The door opened just as she raised the knocker, prepared to strike. Geraldine must have seen her walking up the drive.

Either that or she's psychic, ha ha.

The old woman stood in the doorway dressed in jogging pants and a bulky knitted sweater. She held knitting needles in one silk-gloved hand. A half-formed pink baby's booty dangled from it, with loops of pink wool that made Sheila think of Mavis snipping the umbilical cord.

Snick!

She flinched.

"Hi, Miss MacKenna," she said, covering for her sudden fear. She held out the container. "I brought your Tupperware."

"Oh yes, thank you, dear," the old woman said, her voice soft and lilting, barely above a whisper. It was still the loudest Sheila had ever heard her speak. She made no move to accept the container. "Come inside, you'll catch your death out there in the chill."

She hadn't planned to stay, had hoped to get a quick apology and run back to the house along the beach. She glanced back anxiously at the road, thinking the old woman would take the hint.

"Thank you," she said finally, and followed Geraldine inside.

The interior was dim and utterly lifeless. Drab flocked wallpaper that looked older than time. Dark, dull wood furniture and an old grandfather clock. Everything smelled of dust.

There were no photos on the walls, no paintings. The only personal touch appeared to be owl figurines and stuffies of various sizes placed here and there throughout the small foyer, the sitting room and dining room.

"You like owls?"

"Not especially," Geraldine said, and showed her tiny teeth in a brief smile.

Sheila scowled slightly.

Geraldine directed her toward the sitting room with a gloved hand. "Please, come in. We have much to discuss."

"I really should get running—"

"Oh, please. It's no trouble."

Sheila nodded, though she thought it must have looked like she was partially shaking her head. She stepped across the threshold. A large owl was perched on the mantel, its wings spread wide. She flinched and did a double-take, thinking it was a pet, before realizing it was taxidermied. The sofa and chair were covered in clear plastic.

I guess I won't have to worry about sweating all over her furniture.

"Please, sit. I'll make tea."

"If I have tea, I'll be peeing in ten minutes."

"What's to stop you?" Geraldine placed the knitting needles and half-formed booty on the coffee table and shuffled off to the kitchen, leaving her alone with the owl. Its eyes seemed to follow her as she sat on the sofa. The plastic grumbled under her weight.

"Ruby tells me the two of you play bridge," she called out. The woman either didn't hear or didn't care to raise her own voice to reply.

She fidgeted, feeling anxious, wanting to get back out on the road and run off her agitation.

She looked at the booty. Was there really any point finishing it now that the little girl was dead? But she supposed there would always be another. Wouldn't be much use for midwives without pregnant women.