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“Come back here, Jason! Come back!” Erica screamed at the closed door.
Hearing him bound up the stairs forced her to swallow the unpleasant truth. Jason was willing to let Sherman kill her so he could sponge off his father for the rest of his life.
The bastard! The rotten bastard!
Tears of anger and betrayal welled up and threatened to spill down her face. Furious, she blinked them away. She wouldn’t waste valuable energy on sentimentality—not with Sherman about to return at any minute. She needed a clear mind and her wits about her if she expected to outsmart him and escape.
But first, there was the small matter of getting back on her feet.
She was rising to her knees when the door swung open. Sherman rushed in, cursing her and her car. He nearly tripped over her, and flung out his arms to keep his balance.
“So,” he said between clenched teeth, “you didn’t listen. Thought you could escape, eh?” He shook her roughly then pulled her to her feet. “From here on in, you do exactly as you’re told.” He moved out of her line of vision.
She adjusted her glasses with her shoulder as best she could. The shaking had brought on a new bout of nausea. She hated to think what Sherman would do to her if she suddenly were to throw up on his carpet.
He came around, pointing a silver-colored gun at her chest. “A little reminder to prove I mean business.”
Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She’d never been this close to a gun before.
“This is a .38,” he explained. “One wrong move, and I’ll pull the trigger. I couldn’t miss you if I tried.”
Right. Like you couldn’t miss me on the drive to Montauk, or finish me off in town, she retorted silently to bolster her courage. She shuddered when she remembered he had succeeded in killing Terry.
“Jason came in while you were gone,” she blurted. She had to stop Sherman any way she could. Maybe he’d give up his plan to kill her if he knew his son was in the house.
To her dismay, he threw her a look of disgust. He must not have heard Jason drive up, and thought she was lying.
“Go upstairs,” she cried frantically, “and see for yourself!”
“Your pathetic little ploys won’t help you. Now, we’re going to—”
“But it’s true!”
He frowned. He placed the gun on the desk, then reached inside his trouser pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief.
“I see I’ll have to gag you as well.”
Before she could utter another word, the handkerchief was put in place.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself. She nearly vomited at the thought of Sherman’s used handkerchief over her mouth and shook her head until he managed to grab hold of her face. He squeezed her cheeks. The pain made her open her mouth. Quickly, he tied it behind her head. The gag hurt the corners of her mouth, but she was grateful it didn’t affect her breathing.
He bent down and untied her feet. “Now, Erica, we’re going through the kitchen and out to your car. You’ll walk in front of me and do exactly as I say. Do you understand?” He was panting from the exertion of crouching down to get to the knots.
Her timing was perfect. As Sherman struggled to his feet, she kicked him squarely in the groin. He sank heavily to the floor, moaning in pain.
She sped out of the room toward the front door. If she opened it before Sherman got up, she’d be safe!
But the final hurdle proved more of a problem than she’d expected. With her hands tied behind her, she couldn’t manage the front door. She turned around and twisted the knob the wrong way. The other direction!
Too late. Sherman came lunging at her, his face contorted with rage.
“You wise-ass bitch! Kick me, will you?” He raised his hand to smack her.
She cringed against the door.
The doorbell chimed, startling her.
His arm fell to his side. A moronic expression covered his face. He stared at her, then asked, “Now who the hell could that be?”
She didn’t give a damn who was on the other side of the door. Whoever it was would save her! Her heart coursed with joy. She was about to be rescued!
She kicked the door behind her. “Help, help,” she shouted through her gag, though her pleas came out as no more than muffled groans.
Her attempts to draw attention to herself roused Sherman to action. He yanked her away from the door and pushed her toward the study as the chimes rang again.
“Just a minute,” he called out with false cheer. “Be right there!”
He shoved her again, and sent her stumbling into the study. “Get in there and be quick about it.” He wound the cord around her feet and knotted it tightly. Then he thrust her inside the closet. “Not a sound,” he hissed, and slammed the door in her face.
The shallow closet was crammed with shirts that all but smothered her. She could barely move. An upright coffin, she thought, then winced at the image. No need to have gloomy thoughts when help was but a few feet away.
She strained her ears, trying to discover who Sherman’s unexpected visitor might be. Maybe Detective Sawyer decided to question Jason again. Or perhaps his investigation led him to suspect Sherman Hartley.
