Rosie's was nearly empty, but shortly after I sat down, I spotted Babe and Bucky coming through the door. I waved and the two of them approached my back booth, walking hip to hip, their arms wound around each other's waists.

I said, "Where's your dad, Bucky? I've been hoping to run into him. We need to talk."

"He took a load over to the dump, but he should be back shortly," Bucky said. "You want to join us? We thought we'd sit at the bar and watch the six o'clock news until Dad gets here." In the half-light of the tavern, he was looking nearly handsome. Babe was in boots, a long jeans skirt, and a blue jeans jacket.

"Thanks, but I may try to eat quick and catch an early movie."

"Well, we'll be over there if you should change your mind." They sauntered off to the bar.

Meanwhile, Rosie appeared from the kitchen and I watched her draw two beers before she came over to me. She had already pulled out her pencil and order pad and was scribbling away. "I got perfect dish for you," she said as she snatched my dinner menu. "Is slices pork liver with sausage and garlic pickles, cook with bacon. Also, I'm making you apple-and-savoy-cabbage salad with crackling biscuits."

"Sounds inspired," I said. I didn't say by what.

"You gonna have this with beer. Is better than wine, which don't mix good with garlic pickles."

"I should say not."

I ate, I must say, with a hearty appetite, though I'd probably have indigestion later. The place was beginning to fill up with the Happy Hour crowd, people from the neighborhood and singles getting off work. Rosie's had become a favorite hangout among the local sporting set, thus ruining it for those of us in search of peace and quiet. If it weren't for my fondness for Rosie and the close proximity to my apartment, I might have moved on to some new eatery. I saw Bucky and Babe move over to a table. Chester came in moments later, and the three conferred before ordering supper. By then the place was so noisy that it didn't seem tactful to join them and launch into talk about Johnny's past history.

At 6:35 I paid my check and headed out the front door. I was already losing interest in the movie, but there was always a chance I could generate enthusiasm from "the sibs."

When I got home, I crossed the back patio and knocked at the frame. I heard a muffled "Yoohoo!" I peered in through the screen and spotted Nell sitting in a wooden kitchen chair pulled up close to the stove. She was peering in my direction, and when she saw me she motioned me in.

I opened the door and stuck my head in. "Hi, Nell. How are you?" The stove had been dismantled – the oven door open, oven racks removed – apparently in preparation for a thorough cleaning. The counter was lined with newspaper on which the oven racks were laid, still seething with oven cleaner.

"Fine and dandy. Come on in, Kinsey. It's good to see you." Ordinarily she wore her thick silver hair pulled back in an elaborate arrangement of tortoise-shell combs, but today she'd tied her hair into the folds of a scarf, which made her look like an ancient Cinderella.

"You're industrious," I said. "You just got here and already you're hard at work."

"Well, I'm not happy until I can take a stove apart and really clean in there good. Henry's extremely able when it comes to household chores, but a stove is the sort of thing needs a woman's touch. I know that sounds sexist, but it's the truth," she said.

"You need help?"

"I could sure use the company." Nell was wearing a pinafore-style apron over her cotton housedress, her long sleeves protected by cuffs of paper toweling that she'd secured with rubber bands. She was a big woman, probably close to six feet tall in her prune. Wide shouldered, heavy breasted, she had good-size feet and hands, though her knuckles were now as knotted as ropes beneath the skin. Her face was long and bony, nearly sexless in its character, sparse white brows, electric blue eyes, her skin vertically draped with seams and folds.

All the shelves had been emptied from the refrigerator, the countertops crowded with leftovers in covered bowls, olive and pickle jars, condiments, raw vegetables. The storage drawers had been removed and one was sitting in a sink full of soapy water. She'd tossed a number of items in the kitchen wastebasket, and I could see that she'd dumped something gloppy in the disposal.

"Don't look at that. I think it's still alive," she said. She was wringing out the cloth she was using to wipe down the shelves. "Once I finish this, I intend to take a bubble bath and then I'll get into my robe and slippers. I have some reading to catch up on. I keep thinking any day now my eyes are going out on me and I want to get in as much as possible." She had unscrewed a jar lid and was peering in. She sniffed, unable to identify the contents. "What in heaven's name is this?" She held it up to the light. The liquid was bright red and syrupy.