THIRTY-SEVEN

TUESDAY MORNING GOT OFF TO AN EARLY START: POPPY HAD HARDLY EMERGED from the tub and pulled her bathrobe on when Miss Roth called her downstairs to the phone; she picked her damp towel off the bathroom floor, and called out to Miss Roth, “I’ll be down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She had caught her Aunt Esther’s expression. “Ask whoever it is to wait, if you would.” It was not quite seven a.m.

“It’s Inspector Loring,” Miss Roth informed her, adding knowingly, “He’ll wait.”

Spurred on by knowing who was calling, Poppy abandoned her usual morning routine and made her way downstairs to the phone. She took the receiver from Miss Roth with a nod of thanks and said, “Good morning, Inspector. What is ?”

There was a minuscule hesitation, then Loring began his rapid report. “I had a telegram a little after three this morning—a long one—from Blessing; the delivery boy got me out of bed.”

“What’s the time difference with Czechoslovakia and here?” Poppy asked, not willing to try to work it out in her head; she could hear edginess in Loring’s voice, so let him talk.

“Four or five hours; probably five,” said Loring, who was not quite sure himself. “I apologize for calling so early, but I wanted you to know what Blessing told me,” he explained, going on almost at once, “He’s located GAD and had a couple of conversations with him. GAD really is in jail—according to GAD, for disturbing the peace—though the formal complaint is for inciting a riot. Blessing said he thinks the disturbing the peace charge is just as excuse for keeping GAD in jail until they can come up with more serious charges; he is waiting to find out what those might be before recommending any specific action to the Pearses. The alleged disturbing the peace resulted when GAD supposedly interrupted a meeting at the Town Hall last Wednesday, speaking on behalf of Father Avaikian’s Living Spectres, who were staging a protest—by all accounts a peaceful one—about the harassment they had experienced at the hands of some young men from the city, last Thursday night. GAD’s German must be fairly good, since he doesn’t know Czech, and he said enough to rile the magistrates about the Living Spectres, or so the paper says.” Loring took a deep breath. “Part of GAD’s plea was in the paper. Blessing was impressed, and said that GAD was quite articulate, if the account of the meeting is to be trusted.”

“GAD took four years of it, as I recall, and four of French, at the Alexandrian Academy,” said Poppy, coming fully awake speedily. “He’s got an ear for languages.”

“The Alexandrian Academy? Where your brother is headmaster?” Loring asked.

“The very same. It’s a good school academically, in spite of Toby. What’s the rest of your news?” She tried to prepare herself for whatever Loring might have to say.

“Okay,” said Loring, and obligingly resumed his narrative. “Anyway, GAD caused quite a stir and he was arrested and flung in jail, where he remains. There is pressure from some of the leading citizens of the city to have the Living Spectres go elsewhere, according to the report. There is some mention of a ruction outside the hearing in which a few of the demonstrators were accused of throwing rocks and such, but there is no actual proof of it. Blessing spent all of the morning and half the afternoon with GAD yesterday, trying to learn the whole story of GAD’s incarceration. Along with many other things, he told Blessing that he was ashamed to contact his family, knowing how much his parents disapproved of his European trip in the first place. He was hoping to handle the problem on his own.”

“Ye gods! How was he planning to do that from a jail cell?”

“I don’t know. Blessing didn’t say,” Loring admitted.

“You must have had a very long telegram,” Poppy remarked.

“That’s what I told you; it cost Blessing a small fortune to send; it’s a good thing Mister Pearse is paying all Blessing’s expenses.” Loring cleared his throat. “Blessing will be working with the law courts for the next few days to try to get GAD out of jail, which looks likely, providing GAD agrees to leave Czechoslovakia and return to the US. If GAD digs in his heels and refuses to go, then more serious charges are likely to be forthcoming, some of which could keep him in jail for several years.”

“And the Living Spectres?” Poppy asked. “What about them?”

“I don’t know. Blessing didn’t mention them except to say that they are in the area. Blessing hasn’t been able to contact them.” Loring hesitated, then rushed ahead. “I wanted you to know this in case you hear from Mister Pearse. I don’t want you to be unprepared; he’s apt to be…excitable when he gets Blessing’s telegram.”

“You mean that Blessing wired you first?” Poppy said, perplexed.

