the job. Kept it because I thought it brought me good luck.â There was something in Mrs. Yetnerâs expression that Evie couldnât read.
âWhen was that?â
âOh, my, who remembers?â She gave a vague wave. âEnd of the war.â
âI ask because I work at the Historical Society, and weâre mounting an exhibit about some of New Yorkâs great fires. And one of them was when a World War II bomber crashed into the building. That was back when the building looked like this.â Evie held out the souvenir. She went on, trying not to sound too excited. âSo of course Iâm wondering if itâs at all possible that you were working there when . . .â
She was interrupted by the doorbell. Mrs. Yetner turned sharply, her eyes wide. There was a sharp rat-tat-tat, then a manâs voice. âAunt Mina?â
Mrs. Yetner turned back to Evie. She plucked the little statue from Evieâs palm and dropped it into her own pocket. âWould you mind getting that?â she said, adjusting her pearls and smoothing her sweater. âSounds like my nephew has arrived.â
Chapter Nine
Mina didnât like where the girlâs questions were going, not one bit. So for a change she was happy to hear Brianâs voice. Heâd told her he was coming by Saturday. That was today. But, as usual, he hadnât bothered to say when exactly he was going to show up. He never stayed for tea unless he was trying to pitch one of his canât-miss schemes.
Once heâd tried to get her to invest in vitamins. Another deal had involved leasing oil rights in Namibia. Namibia, for goodnessâ sake! When sheâd questioned him about it, he didnât seem to know where the country was, aside from âsomewhere in Africa.â Now he was on and on about some real estate scheme. She usually tossed Brian some sort of bone to get him out of her hair.
As the girl went to get the door, Mina scuttled into the living room. Where had he left those papers heâd wanted her to look at? Sure enough, there they were, under todayâs newspaper on the lamp table.
She heard the front door open. A pause. Then, âWell, hello there.â Brianâs deep sonorous voice. âAnd who are you?â
âJust a neighbor. My mother lives next door.â
Brian was always at her about how forgetful she was becoming, so the last thing she wanted was for him to come through and find the papers sheâd promised to read sitting exactly where heâd left them. Mina tried to stuff the papers into the drawer of the mahogany coffee table, but they wouldnât fit.
âReally?â Brian said. A long pause. âYour mother lives in that house?â
Longer pause before the girl said, âYour aunt is in the living room, waiting for you.â
Mina was glad that the poor girl didnât think she needed to apologize for the state of her motherâs house. Certainly not to Brian. She shoved the papers under a sofa cushion, then she sat on it and pulled the crocheted afghan over her. Ivory jumped into her lap and started to purr.
Seconds later, Brian stomped in from the kitchen. âHello, Aunt Mina.â
As he started toward her, Ivory gave a yowl and disappeared under the couch.
Brian had always been on the scrawny side, but in his forties heâd turned portly and thickened in the jowls. Nearly sixty now, he still had that shock of wavy hair, only instead of auburn it was nearly black. When men colored their hair, they always made it too dark. Like shoe polish.
At least he was predictable, you could say that for him. Always favored double-breasted jackets with brass buttons and cordovan leather loafers, like what he had on now. But fine feathers didnât make fine birds.
âDid you at least look at the agreement?â he said, not bothering with Hello or How are you today?
âShouldnât you be at work?â Mina said, giving him a
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley