JOHN KESSLER WALKED into the kitchen. He’d always reminded Myrtle of a stork with his long neck and tall, thin frame. He wore glasses with black frames and had a kind smile. He reached out to shake their hands but Miles shook his head, “I’ll refrain from the handshake since I’ve recently been ill.”
Myrtle said, “Although he’s been using hand sanitizer every five minutes. I don’t believe you can find a more germ-free handshake anywhere.”
“I appreciate the heads-up, though,” said John. “That’s probably the last thing we need over here—a virus.”
Myrtle clucked. “You’ve both have had a hard time, haven’t you?”
“It hasn’t been easy. It would be better if the police would leave Mimsy alone.” John stopped short and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I forgot for a second I was talking to the police
