““Sara love,” Inez said, from the third rung of the stepladder, “see who that is and tell them we don’t want any. I’ve simply got to finish this ceiling today.” I went downstairs and saw a plump, smiling woman standing on the other side of the long, narrow window beside the front door. She was rapping on the glass with her knuckles and calling out in a loud musical voice, “Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?” Her other arm was curled around a big crimson cooking pot with a cover on it. “Hello dear,” she shou...ted, when she saw me approach the door. “Open up. I’m Mrs. Waite.” She didn’t have to tell me. I knew right away that she could only be Glenda’s mother and nobody else. I opened the door and Mrs. Waite charged in, sort of breathless, and then stopped short and began looking around. “Is your mother home, dear?” “Yes, she is,” I said. “She’s upstairs painting the bedroom. I’ll go get her.” “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,” Mrs. Waite called after me.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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