Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,93

earrings, and high-heeled sandals, answer on the first knock. "I bet I know why you're here," she said, inviting me inside. "I bet you want your clothes back. We have everything folded for you and ready to go into your suitcase. We were planning to bring them down to you when we finished packing, but you're just too efficient. You beat us to it. You were so nice to let us borrow your lovely things, Emily. We're going to give you very high marks on your evaluation, aren't we, Barbro?"

"With all our praise, you'll get a raise!"

I looked from one to the other, marking which twin was which. I also noted their room was even more shabby than mine, with holes in the carpet, wide strips of paint peeling off the wall, and no lighting other than the dull fixture overhead. The only furniture in the room other than the two beds was a small desk in the corner. The only decorative accent in sight was the standard liter of foul-tasting bottled water perched on the desk. Uff da. I hoped they were assigned the presidential suite at the hotel in Montecatini to make up for their experience here. They'd been so sweet not to be in my face about the accommodations. I really owed them.

"Actually, ladies, I'm not here to pick up my clothes. I'm here for another reason." At which point I explained about my recent call from Officer Piccione and how it affected tomorrow's schedule.

"Why are the police going to interrogate us about Philip Blackmore's death?" asked Britha. "Didn't you say you saw the whole thing? That his fall was an accident?"

I smiled wanly. "I don't seem to be right all the time."

"Well, it's too bad we'll have to miss the memorial service," Britha fretted. "We attended every funeral service Papa ever officiated, didn't we, Barbro? He delivered real good eulogies. Always brought a tear to my eye."

Barbro nodded agreement. "Folks died. We cried."

"He gave a real memorable one for Harvey Gasser. Do you remember Harvey, Emily? He was the swine farmer off Route 221 who raised that thousand-pound pig. Trouble was, the family brought the pig to the funeral with them and caused all sorts of seating problems. No one wanted to sit with the pig, so it got a pew all by itself, and then there weren't enough seats for the rest of the friends and relatives. Some folks got pretty irritated because they had to stand, but if you ask me, the pig really needed its own pew. I mean, it was big as a VW bus."

I nodded, slightly glassy-eyed. "I'm sorry I missed that one."

Britha smiled. "I think it was before your time anyway, dear. Don't you think so, Barbro?"

"It happened back in '69. His wife had been a friend of mine."

I stared at Barbro Severid, suppressing a sudden urge to scream. "I have been so curious about this. I really have to ask. Have you ever been involved in a conversation where you didn't feel the need to rhyme all your words?"

"Ofcourse, I have!" Barbro said, laughing. "Some words are simply impossible to rhyme. Like silver. And tsetse. And gazebo. Although you can try placebo with gazebo, but, it's hard to gracefully slip 'placebo' into a conversation. What are some of the others, Brit? Oh yeah, panda."

Britha Severid began ticking off words on her gold-lacquered fingers. "Xylophone. That's a real hard one. So she usually tries to direct her musical conversations to string instruments. Harps. Fiddles. The percussions and winds can be real stinkers."

"You try thinking of a word that rhymes with piccolo," Barbro challenged me. "You'll get a migraine trying."

"I can think of a word that rhymes with tuba," I enthused. "Tuba's a wind instrument. How about scuba?"

Britha ignored me as she continued her litany. "Chocolate. Celery. Oxygen. She tried using toxin with oxygen once, but it really wasn't a good fit."

"Cathedral," said Barbro. "Phenomenon. Four-syllable words are especially difficult."

Cuba. Aruba. Hey, two more words that rhyme with tuba! I was pretty good at this!

Britha started in on her other hand. "Breakfast. Modem. Anemone."

Oh, God. Now I'd gone and done it. I'd opened Pandora's box. "Are these all your new clothes?" I interrupted, walking over to one of the beds.

The twins rushed over to the bed, where their new togs were laid out in all their garish splendor. "Jackie was so sweet to take us shopping today," one of them said. "She's quite the fashion plate. She even took time to