Chapter Nine
There was a jaunty rap at the front door and Myrtle cursed under her breath. “It’s Joan. And it looks like I’ve babysat by plopping the kids in front of the television the whole time.” She pushed herself out of the chair and grabbed her cane.
“You did do that,” said Miles. “But it was so much better than the alternative. And we didn’t even have to boot up your computer.”
Joan looked even jollier than she had when she’d been dropping off Noah. She greeted Myrtle and Miles with a huge smile on her face. Myrtle was surprised to see that she had dimples—she’d never smiled enough for Myrtle to see them. Her mother’s demise seemed to put her in an extraordinarily good mood. “How was Noah?” she asked, then spotted him staring with fascination at the television screen.
Myrtle said