“Yes. He’s been sending his information to me in advance of his report to Pearse. He says that he doesn’t trust Pearse not to do something foolish, and so wants me to be forewarned of that possibility, and do my best to dissuade him.”

An idea struck Poppy. “What if GAD insists on staying? What kind of serious charges are we talking about?”

“There’s already the inciting to riot, and likely worse to come, but is it likely that GAD would not agree to leave the country?” Loring asked, surprised.

“I think it’s possible,” she admitted.

“Sweet Je—” he began, then stopped himself. “Sorry. He wouldn’t be that… quixotic, would he?”

“He might,” said Poppy.

“If GAD does that, I hope Blessing will send another telegram to me at once. That never crossed my mind, not realistically, and now it’s going to haunt me until I have word from Blessing, or Mister Pearse.” Loring swore under his breath. “What a mess.”

“That it is,” said Poppy. “But it’s only conjecture.”

“For now. I should phone Pearse in a little while, before he calls me. I want to ease him through the news if I can; he tends to go off half-cocked and he doesn’t brook correction. I have to tell you, I pity the people who work for him. It’s hard enough to be doing my part of the job. If I had to answer to him, and only to him…”

“No wonder you phoned me in advance of speaking with Pearse. Thanks,” said Poppy, wondering why she had heard nothing more from Holte; “had he played a role in any of this?” she asked herself, but could provide no answer. Surely, she thought, Holte would know what GAD had decided to do.

“If he should phone you, will you let me know? I mean Pearse,” Loring said.

“You’re more likely to hear from him before I do; you have the public ear, according to Mister Pearse, which he does not approve of. He believes—or he used to believe—the police should not talk about their cases with the press until the whole matter is tried in the courts, and even then, he would like to keep the police and the press apart; he’s not fond of the press,” Poppy said, beginning to feel chilly as the dampness from her body soaked into her bathrobe, or that was what she told herself it was. “Unless he’s changed on that point, he’ll want to instruct you, much the way he appears to be dealing with Blessing, and me.”

“I’m not sure that Mister Pearse is giving Blessing hard orders, but I hope it’s not the case. Blessing works best when allowed leeway in his dealings,” said Loring. “Blessing knows what’s going on far better than the Pearses—or I—do, and it’s wise to give him free rein on this.”

“If you can, find out if the Czechs follow through with more serious charges, and what those charges might be.” Poppy continued to feel cold growing within her. What on earth had GAD got himself into?

“Of course. And good luck when you talk to Mister Pearse. He’s going to be in a bad mood.” Loring sighed.

“Tell you what: I’ll phone you if I hear from him if you’ll phone me if you do,” she said, and noticed that Miss Roth was gesturing in her direction. “Hang on a minute, Loring, would you?”

“Okay,” he said.

“Missus Sassoro would like to know when you want your breakfast,” Miss Roth whispered.

“In twenty minutes or so. Is Aunt Esther up yet?” Belatedly she put her hand over the receiver.

“No, not yet.” Miss Roth glanced at the clock.

“Then make it half an hour. I don’t need to be at the paper until eight-thirty this morning.” That settled, she spoke again to Loring. “Sorry. There are a few household things…You know what it’s like.”

“That I do,” said Loring. “If you hear anything else about GAD today, from anyone, will you let me know? Please? I won’t even ask what your source is, if it’s the reliable one you won’t reveal to me,” he hinted broadly.

“If you like; the same applies to you,” Poppy said, trying not to sound too accommodating. “If I don’t get an assignment that takes me away from the office, I will be waiting for your call at my desk. Otherwise, I’ll call you this evening, or you may phone me, say after dinner, when we’ve both had time to unwind?”

“I will. Thanks. Talk to you later,” Loring said, and before Poppy could make her farewells, he hung up.

