanced around the room. “WhereisAlbert?”

“He got tied up with a church committee. He’ll be home soon.” It was my standard excuse, but it always seemed to work.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I miss him.”

My heart broke. I sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her back and cupping her shoulder. “I know you do.”

“I miss Andrea too. She hasn’t come by to see me in ages. Where is she?”

“She’s busy too,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “With Maddie.”

She turned to face me. “I think she’s seeing him again.”

I held her gaze. “Gordy?”

She nodded. “She’s being secretive and gives in too easily when I ask for Maddie to spend the night.”

“Maybe Andrea loves him.”

“I know she does,” she said disgust. “She says she’s going to stop seeing him at her house because Maddie almost saw him the other day, but I don’t think I believe her.”

“I’m sure she’s doing the best she can,” I suggested, then stood. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I started to head back to the kitchen when she called out, “You’re not so bad for hired help, but I still prefer the other lady.”

“Thank you,” I said, equally insulted and amused.

Gina was standing in the doorway watching my aunt as I reached her. “She really does have dementia.”

“I’m probably going to have to put her in a facility. In fact, I toured St. Vincent’s a few days ago.”

Her face paled, and she turned to face me.

“Why does that make you nervous?”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I saw Howard Bergan. But from the look on your face, you already knew he was a patient there.”

“What did you do?” she repeated.

“He told me he hid evidence and stalled my mother’s case because a man threatened him. A skinny man. We have the evidence he hid. She had a key on her when she died. A gold house key. Do you know what it could have gone to?”

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