Third was interrupted by the phone ringing. Mrs. Fitz answered and smiled. “It’s the police. They’ve found the car!”

Jake stared at the address Mrs. Fitz had written. “The corner of Grande and Seventeenth Street.”

Berry pulled her quilted vest over a gray hooded sweatshirt. “I know where that is. It’s less than half a mile from here. We can walk.”

Jake stood in the doorway, zipped his parka, and took a grim assessment. A cold mist drizzled down the grimy brick facades of nearby stores, and intermittent gusts of wind buffeted plate-glass windows. Sodden newspapers and assorted litter slapped against doorways and clogged gutters. This part of town wasn’t attractive, and it obviously wasn’t safe. And it was not the ideal neighborhood for a defenseless, pretty little blond and three little old ladies, Jake thought.

Berry knew what Jake was seeing. He was seeing bars at first-floor windows installed to prevent burglaries. He was seeing the empty beer cans and wine bottles that hadn’t made it into trash cans. He was imagining thugs lurking in the alleys, and poverty hiding behind closed doors.

“It’s not all that bad,” Berry said to Jake. “You see that cheery yellow light in the window above Giovanni’s Grocery? That’s Mrs. Giovanni making supper. In the summer she hangs window boxes from her kitchen window and fills them with red geraniums. The apartment building next to me houses four generations of Lings. Last year Charlie Ling won first prize at his school science fair.”

“So you really like this neighborhood?”

Berry shrugged. “It’s okay. I’d rather look out my window and see a meadow or a mountain, but instead I have Mrs. Giovanni’s bold red geraniums. I try to make the best of it.”

Jake smiled down at her. Damned if she wasn’t getting to him. He added loyal and positive to his earlier assessments of kind to old ladies, resilient, and slightly daffy.

Nice smile, Berry thought, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what was going on inside his head. He looked like the wolf that wanted to eat Red Riding Hood’s grandma.

“This way,” Berry said, heading for Grande.

Jake snagged her arm. “Hold it, Goldilocks, where’s your umbrella?”

“I don’t own an umbrella.”

“Then at least put your hood up.”

“I hate wearing hoods.”

“Mrs. Dugan would take her wooden spoon to you if she caught you out in the rain like this without a hat.”

“Back off!” Berry said.

Jake Sawyer mentally checked off the boxes labeled temper and stubborn. And then he decided it was all adorable on her, so he kissed her.

“Good grief,” Berry said.

Jake rocked back on his heels and smiled. He was infatuated.

“I have to admit, it’s a little unnerving knowing you’ve seen me naked,” he said to Berry. Actually, unnerving wasn’t precisely correct, Jake thought. A better word might be erotic.

“I didn’t see you naked. I fell out of the tree before you got to the really good stuff.”

Jake was glad she thought he had good stuff, but he was sort of disappointed she hadn’t seen it. He’d had a really good fantasy going for a while there.

He pulled her hood over her head and tied the drawstring securely into a bow in his best first-grade-teacher fashion. Without saying another word he took her hand and pulled her along beside him.

As they approached Grande Street Berry felt his grip tighten. Big, strong Jake Sawyer was nervous. He really did like his flashy car. Berry didn’t know much about cars, but she knew about losing things you love. She knew about the pain and anxiety such a loss produced. Berry felt an overwhelming urge to rush out and buy Jake Sawyer a pint of his favorite ice cream. Instead she squeezed his hand and sent him her most comforting smile.

He glanced down at her. “I’m kind of nervous.”

“I guessed.”

“Probably it’s okay.”

“Probably,” Berry said, not entirely believing it. With the way her luck had been running, the car would be picked cleaner than a turkey carcass the day after Thanksgiving.

They turned the corner and found several officers standing hands on hips by a black-and-white squad car, inspecting an article at curbside. It took several seconds before Jake and Berry recognized the object of their curiosity. At first glance it seemed to be a piece of scrap metal resting on four cinder blocks.

Jake expelled a well-chosen expletive that caused the officers to turn in his direction.

“Is that my car?” Jake asked.

“If you’re Jake Sawyer, that’s your car. What’s left of it,” one of the cops said.

Jake stretched his hands out in despair. “What the… oh… man! Look at this. How could this happen so fast?”

“Modern technology,” one of the cops said.

Jake kicked at the cinder block and swore some more.

Berry trotted beside him as he paced back and forth the length of the car carcass. “It’s not so bad. The insurance will buy you a new one. You do have insurance, don’t you?”