While Poppy went back up the stairs, she pondered what Loring had told her. How unlike GAD it had seemed, to hear that he had caused a ruckus at an official meeting; that was so different to the boy she remembered, who was content to pass hours by himself, spent his holidays alone in the forest, and could not bear the sight of an injured animal. She could not decide if Sherman Pearse would be pleased or disappointed to hear of it. But what had Blessing told Pearse in his telegram? Had it been as extensive as the one Blessing sent to Loring? She went into her room and closed the door, preparing to dress, but found it hard to concentrate on choosing clothes. After dithering for ten minutes—and mentally upbraiding herself for her lack of concentration—she selected an iris-colored long jacket and a slightly paler bell-shaped skirt with a trumpet hem. For a blouse, she took out one that was yellow-ochre with a double-shawl collar. She reminded herself to take her new raincoat, just in case, for there were scattered clouds in the sky. Her selections made, she began what now felt was the tedium of dressing, then putting on her very modest make-up-mascara, a little face powder, and a little lip rouge. If I were only five years younger, she thought, I might be a flapper; considering the possibilities, she realized that it was unlikely that she would break so much with tradition, or would enjoy the frenetic energy being a flapper seemed to require. Having settled that to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to the final stages of her dressing; the last thing she selected was a pair of shoes, and after careful consideration, she took out the pair of tan pumps with the princess heels; they were low enough for work, but stylish.

From his place on the bed, Maestro regarded her with a jaundiced eye, then set to vigorous grooming of his fur.

Going downstairs, Poppy discovered Missus Sassoro busy in the kitchen, although Miss Roth was nowhere in sight. “Oh, good morning, Miss Poppy,” she said as she caught sight of her in the doorway. “Miss Roth has gone out to the morning market for me. I’m out of spinach for dinner, and I was hoping for a few new potatoes for the soup. It’s important to get to the market early. All the best vegetables are gone in the first hour.” Behind her, the stove had three different vessels on it, each belching its own kind of steam.

Poppy nodded to her. “Good morning Missus Sassoro. What am I going to have this morning?”

“Your usual coddled eggs, with a pat of butter, and Miss Roth is planning to bring back some fresh-baked muffins from Fletcher’s Bakery. I expect her to return in the next ten minutes, if that’s no problem for you.” She stopped and sighed, then turned to Poppy, a look of chagrin on her countenance. “Pardon me. I’m worried for my husband. He has a growth on his back that is going to be removed on Friday, and his doctors have told me that it may mean he will not be able to continue in his work. Your aunt pays me well, but not enough to make up for the loss of his salary, if it comes to that.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that Missus Sassoro,” said Poppy with complete sincerity. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”

“We all are Miss Poppy. I feel ashamed that I should worry about money when his life may be at stake, but I can’t help it. I have my children to think of, as well as my husband, who is a proud man, and would not like having his wife support him. Two of my sons have offered to leave school and get jobs, so their father need not continue to worry, but for now, I will not permit that. They need their education, even my two girls do, though their need is not so urgent, no matter what your aunt says. It will be some time before any of them are wholly on their own.” There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Ye gods, of course you should,” said Poppy at once. “I’m astonished that you aren’t hanging from the light fixtures, gibbering. I know I’d probably be.” This was less than the truth, but it did describe how she had felt for the eighteen months it took her mother to die.

“You’re most kind to say that,” Missus Sassoro said as she used the edge of the dishtowel as a handkerchief.

“Have you told my aunt about any of this?” Poppy asked.

“Not really; it’s not her concern,” said Missus Sassoro. “Not with her leaving again so soon. I shouldn’t have told you, but it’s so much on my mind.” Then she changed the subject. “I’m about to put the coddler into the boiling water, Miss Poppy.” She nodded toward the saucepan on the right-front burner. “If you’ll go in and sit down, I’ll have your coffee and coddled eggs out in less than five minutes. You’ll want tomato juice, as well, won’t you? Or would you prefer something else? I have apple juice.”

“Yes, please; tomato,” said Poppy, stepping through the open pocket doors into the breakfast nook; she sat down and turned her attention to what Missus Sassoro had told her, and tried to decide how much to pass on to Aunt Esther about GAD; not that she was worried that Esther might gossip, but with so much misinformation about GAD already being passed around, Poppy did not want to add to it. She found herself wishing that Holte were with her, to advise her, and to add his take on what she had heard. She sat down at what had become her usual place at the table, one of two laid for breakfast.

As if he had read her thoughts, Holte came in through the south-facing window, and wafted up to her. “This is going to be a hurried visit; I want to get back to Brno to hear what the magistrates decide.” He leaned forward. “I have a message for you Poppy.”

Poppy blinked at him. “Where have you been?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to draw Missus Sassoro’s attention.

