Splintered Bones
one thing that she seemed to like--dogs. Sweetie Pie had slipped beneath her defenses. Chablis was the next tool I had to attack the wall of armor Kip had so efficiently built.
    6
    Tinkie's tiny fists pounded against the old oak of Dahlia House's front door. With one eye on Kip, I opened the door. As usual, Tinkie sailed past me, Chablis tucked under one arm. "I'd adore some coffee, Sarah Booth," she said. "And some pie. I'm desperate for--" The sight of Kip, standing at the bottom of the stairs, halted her.
    "Is that Katrina Lee Fuquar?" Tinkie asked as she began to circle Kip as though she were some exotic animal liable to pounce at any moment.
    Kip held her ground. "My name is Kip." She stared at Tinkie unflinchingly, enduring the inspection.
    "As you well know, Kip is staying with me," I said, grasping Tinkie's arm and propelling her toward the kitchen. "The coffee's perking." Tinkie could almost always be distracted with food.
    I looked over my shoulder and motioned Kip to follow us. Tinkie was still craning her neck to look back at the teenager as I pushed her through the dining room and into the kitchen. Without further ado, I parked her at the table.
    The afternoon sun was coming through the white lace of the eyelet curtains, which danced on a tickling spring breeze. The strawberries smelled sweet and ripe, a promise of summer. Long ago, on just such a spring morning, I'd sat at the table and watched my mother make strawberry pies. "Nothing like fresh fruit in season," she'd said, holding out a washed berry for me to eat. The white curtains had filled with her laughter, fluttering like shards of sunlight.
    "Sarah Booth?" Tinkie said, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"
    I was saved from answering by the sound of footsteps in the dining room. To my surprise, Kip pushed through the swinging door and took a seat at the table. While Tinkie stared at Kip, Kip was mesmerized by Chablis.
    "She's beautiful," she said, holding out a hand for Chablis to sniff.
    The miniature fluffball leaped from Tinkie's arms and skittered across the table into Kip's lap. Her overbitten little jaw worked furiously as she licked Kip's face.
    Sweetie Pie butted through the swinging door, tail thumping everything in sight. She rushed to Kip, put her front paws on the chair, and joined in the frenzy. Her long tongue slurped Kip's other cheek.
    "She has a way with animals," Tinkie said, fascinated. "She must get that from her mother."
    "The only things I got from Mother are green eyes and the knowledge that I'll never marry." Still holding Chablis, Kip stood up. "Can I take them outside?"
    "Sure," Tinkie and I said in unison.
    Kip banged out the back door with Chablis in her arms and Sweetie Pie on her heels.
    "That hair," Tinkie said. "I think we should shave her head. She might have lice."
    "She's having a hard time," I said, putting a slice of pie and a cup of coffee in front of Tinkie.
    "And what about you?" Tinkie asked. "How are you managing with her in your home?It concerns me. Have you considered another"--she knew she was treading on thin ice--"place for Kip to stay? She has a reputation for having a really bad temper."
    Lee had asked for my help, and I had given my word. But Tinkie was acting only as a concerned friend. "I'm fine with Kip being here. We set some ground rules. Kip may have a temper, but she also has a good brain. It's in her best interests to keep me satisfied with her conduct."
    My reputation for stubbornness was well known. "If you say so," Tinkie said as she speared a lush strawberry and held it to her mouth. I watched in fascination as she simultaneously bit and sucked, her
Tawny
Port
lips moving over the berry in the most extraordinary fashion. Not a hint of moisture escaped her. I was immediately thrown back into the past. Ninth grade, high school cafeteria. Tinkie eating a strawberry in exactly the same fashion. It had brought Simon Mills, the chemistry teacher, to his proverbial knees. Tinkie had a lot to teach

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