When she heard Aunt Constance’s loud, anxious voice, she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“I’m so sorry to bother you like this,” her aunt was telling Sherman as she blithely passed from the hall into the living room on the other side of the closet wall, “but when I called about forty minutes ago, the line was busy. I tried Erica at home, but no one answered.
“The truth is, I’m terribly upset. Too upset to stay in New Jersey. And,” she paused, but only for a moment, “Monica did say, when I spoke to her today, that I could spend the night. So, when the train pulled in and I couldn’t reach Erica or Monica, I took a cab and came right here.”
Sherman offered halfhearted pleasantries as her aunt settled herself on the living room sofa.
“I’m so worried,” Constance continued peevishly. “I don’t know what to do. I tried calling Erica all day, but she’s gone. And she didn't answer her cell phone. It’s all my fault! I drove her away for a second time. Me and my big mouth.”
Erica felt a pang of guilt as she realized she’d forgotten to turn on her cell phone that morning. To her astonishment, her aunt began to sob.
While Sherman made the obligatory soothing noises, Erica concentrated on ramming her elbow against the wall to get her aunt’s attention. But the limitations of her bound hands were further restricted by the hanging clothes, making the sound too faint to be heard. She tried using her head, but that brought instant blinding pain.
When Aunt Constance spoke again, she sounded calmer. “Sherman, you seem on edge tonight. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”
“Actually, tonight isn’t the best evening for company,” he said. “Monica must have forgotten about her meeting, and I’ve lots of office work to catch up on.” He gave a little laugh. “There must be some other place where you can spend the night.”
“Of course, there is,” Aunt Constance snapped. “I’ve an entire empty house at my disposal, haven’t I?” From the shuffling sounds and deep breaths, Erica knew her aunt was struggling to her feet. “I’ll simply call myself another cab and leave you in peace.”
“No, don’t go into the kitchen,” Sherman shrieked. “It...it’s a mess!”
Erica noted his rising hysteria with glee. He was terrified Aunt Constance might spot her Honda from the kitchen window.
“I must say, Sherman, you’re behaving decidedly peculiar tonight,” Aunt Constance observed. “May I use the phone in your study, or is that room a mess as well?”
He was back on keel. “I’d be happy to call a taxi for you, Constance,” he said smoothly. “Why don’t you wait right here where you’ll be comfortable? I’ll only be a moment.”
He hurried into his study and closed the door firmly behind him. He anxiously muttered as he fumbled through the phone book. He started to dial the number, then stopped.
The chimes were ringing again!
“Oh, my God,” he moaned.
Erica’s heart started pounding like a jackhammer.
Let’s see how he deals with another uninvited guest, she thought as he scurried off to answer the door.
Her optimism grew. The more people in the house, the better her chances of staying alive. If only she could untie her feet! In his earlier haste, Sherman hadn’t bound them too tightly.
She worked off her shoes. Then, using the back of the closet for support, she squatted and reached for the cord. Damn it! Just her index finger touched the knots, but it was a start. She focused all her determination on her only available utensil and poked away. One of the knots was loosening! Now, if only everyone would stay until she could get out of the closet and join them, she’d be safe.
Or would Sherman kill the whole lot of them? He’d already killed Terry, and he was desperate. By openly attacking her tonight, he’d gone well past the point of no return. Nothing he said could explain away her bruises and her bonds. Concentrating furiously on the knots and her thoughts, she paid little attention to the voices outside the study.
The new guest had joined Aunt Constance in the living room, an unfamiliar male voice. Probably a client, she decided as she jabbed and prodded, her finger already sore. Then a woman broke into the conversation, chirping happily about something. The gag turned Erica’s chuckle into a muffled croak. What on earth had brought Aunt Betty here tonight?
“And so, Connie, dear,” Aunt Betty was explaining, “I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving, but I was distraught.” She gave a simpering laugh. “As I say, things always work out for the best. I told Ron I couldn’t bear any more of this secrecy, and last night, he had it out with his wife. She agreed to be reasonable about the divorce. We’ll be getting married just as soon as the final papers are signed. Isn’t that simply wonderful?”