“Following the court’s hearing of GAD’s case; it’s been quite a carnival, in its Slavic way,” Holte said, coming down to stand more or less at floor level.

“In Brno?” Poppy wanted to be certain she understood him. “The court there is taking on GAD’s case in Brno? No change of venue?”

“Certainly, in Brno. The magistrates are listening to the Living Spectres just now, and will be doing so for a couple of hours more, so I thought I’d come and tell you what GAD has agreed to do, since he refuses to write to his family about any of this, or ask for their help directly.”

Poppy’s misgiving increased. “What would that be?”

“Blessing tells me GAD’s going to send you an open letter, with permission for you to print it in your paper, so everyone will know what he has done, and why; he wants to explain the reasons he has taken on the cause of the Living Spectres when so many have forgotten their suffering. He trusts to your discretion, or so he told Blessing. It took Blessing most of the morning to convince GAD that the charges that were being assembled against him would keep him in a cell for a decade at least.”

“What sort of charges are we talking about?” Poppy asked, trying to resist the dread that was increasing within her.

Holte would have taken a deep breath if he had had lungs. “GAD’s said he’s not going to leave the Living Spectres until they are properly settled somewhere they can be safe, but he is promising not to cause any more public disruption in Brno. That’s contingent upon the more serious charges against him being dismissed. He is willing to agree to stay out of the city with the Living Spectres, and to leave Czechoslovakia as soon as they are settled elsewhere. He will be allowed to undertake to help the Living Spectres get fair treatment when they have found a place where they can live—to assist them in their negotiations with whatever authorities are involved—assuming that those negotiations can be done in German, but not in Brno. He’s exiled from the city, and that’s not negotiable, little as GAD likes it. That’s the substance of what Blessing will be telling Mister Pearse; he’ll send you a telegram tonight or tomorrow.”

“How is GAD, do you know that?” Poppy asked, feeling a bit breathless.

“Somber. When he was informed that the magistrates were prepared to level a charge of attempted murder against him, GAD was deeply shocked,” Holte said.

“Attempted murder?” Poppy shrieked softly. “How did they manage to come up with that?”

Holte shook his head. “When the Living Spectres were marching on the magistrates’ building a few rocks were thrown, and GAD is the one accused of throwing them; the Living Spectres are known to have taken vows against committing violence, and since Americans are reputed to be rowdy, the suspicions about rocks devolve to GAD; they do not accept the account that the same group of young men who raided the Living Spectres’ camp had anything to do with the stones being thrown, although GAD insists that it was they who did. The magistrates are not persuaded; they say that it was a reckless thing to do, and might well have injured or killed people in the street.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Poppy.

“Maybe,” said Holte, “but that’s what’s being held over his head. And the Czechs mean it: they’ll lock GAD up for as long as they can, as an example to obstreperous foreigners.” Holte moved a little closer to Poppy, his faint countenance taking on a little more definition. “Those courts aren’t like American courts; they’ll do it and think no more about it.”

“Sherman Pearse will be enraged,” said Poppy, just in time to startle Missus Sassoro bringing in her coddled eggs and a small pot of coffee.

“Miss Poppy?” Missus Sassoro said uncertainly.

“I’m sorry—thinking aloud.” She smiled as best she could and moved her woven place- mat to provide easier access for the coddler.

“My Teobaldo does that. Says it helps him decide how to do things.” She poured coffee into Poppy’s mug.

“Your husband?” Poppy guessed.

Missus Sassoro laughed. “No. My oldest. He’ll be fourteen in February, and doing well in school, God be thanked. I am determined that he will go to high school, and to a teachers college.”

“What does Teobaldo think of that?” Poppy asked, her curiosity stirring.

“He is willing,” said Missus Sassoro in a steely way. She indicated the creamer and the sugar bowl on the table. “Filled this morning as soon as I got here.”

“And they’re most welcome,” said Poppy. “Is Aunt Esther up yet?”

“I believe so. And Miss Roth is parking now; your muffins will be ready shortly.” She almost curtsied and went back into the kitchen.

