Chapter Twelve
The Tickling of an H-Pad
“The pleasure of a scone is all in the topping.” —Operator Three
When Deidre heard about Hilda and the shed, she, in a state of shock, took a seat. Clutching a glass of water, she asked, “Where is she now?”
The cook, engrossed in scone-dough rolling, shrugged. “Thought you with all your spa meetings would know—”
“Me?” said Deidre. “Hardly.”
“—seeing as you’re right up her goody-toes-shoes side and all.”
Deidre coughed. “Hilda, goody-two-shoes side?” She let out a cynical chuckle. “That woman has no goody-two-shoes side, she is as tough and as one of those burnt scone the birds have left.”
The women stared at the hard-as-a-rock scone on the gravel.
“It was my first batch,” muttered Lilia.
Operator One nudged Operator Two; her H-Pad was bleep
