Witches' Bells in the Biscuits
Jennifer Carson looked up from the book she had been reading as her mother walked through the front door. "I take it you had a good time tonight?"
The question needn't have been asked. Even in the dim lighting of the front hall Jennifer could see that her mother was grinning from ear to ear, and even blushing slightly.
"Oh, yes," Pauline Carson replied enthusiastically, "George-Mr. Bernard-took me out to dinner at the Tramonto Cucina; then we went ballroom dancing. Can you believe that, Jennifer? Quite a first date!"
"Where's Mr. Bernard now?" Jennifer asked.
"He's parking the car," her mother replied, "You know, I think I may warm up some biscuits. George expressed a bit of a fondness for them..."
At that moment the front door opened again to admit George Bernard. Jennifer looked at him carefully. A rather ferrety man, she thought. Sort of red in the face, probably sweats often. More likely as not he gets frequent colds as well-this thought was confirmed by the nasally voice with which he greeted Pauline.
"I don't think you've met my daughter yet?" Pauline said, "Jennifer, this is Mr. Bernard. Mr. Bernard, Jennifer."
Mr. Bernard acknowledged the introduction by raising his hand and waving the fingers. Jennifer merely gave him a curt nod.
"Well, I'm going to go into the kitchen for a bit," Pauline said, rather breathlessly. "Why don't you two stay here and get to know one another?"
She hurried down the hall into the kitchen, and Jennifer returned her gaze to her book. She did not think she liked the look of George Bernard very much.
Mr. Bernard stood in the hall for a moment before tentatively taking a seat across from Jennifer. The latter did not raise her eyes from the book. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two, and then Mr. Bernard cleared his throat.
"So, Jennifer?" he said, preparing to make an attempt at conversation, "How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"
"Sixteen," Jennifer replied flatly.
"I see," said Mr. Bernard, "So that would make you, what, a sophomore?"
"Junior."
"Ah." Mr. Bernard ended it there and began to twiddle his fingers nervously, wishing that Pauline would hurry up with whatever she was doing. Meanwhile, the gears in Jennifer's head were turning rapidly.
Finally, Mr. Bernard decided to take another stab at a discussion. "Jennifer," he said, trying to sound as genial as possible. "I know you must not be entirely comfortable with your mother dating. But you must realize, it has been nearly ten years since your parents were divorced-"
Jennifer made her decision then and there on how to deal with Mr. Bernard. She lowered her book onto her lap and stared at him. "Divorced?" she asked, "Is that what my mother told you?"
"Well-well, yes, it is," Mr. Bernard replied uncertainly, "Why? Is it not true?"
"Not true at all, Mr. Bernard. You see," Jennifer closed her book and set it down on the end table beside her, "Ten years ago, my father passed away."
"Indeed?" said Mr. Bernard, not at all comfortable with the way this conversation was heading, "Well, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized."
"Yes, it is sad, I suppose," Jennifer said, bowing her head, "Although, it was really rather interesting in retrospect. Not an ordinary death, not a car wreck or heart attack. No, my father died from poisoning."
