“You, you, where is everyone?!” she screamed. Maybe Bob really had married his sister. Esther was the spitting image of the judge. Or maybe I was seeing double? “YOU!” OMG—like the judge, she spit when making demands. “I can’t eat wheat. No wheat! Did you hear me? Did you?”

Everyone in the neighborhood heard her, including the judge, who came speeding into the kitchen. Her bun fidgeted. I looked left. Esther’s bun was also moving.

I was sandwiched between two fire-breathing octogenarians with dancing buns. What were the chances?

“Helga,” Esther said. She lifted her cane, greeting the judge.

“Hello, Esther.”

This monkey moved from the middle, trying to back my way out of this most undesirable situation.

No—they each grabbed an arm. Bladder quivered. They pulled.

“This is my Sheera, let go! Let go!” the judge ordered.

“She’s supposed to get me lunch. No wheat, I told her.” Esther wasn’t giving up without a fight.

“NO! NO! NO!”

“YES! YES! YES!”

Arms pulled in different directions.

“Enough!” They let go and we all whipped around. It was Medieval Roy. He was clutching his top hat with one hand, petting his goatee with the other. I wondered if the chocolate chip cookie I’d just eaten had been laced with acid. “Um, what I meant, was, yes, Judge.” He bowed and tripped his way back to the living room. Grateful, I sped after him, leaving the dueling banjos in the kitchen.

Gazing around the living room, I counted about two dozen people—half judges, half family and friends. Judges Fleck and Haskell were there with their wives. So, too, were about five others I still couldn’t name. Absent was Justice Adams, who’d sent a condolence note and the most expensive fruit basket I’d ever seen. Note was on Supreme Court stationery. Note and basket had gone straight to wastebasket. No sooner had I parked myself in front of the sandwich platter did the mourning widow and sister emerge from the kitchen, arm in arm, giggling. The judge walked over to me.

“Sheila”—she smiled, revealing a chunk of liver in her bridge—“this is my dear sister-in-law, Esther. Please make sure she’s comfortable.” I had a feeling Esther hadn’t been comfortable since the Roaring Twenties. I smiled at Esther and the judge. It was only a few more hours. I could do this.

“Sure, um, Mrs. Esther? Is that what I should call you?”