Erica pressed her ear to the wall to take in every word of her aunts’ tearful reconciliation. They rhapsodized about their long and devoted friendship, apologizing again and again for having quarreled. The joint sobbing rose to a crescendo, at which point, Sherman and Aunt Betty’s fiancé made the duet a quartet in their attempts to quiet them down.
“Betty, how on earth did you know I was here?” Aunt Constance asked.
“I didn’t. We stopped by the house to give you and Erica the good news, but no one was home. I wanted to tell someone, so we came to tell the Hartleys.”
In spite of her past irritation with her aunt and her own dangerous situation, Erica felt tears welling up. Aunt Betty was courageous in her own way. She’d made every attempt to forget the man she loved because he was married. Then, when she’d realized they still loved each other after so many years, she’d fought for their relationship and won! It was very romantic in its own way.
If I ever get out of here, she promised herself, I’ll give Aunt Betty the money she asked for. She deserves to be happy.
“By the way, where’s Erica?” Aunt Betty asked.
Here I am! Erica screamed silently. She tried pounding her head against the wall. She only succeeded in making it ache. Nobody heard her.
“I think she’s disappeared,” Aunt Constance answered gloomily. “I’m terribly sorry, Betty, but I’ve gone and chased her off again.” She told them how she’d argued with Erica on Sunday morning.
“Nonsense, Connie,” Aunt Betty said. “You’re making a big to-do out of nothing. Erica’s a grown woman. She’s probably out somewhere, that’s all.”
Sherman cleared his throat. “She—er—did call here earlier today. Said something to Monica about a date. “With—er—Doug Remsen, I believe Monica told me.”
Rotten liar! Hypocritical murderer!
Angrily, Erica jabbed at the knots. She’d succeeded in unraveling one of them, but two remained. The minute she freed herself, she’d tell the world exactly what kind of a person Sherman Hartley was!
“Of course!” Aunt Constance exclaimed. “How stupid of me! He called her yesterday.”
“See, Connie,” Betty scolded her affectionately. “You worry all the time. Always imagining the worst for no good reason. Erica’s out having a good time, and you’re upsetting yourself and putting a strain on your heart.”
“My heart’s just fine, Elizabeth. Let’s have that understood once and for all. I know you think I’m about to expire at the slightest sign of stress, but that’s not the case.”
“Well, well.” Sherman cleared his throat. “I’m pleased to see you all, and thrilled about your news, Betty, and—er—Ron, but since I have all this work to do and since you’ve figured out where Erica is—”
“We’re leaving, Sherman,” Aunt Constance finished for him, her tone decidedly cheerier. “Sorry to have disturbed you. Tell Monica I’ll call her in the morning. Betty, do you think Ron would mind dropping me off at the house? I have a suitcase in the hall.”
“You do, Connie? Where have you been?”
“I’d be happy to drive you home,” Ron gallantly offered.
Their voices grew softer as they headed to the front door.
“Don’t leave!” Erica tried to shout, but her words gurgled in her throat. She struggled with the one remaining knot, the tightest of the three, her finger now sore and bleeding.
She bit down to bear the pain and jabbed frantically at the knot. Panic rose in her throat. This can’t be happening! My aunts are in the hall, kissing that demented man goodbye, the very same monster who intends to murder me the moment they drive away.
No, he won't! I won't let him!
In a surge of outrage, Erica undid the knot.
She kicked her feet free of the cord, then remembered her bound hands and muzzled mouth. If only she could call out! Her breath caught as her aunts’ voices faded away. Sherman was ushering them down the steps outside!
Her ankles tingled and felt unsteady, but she pushed through Sherman’s shirts, then turned around so that her bound hands could grasp the doorknob. It opened easily.
Joyfully, she raced to the study door and was met with an unexpected delay. The long handle required a strong downward motion which her numb hands were finding difficult to maneuver.
Don’t leave! Don’t leave! she screamed in her head as she struggled to free herself in time. She reached the open front door just as the car’s rear lights disappeared from sight.
She was a minute too late! She choked back sobs of frustration that threatened to overcome her. She couldn’t fall apart now. She had to come up with another avenue of escape.
Escape! Her car was at the back of the house!