Holte, who had been watching this exchange from the foot of the table, looked directly at Poppy. “Would it be better if we talked in the Hudson? So you wouldn’t have to explain why you’re talking to…um…yourself?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “I’ll be leaving here in fifteen minutes, right after I give Maestro his breakfast. He’s being allowed to have all his meals in the kitchen now, starting yesterday.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, and avoid him; can’t have him hissing at empty air when the staff is about,” Holte said, and sped out through the window.

Poppy went back to her coddled eggs and was about to add a spoonful of sugar and a bit of cream to her coffee when Aunt Esther appeared in the arched door of the breakfast nook, where she paused as if surprised to see her niece at the table ahead of her.

“Good morning,” Poppy said as her aunt pulled out her chair and sat down, a frown darkening her features. “Is anything wrong?”

Esther was in her most formidable suit—the one she saved for public lectures and formal meetings—a charcoal worsted frock-coat with a straight skirt with a deep kick-pleat in the rear; her blouse was mauve silk with matching froths of lace at collar and cuffs. “I hope not,” she said at her most foreboding. “I have to appear before the Grants Board today. The Society will decide how much of my travels they are willing to finance, and let me know what they expect me to do for them.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I loathe having to do this every time. They don’t do it to the men after the first two or three expeditions; the explorers submit their plans and their budget, the Board reviews them, and decides how much to pay for, no fuss, no questions. I have to appear before them every time. This is the eleventh time in fifteen years. I could just spit!”

“If you do, please use your napkin,” said Poppy with a propriety she did not feel.

At that, Esther laughed. “Thank you,” she said, and looked over at Miss Roth, who had come to the breakfast nook door. “Nothing to worry about. My niece just made a very clever remark,” she informed her housekeeper.

Miss Roth kept her opinion to herself. “Shall I tell Missus Sassoro to start your breakfast now Miss Thornton?”

“Yes, if you would, please. I’ll begin with two of those delicious-smelling muffins. With butter and blueberry preserves.” She turned back to Poppy. “That was very kind of you. I had got myself into a lather again, and that would not have helped me.”

“You’re welcome,” said Poppy, still a bit baffled.

Esther leaned back in her chair and raised her voice. “Missus Sassoro, may I have coffee now, before my muffins? And after that, I’d like some diced ham with shredded potatoes, if you would? I’m not in a great hurry today.”

“Very good Miss Thornton,” Missus Sassoro called back.

Esther dropped her napkin into her lap and smoothed the place-mat. “I don’t know what comes over me; I always tell myself to keep my resentment in check, but it comes back anyway. You’d think I’d have more self-discipline after all these years.”

“Why?” Poppy sipped her coffee. “I haven’t got the knack of it yet; frustration is frustration, no matter what.”

“Hiram Schippers is the worst—always implying that I’m too old and too female to go gadding about in foreign places.” Esther snorted. “No matter what my family may believe, I’ve never gadded in my life. That’s not what I’m doing, and never will be. Schippers thinks it is unbecoming of me to want to travel to remote parts of the world, and that it is his duty to stop what he calls my excesses. Pompous old fool.”

“You certainly haven’t gone gadding,” Poppy said, and went back to her eggs. “You’ve traveled, you’ve explored—no gadding in that.”

Missus Sassoro brought in a mug of coffee for Esther and a glass of tomato juice for Poppy, set them down, and went back into the kitchen.

“I hope they’ll cover the cost of an aeroplane rental. I’ll use my own funds if I have to, but it looks so much better if the money comes from the National Geographic Society than out of my accounts.” Esther sighed. “They may balk at the cost of the stateroom on the Evening Star, as well. They would like it if I traveled second-class instead of first.”

“Don’t borrow trouble Aunt Esther,” Poppy recommended.

“You’re right—I’m tilting at imaginary windmills, or I hope I am. So tell me,” Esther said in a brisker tone, “what’s on your schedule for today? I need to get my mind off my defense to the Grants Board.”

Poppy could not help but smile. “I’m supposed to get a packet from the Department of State today, that’s about—”

“—whether the man in Maracaibo is Stacy?” Esther interrupted, and nodded along with Poppy. “I’d almost forgotten that. That should be interesting. Anything else?”

“I’ll be talking with Loring later today about developments in GAD’s case.” She could tell that Aunt Esther wanted more information, so she added, “He gets regular telegrams from Blessing—the investigator?—who apparently has found GAD in a Czechoslovakian jail.” She did not want to appear too certain of this because that might lead to questions she would find difficult to answer without complicated explanations.

