Page 97 of If Looks Could Kill
Aunt Mag availed herself of my unused knife to spear herself a slice of cheese. “That’s the kind of lad he is, Miss Tabitha,” she said. “Loyal. Nothing he wouldn’t do for a friend.”
Was she placing special stress on the word “friend”? Friend as in, nothing more?
I wasn’t a Catholic. Was that a problem, perhaps?
Time for a violent self-scolding. Get ahold of yourself, you goose. You’ve spent one evening and shared one kiss. You didn’t know about his classes. That kiss was probably just… circumstantial. Situationally obligatory. It’s a bit early to worry about how to raise the children.
“Are you too warm in here, lovey?” Aunt Mag hurried to the window to open it a crack. “Your cheeks are quite flushed all of a sudden.”
I attacked the beans with my spoon.
“They go best on the toast,” she supplied helpfully, taking another wedge of it for herself.
I heaped beans on the remaining piece, which was sopping with rich yellow butter.
It was delicious. Aunt Mag watched, taking dainty nibbles off one of the fried sausages.
“Now,” she said, “tell me all about you.”
“I’d love to,” I lied, “but I need to locate my friend Pearl. Do you know what time it is?”
Aunt Mag popped her fingertips into her mouth, one by one, to lick off the grease.
“You don’t want your porridge?” she asked.
I shook my head. “It looks delicious. But I’m getting full.”
She seized the ramekin and busied herself with a spoon she’d pulled from her apron pocket. “Nearly a quarter to ten.”
Oh no. The morning was half over. I set the tray aside, peeled the bedclothes off me, and swung my legs out.
“I’ve got to get going,” I told her. “Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here.”
“Any friend of Mike’s.” She paused, mid-bite. “Mike said he’d be back by noon, and he hoped you’d wait for him.” She swallowed. “He worried about you going out beforehand.”
“I’ll come back this afternoon,” I said, “and tell him what I’ve learned.”
She skewered a bite of egg with a fork, also from her apron pocket. Aunt Mag, it seemed, thought ahead. “I’ll tell him,” she said, “but can I persuade you to reconsider? I have a mince pie in the oven and a pork roast and potatoes for dinner.”
“I’ll be back,” I repeated. “Please tell Mike not to worry. I’ll return in a couple of hours.”
Aunt Mag swallowed a stewed prune and dabbed her mouth with my napkin. “Rescuing those poor girls is certainly noble, but didn’t Mike say you’ve angered some rough sorts?”
“My friend Pearl is missing, and those rough sorts are looking for her,too. I can’t stay here, much as I’d like to, enjoying your cooking—”
“Oh, go on.” She waved away the compliment that had obviously delighted her.
“—while I know she’s out there.” My voice choked. “I pray she’s out there.”
Mike’s aunt melted. “Then I’ll do the same,” she said, “and send up a little prayer, too.” She rose and gathered up the tray. “Please be careful today, Miss Tabitha,” she added. “Our Mike’s a lovely boy, and you seem to have made quite an impression on him.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I reverted to my fallback strategy for life: blurt out the uncensored truth at the worst possible time.
“I think he’s wonderful.”
“Well!” Her eyes sparkled. “Does he know that?”
I’d finished lacing up one boot and switched to the other one. “If he doesn’t,” I told her, “then he’s not the bright lad you think he is.”
