“Handshake?” August held out his hand. “Fist bump.” He formed a fist.
“Hello, August.” Memo’s mother just offered a smile.
Connie was a full-figured, voluptuous woman. Impeccably dressed, her brown skirt loose and to her knees, her ivory cardigan buttoned to her throat and way past her hips, she might have been trying to hide that. Cascading black curls partway down her back were held back in front with a headband in gold. Memo’s family tree was leafy with great hair. August wondered what Connie thought of her son’s sudden lack of it.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Connie’s voice was timid, much like Memo’s when August first met him. She had her son’s dark, friendly eyes, too. Or he had hers.
Earlier in the day, Memo had called her prim. “Once, we were watching People Puzzler. The clue was s
