Loco Motive by Mary Daheim Page B

out Friday morning. The guests already at the table greeted Judith as they made way for the newcomers.
    Gauthier père studied the offerings on the sideboard that had been installed the previous winter by Judith’s handyman, the ageless and energetic Skjoval Tolvang. “No omelets?” he exclaimed in something akin to shock.
    â€œChill, Papa,” Gauthier fils said softly. “The scrambled eggs look great.”
    â€œTomorrow,” Judith said, “my husband is making his Joe’s Special. It’s not exactly an omelet, but our guests always rave about…”
    A blond head loomed over the half doors to the kitchen. “Omelets coming up!” Kristin cried. “Three minutes!”
    Judith’s smile was strained. “The ham and two kinds of sausage are excellent. Try the blueberry pancakes and the Belgian waffles. Everyone always seems to enjoy them.”
    Steve Gauthier shot Judith an amused glance. “My father likes waffles. Don’t you, Papa?”
    The older man uttered a little grunt. “They are fine. Usually.” His son had already filled his plate. “The whipped cream’s homemade and the strawberries are fresh, not frozen.”
    â€œIn October?” Mr. Gauthier was incredulous. “How can that be?” Judith was flummoxed. She had no idea where Falstaff’s got their berries during fall and winter. For all she knew, the store manager grew them in his bathtub. “Australia? Chile? Our grocer flies in items from all over the world.”
    Mr. Gauthier poured his orange juice. “Ah! Real oranges. Excellent .”
    Judith started for the kitchen to see what the overzealous Kristin was up to, but a clearing of the throat by Libby Pruitt caught her attention. “Yes?” Judith said, realizing that Ms. Pruitt remained in the dining-room doorway.
    â€œMay I have a word, please?” she asked in a low voice.
    â€œOf course,” Judith said, noting that her guest’s pale face looked worried. “Shall we go into the living room?”
    â€œThat’s not necessary.” Libby Pruitt had moved into the entry hall and stopped by the powder room. She was tall and slim, close to six feet in her low-heeled shoes. “This morning I dropped one of mycontact lenses by the window.” She made a face. “It was for my left eye, which is considerably worse than my right. I’m farsighted, so I literally had to feel for it. I finally moved the braided rug at the foot of the bed—and found this.” She opened her right hand to reveal a plain gold band in her palm. “It’s engraved. Perhaps a previous guest didn’t realize the ring was missing until after checking out.”
    Judith plucked up the ring and peered at the tiny markings. “It looks too big for a woman, but you never know. I can’t see this without a magnifier.”
    Libby smiled. “Once I found my contact, I could read what turned out to be initials. They’re RK, an ampersand, and JG. There’s also a date—1990.”
    Judith nodded. “I see that now. The guest who stayed there ahead of you was an Episcopal priest from New Jersey attending a church conference. I don’t recall if he wore a wedding ring. His last name was Dobbs. Wrong initials.”
    â€œMaybe,” Libby suggested, “the ring has been there for some time.”
    Judith shook her head. “I doubt it. A lost wedding ring—at least that’s what it looks like—isn’t something you’d forget.”
    Libby’s thin lips curved slightly. “It is if you want to forget the person wearing the matching band.”
    â€œUh…that’s so.” Judith had already noticed the oval garnet ring on Libby’s left hand. Maybe it had replaced a wedding band that evoked unhappy memories. “Thanks for finding this. I’ll do some research to figure out who may have lost it.”
    Libby smiled. “Good