But now because of her death we had this job, which would help pay the bills for October. Laura Smiley's aunt from Illinois, acting in place of parents long dead, had ordered the food and sent me an express mail cheque for eight hundred dollars. This covered my second problem, usually my first, and that was money.

Above the steel hand-washing sink, one of several required by the county for commercial food service, the booking calendar showed only two parties between tomorrow, October tenth, and the thirty- first. Clearing four hundred dollars on each of those plus four hundred for tomorrow's buffet would take us to the Halloween-to- Christmas season, where I made almost enough money to get Arch and me through May. Long ago I had learned to stop depending on regular child support payments from Arch's father, even if he did have an ob-gyn practice with an income as dependable as procreation. The payments were invariably wrong and invariably late. But arguments between us were bad for Arch and dangerous for me. Peace was worth a lower income. I stared grimly at the calendar. Lots of parties between Halloween and Christmas. That was the ticket to financial security.

Problem number three after short notice and money was getting all the supplies for a job. My meat and produce supplier was doing an extra run for me because she, too, had known the financial strains of single motherhood. Her truck was supposed to be rumbling up from Denver right now bringing a salmon and out-of- season asparagus and strawberries. After she delivered them, she'd give me a lecture on going out. She'd say, It's not that tough to have fun.

But tough was like a roll in the microwave. I didn't have time for a harangue about my social life because in addition to needing the supplies, I'd just used the last of the honey to make the rolls. This meant the muffins were on hold. The local honey supplier was a handsome fellow named Pomeroy, lusted after by every unattached woman in the county, a fact my supplier usually did not fail to mention. Unfortunately Pomeroy had said he wouldn't be able to get over for a while to resupply my stock. The unusually warm weather had brought out a predator that had raided one of the hives. And he had his hands full.

Of what, I had wanted to say, but hadn't. Sugar would do for the muffins.

The phone rang.

"Goldilocks' Catering," I said into the receiver, "where everything is just-"

"Spare me the greeting, Goldy," came the voice of Alicia, my supplier. "I called Northwest Seafood. Fish's all yours."

"You're great." She mm-hmmed and then said nothing.

I-said, "What is it?"

"How well did you know this Laura?"

"She was Arch's teacher. For a couple of grades."

"Young?"

"Early forties," I said. "She acted young." I paused. "I knew her."

She grunted and said she would be up in an hour.