“GAD? In jail? Whatever for?” Aunt Esther exclaimed.

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out; Loring thinks that they may be trumped up charges,” said Poppy, not wanting to get into how much she did and did not know about GAD’s situation, for fear of adding in some of what Holte had told her. “I’ll be talking to Lowenthal about the little I’ve learned regarding GAD’s predicament.”

“Jail,” Esther mused again. “Sherman will be livid. Isadora will be hysterical.” She stared into her coffee as if to find confirmation in its depths. “I hope you don’t have to deal with either of them.”

“Thank you Aunt Esther. I hope I don’t, too,” said Poppy.

“And as long as we’re discussing unpleasant things, are there any new developments on the Hadley and Grimes investigation? And what happens next if the photograph is of Stacy? Or are there any plans around that?”

“Not that I’ve heard. If it’s slow today, I might give Tinsdale a call, but I don’t think he’ll have any news he’d be willing to pass on, and I doubt anyone else at Hadley and Grimes will talk to me, so I must contain myself with patience. No use letting my speculations run wild.” As she heard herself speak, Poppy became frustrated once more.

“But you may have to prepare yourself for a number of eventualities,” said Aunt Esther sagaciously. “Including having to stand up to a barrage of accusations from Sherman Pearse.”

Poppy shuddered. “Talk about borrowing trouble. I might as well give it a try and phone them, just to keep my hand in, bearding the lion in his lair before he starts roaring.” Then something occurred to her. “I might try to call Rudy Beech again. I’d like to know who’s been talking to him. Before he hung up on me, he said something that’s been eating at me: I think he’s had other inquiries about Louise, and I’d like to know who was asking.”

“He’s Louise’s half-brother, isn’t he? The one the family doesn’t talk about.” Esther tasted her coffee and put the mug down. “Too hot.”

“That’s the one,” said Poppy. “I’ve been watching the papers to see if there are reports in any of them that originated with Beech.” She had another bite of egg.

“What are you hoping to learn from him?” Esther asked.

“I want to know if he has heard anything from Louise, and if so, what it was; it’s worth a try.” As she said it, she thought it sounded simple enough, but she had an inkling that it would not be so. “Neva told me Rudy and Louise were close as children, and although they became less so, it might still be enough to give her reason to contact him instead of any of her friends here in Philadelphia.”

“Is she with Stacy?” Esther mused aloud.

“I don’t know. I’d like to find out, along with a number of other things,” said Poppy, a bit of grimness in her tone.

“You aren’t the only one,” said Aunt Esther. “What a tiresome man Stacy has turned out to be. I can almost feel sorry for Jo.”

“Why is that?” Poppy asked, and took the last bite of her eggs.

“Well, to have two of her four sons die before she did is painful enough, but to lose both Cosmo and Reginald, and to be left with Stacy…” She shook her head to finish her sentiments. “Hank is a good man, but Stacy is not. If Cosmo had not been killed in the Great War, he might have amounted to something afterward; he had taken an interest in electronics, if I remember correctly. Reginald was a promising anthropologist before the Flu got him, and Jo was proud of him in a vague sort of way, not unlike her feelings toward Hank and his work on yachts and aeroplanes. She’d like it better if he weren’t making money at it—that would take the blot of profit off the family escutcheon, but it is getting governmental approval and that appeals to her she can talk about it without sounding immodest.” She made another try at her coffee and found it drinkable this time. “Not that she would ever turn against Stacy, but having the law after him is putting her capacity to deny the obvious to a severe test.”

“I’m afraid you’re right about that,” said Poppy.

Missus Sassoro brought in two plates with warmed muffins on them, and the butter-dish. “I’ll have your ham and potatoes done in less than ten minutes Miss Thornton.”

“Take all the time you need, Missus Sassoro,” said Esther, reaching for the butter-knife. “These will keep me busy for a while.” As soon as the cook had returned to the kitchen, Esther went on, “I’m sorry for blathering on, but it helps me to compose myself.”

“I understand the impulse,” said Poppy.

Esther broke one of her muffins in half and buttered both of the halves. “I’m sure you do.” She bit into the muffin and smiled around it. “Heaven.”