The Scratch on the Ming Vase by Caroline Stellings Page B

had a tulip hem. Nicki’s dress was made from a stretch satin and her black hair was positively striking against the bright red fabric. For a moment she wondered what T’ai would think of it.
    â€œNow come on, let’s go,” urged Margo. “You said you had some friends who wanted to meet up with you at the dance.”
    â€œThat’s true.”
    â€œThen you’ll come?”
    It would give me a chance to get to know Duncan MacDonald better. See what he’s up to.
    â€œOnly if you’ll let me pay for this dress,” insisted Nicki.
    Margo thought about it.
    â€œI’d be much happier if you’d accept it as a gift,” she said. “You’ve just started working, and I’m sure money is tight. But I’ve got an idea. Come here and I’ll show you something.”
    They went back into the deli and on a shelf behind the cash register was a big empty pickle jar with some change in the bottom of it. On the side was a picture of a palm tree cut out of a magazine, stuck down with a piece of masking tape on which the words Honeymoon Jar had been printed in black ink.
    â€œAfter you’ve been working for a while, and have whatever you need for yourself, I’ll let you put a couple of dollars into my parents’ honeymoon jar, okay?” She held up her index finger. “No more than that.”
    â€œThey haven’t had a honeymoon yet?”
    â€œThey couldn’t afford one when they got married, then they were busy trying to get the business going, then I came along. You know how it goes.” She picked up the pickle jar. “So whenever we get an extra tip or something, we put it in here.” She shook the money around. “They almost had enough once, but the refrigerator and oven broke within a week of each other.”
    Ira walked by with a huge container of coleslaw.
    â€œWe’d hoped by our tenth anniversary we could go. Then it was our fifteenth. Our twenty-fifth is next month, but it looks like it’ll take until our thirtieth.”
    â€œOh, come on Ira,” said Ruthie. “Get real. If we make it to Hawaii by our fiftieth , we’ll be doing something.”
    â€œHawaii?” asked Nicki.
    â€œThat’s their dream.” Margo took a customer’s credit card and rang through his bill. “Thanks a lot,” she said, handing the man a receipt. She turned to Nicki and lowered her voice. “I really hope they can go for their silver anniversary. I’ve been thinking about putting off nursing school for a year and giving them what I’ve saved up—”
    â€œYou know what you can do with that idea?” Ira shouted from the kitchen. “Forget about it!”

    â€œI hope you don’t mind stopping off here for a minute first,” said Nicki.
    â€œThis is a social visit,” Margo warned the nurses at the desk. “Don’t get any big ideas about putting me to work tonight.”
    â€œI didn’t even recognize you without the stripes,” joked an older nurse.
    â€œNurse Cherry Ames, out on the town,” said another.
    â€œI love Cherry Ames.” Margo swung her purse over her shoulder playfully.
    â€œWho’s she?” asked Nicki.
    â€œOh, you know—Cherry Ames, from the series of books for girls. She’s like Nancy Drew, only a nurse. My grandmother gave me her set.”
    â€œRight. They were in your bookcase.”
    â€œI cherish them. Those books changed my life.”
    Nicki started for Kahana’s room.
    Margo clicked behind, her heels hitting the floor like it was a steel drum.
    Nicki turned down the west corridor and immediately noticed the hall was completely empty. There was no guard at David Kahana’s door.
    Where’s the guard?
    Nicki picked up her pace. She grabbed the door handle and tugged until it opened.
    Kahana was gone!
    â€œMargo, he’s not here!” gasped Nicki.
    â€œHe was fine when I left here