“Of course I have insurance. Who cares about insurance? This car was irreplaceable.”

“Nonsense. There must be parts somewhere. Just put it back together.”

“Put it back together? Berry, this isn’t a fruitcake we’re talking about. This was an exquisitely tuned, handcrafted piece of machinery. This was a part of history.” Jake stopped pacing and plunged his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, this was my Gunk car. It was special,” he added quietly.

Berry was beginning to understand why he loved the flashy car so much. He’d given himself a present. It wasn’t just a car, it represented a new life. No more fluorescent lights. No more boring glue. She thought maybe squandering all his money on a house and a car had been an act of confidence for Jake Sawyer. It was a way of saying, It’s okay to spend all the Gunk money, because I’m going to be a success at my new career. I’m going to make a lot more money. And now he’d lost his Gunk car, and maybe he was a little afraid he’d never be able to replace it.

Jake turned to the officer. “Do you know who did this?”

“We’ll ask around. Sometimes we get lucky and come up with a name.”

Jake stared morosely at his car. “This is damn depressing.”

Berry linked her arm through his and narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance. “This will never do, Sawyer,” she said. “You’re an inventor. You’re supposed to be happy.”

“Yeah, but this sad hunk of scrap metal was my toy.”

“Don’t you have any other toys?”

He shook his head. “I’m really a very dull person. Work, work, work.”

“That was back in your glue days. Now you’re an inventor. Now it’s play, play, play.”

He studied her for a moment. She was trying to cheer him up. And she was doing a halfway okay job of it.

“Are you sure you didn’t see me naked?” he asked her.


Berry opened one eye and grimaced. Six o’clock in the morning and Mrs. Fitz was making tea.

“Mrs. Fitz, don’t you ever sleep?” Berry asked.

“Old people don’t need so much sleep. Anyway, it isn’t any fun sleeping with those two. They snore.” Mrs. Fitz added a dollop of honey to her tea, “Now, if I had a man in my bed, well, that’d be something different.”

Berry straightened her flannel nightie and swung her legs over the side of the couch. The large front room of her apartment served as living room, dining room, and efficiency kitchen. The other smaller room, her bedroom, had been turned into a dormitory for the ladies. She liked the ladies and enjoyed their company, but she dearly missed the comfort of her nice, big bed. She rubbed a sore spot on her back and slid her feet into a pair of slippers that looked like raccoons.

“Maybe you should remarry,” Berry said. “Have you ever thought about finding a husband?”

“I’ve been looking around, but I haven’t seen anything I like yet. Now if I was younger I’d go for that Jake Sawyer.”

Berry filled the coffeemaker with water, added a couple scoops of coffee, and punched the go button. She had an economics quiz later that morning that she’d totally forgotten about. Twenty-four hours of Jake Sawyer and already she was neglecting her studies. She opened the refrigerator and rattled a bunch of jars around.

“What are you looking for?” Mrs. Fitz asked.

“My coffee mug.”

“Lordy, child, you aren’t going to find it in there.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Damn, she thought, this is what a sleepless night does to you. How could anyone get to sleep with visions of Jake Sawyer dancing in her head? Jake Sawyer in his one-of-a-kind car. Jake Sawyer in her kitchen. Jake Sawyer in his underwear. And she could swear he seemed disappointed that she hadn’t seen him naked.

The man was downright disturbing. She found her coffee mug and filled it with prune juice.

Mrs. Fitz raised her eyebrows. “I hope you’re planning on staying close to home today. That’s a lot of prune juice.”

Berry peered into her mug and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What is this?”

Mrs. Fitz rolled her eyes, dumped the juice down the drain, and rinsed out Berry’s mug. She filled the mug with coffee and handed it to Berry. “When you fell out of that tree, did you land on your head?”

“No. I landed on my pizza.”

Mrs. Fitz looked at her shrewdly. “You’re kind of stuck on that Sawyer guy.”

“More like he’s stuck in my head. Isn’t that the pits?”

Mrs. Fitz looked disgusted. “Good heavens you’re a ninny.”

Mrs. Dugan padded into the kitchen area. “Who’s a ninny?”

“Lingonberry here. She thinks love’s a waste of time.”

“Humph. Sometimes it is. Remember William Criswald? The old coot. I fancied that man for seven years and just when I was about to reel him in, he died. The nerve. You can’t count on men over seventy-five. You never know how long they’re gonna last.”