Free Mother by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross Page A

close eye on our finances, mustn’t we?” There was something in her tone - something close to judgment - that irked Jason.  
    Claire, however, looked fit to be tied. “We like Green Giant Niblets, Mother.” She took a fifth can from the shelf and placed it in the cart. “And if we have to pay for it ourselves, we will, because this is the kind we want. We aren’t entirely penniless, you know.”
    Prissy nodded. “Of course, darling.” She replaced the other cans, disapproval on her face.
    As the Carpenters sang Close to You overhead, they walked down another aisle, filling their cart. Priscilla moved even more slowly than the song, stopping at every item they chose to inspect the labels, and compare the product to its competitors with surgical precision and the algebraic prowess of a 1980s Texas Instruments calculator.
    Jason thought Prissy’s eccentricity was funny - he couldn’t help it. Claire, on the other hand, did not appear amused.
    Now and then, as achingly slow melodies dribbled from the loudspeakers, they ran into someone Priscilla Martin knew, though she never bothered to make introductions. There was an attractive thirtyish blonde named Iris, who introduced herself as the daughter of Ace Etheridge, editor and publisher of the Snapdragon Daily . She lived at the other end of Morning Glory Circle with her father and taught fourth grade at Snapdragon Elementary. When she invited Claire to come over for coffee, and Claire accepted, Prissy spoke up.  
    “I don’t see any flour or sugar in your cart, dear. Have you already bought your ingredients for our annual yard and bake sale?”
    “I’m no cook.” Iris smiled. “We’ll pick up some cookies or something for your sale.”
    “Well, we can’t all excel at baking, can we?” Prissy said. “So tell me, Iris, have you read any good books lately? I hear you’re a fan of romance.”
    Iris looked perplexed, worried even. “Excuse me?”
    “You could sell them at your yard sale to pay for the cookies you’re donating.”
    “I’ll keep it in mind.”
    Prissy smiled. “I mean, I’ve read romances and they’re not the kind of books you want to hang onto or read more than once, are they, dear? You might sell them while you can, you and your father. Such a nice man. Do give him my regards.”
    “Excuse me, I have to get going,” Iris said in a cool tone, without taking her eyes off Prissy. “See you soon, Claire.” She pushed her cart briskly away.  
    Near the bakery, they ran into a tall, distinguished man whose close-cropped dark hair with salt-and-pepper temples, and stylish casual wear made him look like a male model. “Why, Quinton Everett, what are you doing here?” Prissy asked in a breathless tone.  
    As the speakers began playing I Heard It Through the Grapevine, Jason was amused to see his mother-in-law bat her eyelashes and posture like a schoolgirl with a crush. Everett didn’t seem to notice. “Just doing my weekly shopping.” He turned his gaze on Jason and Claire and smiled, raising his hand, but Prissy grabbed it before Jason could shake it. “You have the best manicurist in town, Quinton,” she gushed. “Just the best. I hope you’ll come and see us at the Morning Glory Circle Yard and Bake Sale next weekend.”
    “I’ll certainly try.” His cell phone rang. “Excuse me, won’t you?” He put the phone to his ear and pushed his cart away.
    “Busy, busy man,” Prissy said. “In fact, he’s just about the most important man in town. I nearly married him, back in the day.”
    Claire looked shocked. “Who is he?”  
    “Why, only the President of Snapdragon Bank and Trust. He’s done me a lot of favors over the years.” She looked after him, lashes batting again.
    Jason managed not to laugh.  
    “Let’s continue, children. We haven’t got all day, you know.”
    They began trudging after Mother once more.
    As the minutes dragged by, and time slowed to a creeping pace that would try the patience of a