Éclair and Present Danger Read Online Free

was actually yelling at her, she started running. She’d gotten no more than five feet down the sidewalk when she fell and—”
    â€œPopped a tooth clear out of her mouth!” Parker shouted.
    Not to be undone at the finish line, Bridget added, “There was blood everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean
everywhere
. Isn’t that right, Parker?”
    Mr. Nelson nodded, forcing Winnie to raise her instinctual “uh-oh” with a loud, sustained groan. “Oh no . . . Ava’s big pageant is this weekend, isn’t it?”
    Again, her elderly neighbors nodded in perfect unison, prompting Winnie to say what was most surely on all of their minds. “I hate to say this, but maybe Bart’s stepson is right. Maybe it’s time for Bart to give up the house. The change of scenery might be good for him.”
    â€œCan you imagine what would happen to our street if Mark Reilly got his hands on that house?” Having won the ultimate battle for Lovey’s affections, Bridget lifted Lovey from her lap and deposited the cat back in Parker’s. “If he
does
, I give it two months before Ethel and Bart’s home is turned into one of them gambling casinos or, even worse, a—a . . .
brothel
!”
    â€œA pothole?” Mr. Nelson parroted. “How on earth could someone turn a home into a pothole?”
    Winnie shook her head in amusement as Bridget rolled her eyes and repeated her original word at full volume. “I said
brothel
! Broth-el. Turn on your hearing aids, old man. That, or go get yourself a muzzle.”
    â€œWhat was that?” At Bridget’s exasperated eye roll, Mr. Nelson fiddled with his hearing aids and then stared down at the cat, his voice surprisingly quiet. “We’re starting to drop like flies around here, aren’t we? First Ethel, then Gertie, and now maybe even Bart.”
    Winnie stood, walked around the table to Mr. Nelson, and gave him a hug much to Lovey’s chagrin. “If Bart goes, Mr. Nelson, it’s only to an assisted living facility. Not death,” she said, gently.
    â€œSame thing if you ask me,” he grumbled.
    She hugged him again and then headed toward the hallway and the stairs beyond. When she reached the doorway, she glanced back at her friend. “Mr. Nelson? Could you hang on to Lovey for just a little while longer? It sounds like Bart could use his peach pie sooner rather than later.”
    *   *   *
    N ot a Tuesday night went by that Winnie didn’t cross the street to Bart’s home without Ethel’s final request looping its way through her thoughts.
    â€œWinnie, promise me you’ll bring one of your peach pies to Bart every Tuesday night with a reminder that I love him . . . and that we’ll be together again one day when the time is right? I’d be eternally grateful.”
    She’d made that promise as she sat next to one of the half dozen or so machines tasked with monitoring various aspects of Ethel’s health as her life drew to a close. And it was a promise she’d held true to in the six weeks that had come and gone since Ethel’s final breath.
    At first she’d worried the edible reminder would be toohard on a man already paralyzed by grief. But something about the gesture, and the knowledge that it had been requested by Ethel herself, made it the one moment each week Winnie could count on seeing the man smile.
    This time, though, Winnie couldn’t help but notice the trepidation in her step as she left the porch she shared with Mr. Nelson and headed across the street. Bart was growing increasingly agitated with each passing day. It was an agitation she knew was born of grief, but still . . . If he could feel needed, if he could get back to being Bart, maybe he could stay in the home he’d shared with his beloved Ethel.
    The tricky part was how to make him feel needed when they’d all been