She slipped past the well-lit living room. If Sherman was planning to put her in her car and stage some kind of accident, he probably left the key in the ignition. She had to get out of the house before he discovered she was gone. He might shoot at her as she drove past, but that was a risk she had to take.
In the kitchen, she stopped dead in her tracks.
My hands. She moaned. I must untie my hands in order to drive.
Awkwardly, she jerked open the silverware drawer and, peering over her shoulder, selected a sharp cutting knife. She managed to grasp the knife between her bound hands, and nearly dropped it when she heard Sherman shouting from the study.
“Erica, where the hell are you? I told you to stay put."
She shuddered as he stomped about, slamming doors. Frantically, she set about cutting her bonds, but her hands were too close together and the knife barely touched the cord.
Sherman bellowed again.
I have to get out of here! She dropped the knife and ran to open the kitchen door.
Too late! Sherman came storming in.
“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” His angry fingers dug into her shoulders, making her recoil in fear and pain. “You’re not getting away from me this time.” His voice came in ragged, heaving breaths. “I can’t have you blabbing all over Manordale that I’ve been borrowing from your estate to buy my paintings. There’s my reputation to consider.” He sent her a look of scorn. “Poor Erica. Your aunts came and went and never knew you were here. No one will save you now.”
He thrust open the kitchen door and reached for the screen door.
Erica perched for flight. She would dash behind her car and into the bushes before he could pull the gun from his pocket.
“You go first,” he ordered, “and no funny business. Straight to the car.”
Instead of following her plan, she paused. There was a rustling in the grass. Was someone hiding out there? Probably a small animal, she told herself, annoyed she’d forfeited her chance to run.
Sherman was right. No one else was coming here tonight.
They both gave a start when the doorbell chimed again, loudly and insistently this time.
His fingers cut deeply into her arm. Her muffled shriek expressed both pain and hope. Maybe she had heard footsteps. Maybe help was on the way!
Sherman cursed, shocking her with his vulgar choice of obscenities. At the same time, it sounded as if the new visitor had a finger glued to the doorbell and was refusing to go away.
Sensing Sherman’s distraction, she pulled away from his slackened grip and propelled her body forward. But this time, she had underestimated him.
“No, you don't!” He held her firmly and crashed the gun, butt down, on her head.
Though the blow was not as severe as the first one had been, it sent her sprawling on the kitchen floor. The nausea and dizziness returned, and she no longer had the strength to fight him.
He dragged her like a sack of cornmeal into the dining room, where he left her wedged between the table and the credenza.
The chimes ringing and ringing. They were soon accompanied by a heavy pounding that got mixed up with the pounding in her head.
“Stay here, bitch,” Sherman hissed. “I’ll be right back to take care of you.” He hurried off to see who was hammering at the door.
She lay on the fringe of consciousness. The fight had been all but beaten out of her. She longed to drift off into peaceful oblivion, but she dared not. She didn’t want to die. This was her very last chance to save herself.
Bruised and disoriented, she struggled to sit up. The effort took all of her energy. Heaving air, she rested her face against the seat of a chair, but the more upright position made her woozy and she started to slip. The gag caught on the corner of the chair and folds of it were forced up against her nose.
She couldn’t breathe! Terror focused her mind. She shoved her face up against the arm of the chair, pushing the wood hard into the hollow of her cheek as she forced her head even higher.
The handkerchief came free of her nose. She drew long, grateful breaths, which cleared her head somewhat and made her aware of her terrible thirst. The gag was loose! She could push it down, away from her mouth! While she worked at it, she became aware of the voices in the hall.
Sherman was striving for his pompous lawyer’s manner, but his pitch was high, almost strident.
“—several times, she’s not here. Now leave quietly, Remsen, and take your friends with you, or I’ll have to call Mr. B. He won’t be very happy when he finds out you’ve been harassing me.”
Doug! Doug was here! Her spirits soared. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She forgot her many aches, the dreadful thirst. She maneuvered herself around the table and peered into the hall.
A wondrous sight greeted her eyes. The door flew open, and Doug strode into the hall. In one fluid motion, he grasped Sherman, pressed his back against the wall, and lifted him so that his feet dangled inches above the floor.
Shaking him, Doug said, “I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt her, Hartley.”
