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MYRTLE WAS SO ENGAGED in writing the article for the Bradley Bugle and in trying to give it journalistic integrity instead of letting it descend into tabloid territory, that she was startled at the knock on the door at ten o’clock.
“This place is busier than the Charlotte airport,” she muttered to herself as she walked to her front door.
It all came back to her when she saw Jack’s sunny face smiling up at her. He hugged her around her leg and then trotted inside.
Elaine gave her a doubtful expression. Usually when Jack came over, Myrtle had her house completely set up for the visit. She’d have cartoons on the television, a coloring book set out, a bowl of snacks on the coffee table, and a basket of toys on the floor. This time, there was only Myrtle, still wearing bedroom sli
