“Me, that’s who else,” Kate said. “You don’t want to mess with a redhead.”

Elsie considered that. “You got a point.”

“Drug bust?” Kate’s father looked out the window. “Is that true? What kind of neighborhood is this?”

Dave shook his head. “This is a great neighborhood. Really quiet. Very respectable. I’m sure this isn’t a drug bust.”

From the second floor the walkie-talkie squawked, and there was the sound of glass breaking. “Okay,” Howie yelled over the bullhorn, “we know you’re in there, Omar. Come out with your hands in the air.” There was a moment of silence, and then the bullhorn was directed down the stairs. “Sorry about the window, Dave. We couldn’t get it open. Next time don’t paint over the latch.”

“I could be wrong about the drug bust,” Dave said. “But I’m sure it’s not important. Probably just some kid smoking in his bathroom. You know how the police always overreact.”

Grace Finn slugged down another glass of sherry, and Kate rushed to refill her mother’s glass.

“Mom, don’t you think you’re drinking that sherry kind of fast? You’re not much of a drinker, you know.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ve only had one eensy-teensy glass.”

“Mom, this is at least your third.”

Dave stared at the blue-and-red flashing lights outside his house. Grace Finn had the right idea. He’d like to get drunk, too, but he had to mash the potatoes, and he made it a point never to operate machinery while under the influence. He cautiously set a bowl of salted nuts at Mr. Finn’s elbow and backed away. “Guess I’d better mash the potatoes now.”

Kate pivoted toward him on her crutches. Her eyes were as big as golf balls, and she spoke in a rapid-fire shriek. “You need help in the kitchen?”

“Sure. You know CPR?”

A SWAT team assembled on the front porch and the Evening News van double-parked in front of Kate’s house.

Elsie got to her feet. “You look kind of pale,” she told Dave. “He’s a nice kid, but he’s kind of a wimp when it comes to shooting people,” she said in an aside to Kate’s mother. “Hasn’t lived in the right sort of neighborhoods.” She turned her attention back to Dave. “How about if I give you a hand with those potatoes?”

She tucked her purse under her arm and marched off to the kitchen, followed by Kate and Dave. “The key to good mashed potatoes is to add just the right amount of milk,” she explained to Kate. She drained the potatoes and added a blob of butter and some milk. “Some people use a potato masher, but I like an electric mixer.”