She wanted to laugh, to call out, to run to Doug. She tried to stand, but when she rose to her knees, the room began to spin.
“That’s enough, Vern—er, Remsen. We’ll deal with Mr. Hartley.” The voice was familiar. The speaker stepped into the house and announced himself. “Detective Sawyer, Police.”
Two officers in uniform closed rank behind him.
She smiled contentedly, allowing lassitude to overtake her for the moment. If her hands were free, she would have applauded. She was being rescued, after all!
“Oh.” Sherman was obviously shaken. “Come in, Detective. Gentlemen.”
At that moment, Jason came downstairs and joined the group. “What’s going on? How can my father and I be of service?” For once, he seemed to possess the composure his father lacked.
For a moment, Sherman stood gaping at his son. “These men are looking for Erica. I’ve already explained that she isn’t here, but they pushed their way right in.”
Even now he sounds aggrieved. Just like Jason, she thought, stifling the urge to chuckle.
Her head was clearing, but she still felt too groggy to stand or call out. Besides, she was content to remain silent and watch the scene unfolding before her. It was like being in a movie she knew would end with happily-ever-after.
“Hello again, Jason,” Detective Sawyer said. “We have a witness who saw you racing down Mrs. Parker's street after hearing what sounded like a gun."
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason mumbled.
"Really? He managed to write down the license plate number of the car you were driving. It belongs to your father."
There was a soft rapping at the door. Detective Sawyer opened it. A young, uniformed policeman whispered in his ear. Detective Sawyer followed him outside, closing the door behind him. He reappeared a minute later.
“Her car’s out back. On an unpaved road behind the house,” he told Doug. He turned to Sherman. “We’re going to have to search the house, Mr. Hartley.”
“Where is Erica?” Doug said through clenched teeth. He raised his arm, ready to strike Sherman.
“Easy does it,” Detective Sawyer said. He eyed Sherman. “Now, perhaps you’ll tell us where Mrs. Parker is,” he said mildly. “It would be better for everyone involved.”
That was her cue to make her grand entrance, but her legs were still too wobbly to support her. “I’m here,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
Nobody heard her. Nobody looked in her direction. All eyes were glued on the front door, concentrating on the key turning in the lock. Still as statues, the six men watched as Monica entered the house.
She, in turn, stared in astonishment at the men forming a semicircle before her. “Good evening,” she said. Her eyes sought and found her husband. “What's going on, Sherman?” She sounded both puzzled and annoyed. “You told me you had work to do tonight. That was the only reason I agreed to go to that boring meeting. As it turned out, I left before it ended. I simply couldn’t sit there another minute.”
When she didn’t answer, she became agitated. “Who are these men? Why is a police car in our driveway?”
Erica stumbled to her feet.
Sherman struggled for composure. He put a reassuring arm around Monica. “Sorry to distress you, my dear. These gentlemen are looking for Erica. I’ve told them repeatedly—”
“I’m here!” Erica huffed, finally strong enough to step into the hall.
Sherman was the first to reach her.
“So, you are here, after all!” He tried for a laugh. “Heh, heh. Just arrived, I bet. And used the back door, as usual.”
“Sure, Sherman. I drove here with my hands tied behind me.” She turned around for everyone to see.
Doug rushed over and untied her. Tenderly, he rubbed each of her sore wrists. “You foolish, foolish woman. I told you not to leave the house.”
As happy as she was to receive Doug’s attentions, her gaze sought Detective Sawyer’s. “Sherman was planning to kill me. He hit me over the head twice, then tied me up and gagged me.”
“Erica, dear,” Sherman said soothingly. “How can you invent such lies? As for your hands, I have no idea...”
Erica ignored him. “He has a gun in his pocket.”
Detective Sawyer nodded, and the two policemen closed in. “Let’s have it, Mr. Hartley,” one of them said. “There are cars outside and men stationed in back, in case you’re thinking of making a run for it.”
Sherman’s gaze darted from one to the other, as he thrust his hand in his pocket. His face was flushed and glistened with perspiration.
The others waited.
So, she had heard someone out back, she thought. In spite of the tenseness of the moment, she felt safer than she had in weeks.
“Come on, Mr. Hartley,” the same officer urged. “Hand it over.”
Sherman gave him the gun. He hunched up his shoulders and let his head fall to his chest.
