Margot had given her a quick tour of the apartment, told her to help herself to anything in the kitchen, and went back to work. Betsy had tried lying down on the comfortable bed in the guest room to take a nap, but was too wound up to sleep. She had wandered the apartment awhile, then gone to the refrigerator—eating when she couldn’t think of anything else to do was her worst fault—and poured herself a glass of milk, then took a couple of peanut-butter cookies from a cookie jar shaped like a pig—a hint, obviously, but it didn’t stop her.

Now she sat at the little table in the dining alcove, trying not to think too much about the suitcases waiting to be unpacked.

The building was only two stories high, so there were no apartments overhead. Margot’s apartment took up one end of the second floor, with a stairwell between it and the other apartments. Between its location and the old-fashioned solidness of the building, it was very quiet up here. Of course, it was a quiet little town, too; no fire and police sirens, no traffic’s roar. Even the lake’s little wavelets could hardly approach the sussurant crash of the Pacific. Oh, dear, she thought as her eyes began to sting, was she going to miss the ocean, too?

No, no, she’d be just fine. She was here, in Excelsior, Minnesota, a nice little town, and welcome. She finished the milk and put one uneaten cookie back in the jar, put the glass into the sink, and as she did noticed the grubbiness of her hands. She went into the bathroom to wash, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she changed her mind. Just washing her hands and face wasn’t going to do.

The tub was a big old-fashioned porcelain one, with claw feet. Real porcelain tubs held the heat much better than fiberglass ones and were therefore great for long soaks. A long soak suddenly seemed very desirable. And here was a jug of bubble bath, herbal-scented, just waiting. So she filled the tub, peeled off her clothes, and sank gratefully into the bubbles. She’d forgotten to go get a paperback, but that was all right; she just closed her eyes and fell into a kind of doze. When she stirred herself half an hour later, and rinsed out her hair, and toweled off with one of the big, thirsty bath towels, she felt a whole lot better.

She had put on fresh clothes and was halfway unpacked when she heard someone come in. “I’m home!” came Margot’s voice.

Betsy found Margot in the kitchen. “Early closing tonight,” she said. She was measuring out a portion of lams Less Active for Sophie as the cat watched anxiously.

“Can I help with supper?” asked Betsy.

“No, the kitchen’s too small, especially with Sophie in it, too. You sit down and we’ll talk.”

So Betsy sat at the round table in the dining nook and said, “How’s business?”