“Seven dollars and a goat.”
She mumbled something unflattering as I gotout the carton of eggs.
“You never answered my question: have youeaten breakfast?”
“I like my eggs poached,” she replied.
Grabbing the milk, I told her, “You’regetting scrambled.”
“Tyrant.”
In no time I had eggs going in the pan, plusslices of bread in the toaster. It didn’t take much to get a goodmeal in your belly. Sometimes I wondered if Agatha wastrying to wither away. Wouldn’t surprise me in theleast.
When breakfast was ready, I said, “Could youclear a place for these plates?”
Agatha didn’t answer, but I got the senseshe wasn’t ignoring me deliberately this time. She seemed engrossedin real estate.
I put our plates on the travel section andasked, “What’s so interesting?”
She pointed to a picture of a quai