The officer handcuffed him and led him outside.
Monica trailed after them. “Sherman, what’s happening?” she cried. “What did you do?”
He paused to give his wife a wan smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ll send Frank Reynolds over first thing in the morning to look after you.” Head bowed, he got in the back of the police car.
“I had nothing to do with this,” Jason declared as soon as the door closed on his father.
“Of course, you did!” Erica glared at him. She took pleasure in watching his face crumble.
“Tell them the truth, Erica,” he pleaded. “Tell them my father was using your money and couldn’t afford to have you find out. Explain that I had nothing to do with it, at all.”
She resisted the impulse to slap his face. “You were going to let him kill me. I’ll testify to that in court.”
She turned to Detective Sawyer. “It was Jason who frightened me half to death last night. I want to prosecute to the full extent of the law.”
The detective gave Jason a grim nod. “I intend to speak to you, Mr. Hartley. Either here or down at the station.”
“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” Jason mumbled and slunk away.
Someone tugged her arm.
“Erica, dear, what’s happening?” Monica’s mascara-smeared eyes brimmed with tears. “Sherman didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”
An unexpected surge of pity rushed over Erica, checking her other emotions, and she found herself hugging Monica. “I’m afraid he did. There’s a side to Sherman that none of us knew about.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught Doug and Detective Sawyer exchanging glances. She was surprised they seemed to be in perfect accord.
The detective lifted his chin toward Monica.
Doug gently detached the sobbing woman from Erica’s embrace and led her into the living room.
Detective Sawyer fixed his eyes on Erica. They were bloodshot from obvious lack of sleep. Wordlessly, he escorted her into the dining room and sat her down in a chair.
Erica took the glass of water he handed her a minute later. She finished it and asked for more.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“Much better.”
“Hartley struck you. You should be seen by a doctor.”
“I suppose you’re right. I still feel woozy and my head hurts.”
“In that case, we’ll drive you to the Emergency Room, and take down your story tomorrow.”
“Tonight,” she said firmly. “Let’s get it over with.” She cocked her head and looked at him quizzically. “What time is it? I’ve lost all track of time.”
“It’s ten minutes past ten.”
“That’s all? I feel as if I’ve been here for days.”
“I’m sorry about that.” He sounded sad, the way he had last night. “I should have listened to my instincts and assigned someone to follow you, especially after looking into your husband's death. Our I.T. genius did some digging and found a link between your husband and Sherman Hartley, who I knew was Jason's father. I told him to dig further."
She gave him a small smile.
“When he texted me to say he'd discovered Hartley was handling your father's trust,” the detective continued, “I drove over to your house. I saw no one was home and called the station.”
“A good thing you did.” Doug glided past Detective Sawyer to stand beside Erica. “Those fellows down at your precinct didn’t believe one word I was saying. I told them Erica had to be here, that if they didn’t get a move on, there’d be hell to pay. Anyway, I was about to leave and handle it on my own when I heard them mention your name, and I realized they had you on the phone.”
Detective Sawyer laughed. “What kind of a reception did you expect, with the credentials you're carrying?”
“Still, they should be able to tell the good guys from the bad.”
They grinned at each other as though they were sharing a joke.
“Obviously, you two know something I don’t,” she groused.
They turned to beam at her, openly amused by her show of exasperation.
“You’ll know, too, soon enough,” Doug said. He turned to the detective. “Mrs. Hartley’s resting in the living room. She took a pill to calm her nerves.”
“I’d better see her,” Detective Sawyer said and left them alone.
Erica stood and found herself in Doug’s strong arms. They kissed gently at first, then fervently with the relief of averted danger. She clung to him. He had saved her life. They leaned back to gaze into each other’s eyes, too full of emotion to speak.
It was him who broke the silence. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Never, ever.” He traced her nose with his finger. “I was terrified we wouldn’t get here in time.”
She pulled him close and smiled. “I have to see a doctor, then go down to the police station,” she said.
“I know,” he said, a silly grin on his face. “And I’ll be driving you.” He kissed her forehead, then each cheek.
She grinned back. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy. “It’s a funny way to see my birthday in,” she commented.
“True, but think of what a great story it will make to tell the grandchildren.”