Free Stranded by Lorena McCourtney Page B

Abilene said. Dishes were one thing in plentiful supply here. The cupboards were full of them, from a set of delicate old Meito china, with a platter just like the one my mother used to have, to a modern set of black, octagonal plates made of something I suspected could survive anything from temperamental wives to chemical embalming, plus a shelf of orphaned irregulars.
    “We’re fine, settling in nicely,” I assured Kelli. I pointed to Koop, who’d already claimed as his personal domain a miniature-sized, imitation white bearskin that we’d found in the bedroom and moved out here in front of the electric fireplace for him. “Have you heard from Chris?”
    “He called and said he was going to dinner with the client and would drive home in the morning. You might want to check out the photo on page 3 in the newspaper,” she added.
    I did. “Abilene, come look at this!” She came over, and we stared together.
    The photo was of Abilene and a little girl holding a wide-eyed cat, the caption identifying Abilene as the person who had just saved the cat’s life with CPR. The smiling little girl was Mindy Carchoun, daughter of a regular features writer for the newspaper, which no doubt explained why she’d had a camera handy for the occasion.
    “You’re a local heroine now!” Kelli said.
    “I’ve never had my picture in a newspaper before.” Abilene sounded rather overwhelmed but pleased.
    Then she looked at me, and the wonderment in her eyes changed to uneasiness, and I knew what she was thinking. This was nice, but the last thing either of us needed was publicity, not with a vindictive Boone Morrison on our trail. Yet I didn’t want that worry to spoil her joy in this.
    I squeezed her arm. “It’ll be fine. I doubt the newspaper’s circulation goes beyond the outskirts of Hello.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” Kelli said. “It got written up in some tourist publication last year, and orders for subscriptions poured in from all over the country. I guess people like all the folksy stuff. How many newspapers report ‘news’ such as Maude Evans chasing a skunk through her laundry hanging on the line, getting tangled in a sheet, and calls coming in to the police about a ghost running through the neighborhood?”
    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I repeated to Abilene.
    Kelli gave us an odd look as if she wondered what that was all about, but I didn’t enlighten her.
    Abilene set dishes with big scoops of ice cream for each of us on the card table, along with a plate of Twix, and I poured coffee. The card table had numerous circular burned spots in the center. Hiram apparently didn’t bother with such niceties as protective hot pads.
    “Ummm, good,” I said after letting a creamy spoonful melt in my mouth.
    “I’m kind of a closet ice cream eater,” Kelli confessed. “Chris won’t eat dessert, unless it’s fresh fruit, and he doesn’t think I should either.”
    Commendable, I suppose, but somehow not a trait I found endearing. My friend Mac eagerly chows down on everything from my peach cobbler to jelly beans to anything chocolate. However, this was a nice opening. “Tell us about Chris,” I suggested. “He seemed quite thoughtful and concerned about you.”
    “Oh, he is, a very thoughtful man. He was born and has always lived right here in Hello, except for the years he went away to law school.”
    “He’s also a lawyer?” I don’t know why I should be surprised, but I was. I guess I have to admit I’ve always had a cold spot in my heart for lawyers, ever since a frivolous lawsuit about a pill-bottle lid was filed against Harley and his pharmacy back in Missouri.
    “He and two other men are partners in the biggest law firm here in town. He handled all of Uncle Hiram’s legal affairs before I came.” She laughed at something in my expression. “So Chris should be furious because I stole his important client, right? He should be resentful, and we should be meeting at high noon, legal briefs