Chapter Eighteen
Sure enough, Myrtle just had time to grab her purse and her cane and Red was at her door with his police cruiser running in her driveway.
“That was fast,” she said.
Red answered dryly, “I was ready to get out of the house.”
“What made poor Jack morph from a charming preschooler?”
Red said, “You know, Mama, there’s really not very good cause and effect with that age group. It all seemed to start when he wanted to eat the crayons he was coloring with and I took them away from him.”
“Seems rather illogical,” said Myrtle with a frown. “But Jack is brilliant. Perhaps he was trying to indicate that he was hungry.”
“He’d just had a snack,” said Red. He glanced her way, “What are you picking up at the store?”
“I’m making a snack for the chess tournament tomorrow,” said Myr
