Chapter 14: PUSHING THE PANIC BUTTON
At breakfast earlier, Dorothy'd sagely been keeping her own counsel, her still excellent hearing keenly attuned to nuances and her still bright (though not quite as sharp) blue eyes peeled for telltale expressions when Dora challenged Jesse. To her disgust, nothing of any great import was mentioned.
When she was sure they'd gone, she scurried to her suite and tossed aside her dressing gown. Wiggled into the first garments that came to hand—UnderArmor® fleece warm-up suit (purple with pink piping). Struggled into her Venosan® Silverline™ Support Hose and Adidas® Philotes™ trainers by Stella McCartney (white with pink trim). Cleaned her teeth (still nature's own, thank you very much) with her Philips Sonicair® HealthyWhite™ electric toothbrush. Dusted her face with Coty® Airspun™ translucent face powder. Swiped her lips with Revlon's® Super Lustrous™ lipcolor ('Temptress' pink). Ran an heirloom art deco tapestry filigree hairbrush over her blue-white curls. Tied on a vintage Hermès® silk scarf (pink and purple paisley). Checked the contents of her pink leather retro Prada® Queen Mother™ pocketbook (checkbook, folding money, debit card, hanky, lipstick, SureShot® Millenium Invincible™ guaranteed 100% alder wand with gold band). Tossed in her brand spanking new T-Mobile® Android™ Quattro smartphone (pink). Grabbed her Superdry® windbreaker (purple) and the keys to her shocking pink Hummer® H6™ electric cart. Adjusted her Christian Dior® cats-eye trifocals (mock tortoiseshell with rhinestones).
Dorothy Maire Treadwell Doyle Jones—not-quite-retired White Witch, Platinum Wand Level, Gold Cauldron Certified—was ready to rumble.
Parents and son'd eaten lunch at the kitchen table rather than in the dining room. Steve'd gone to go pick up Ron. Jesse loaded crockery and utensils into the dishwasher while his mother put food back in the fridge. Miz Bee would've pitched a hissy had she not been occupied elsewhere in the house.
"I noticed when we were walking back that Dot's cart's gone," Dora remarked. "But she should've been back from the farm by now. It's not like her to miss a meal."
"I'll give her a buzz. I imagine she just stuck around and had lunch with the boys."
"You're probably right."
Jesse frowned as his call to Dottie went unanswered; he keyed off and redialed the North Barn extension. Dora could overhear his side of the exchange as she finished tidying up. "She's not? Was she there earlier? When did they leave? Did she say where they were going? No... no... I'm sure eveything's all right. Okay... thanks... bye."
Dora gave Jesse a puzzled look as he snapped the phone closed. "What is it?"
"That was Bill Chadwick. He said Dodo got there about thirty minutes after he saw us riding by on the lane this morning. She asked Mr. Statham to drive her to Harrogate and they left hours ago. The only reason he knew that was because Blair was supposed to go pick up a pony but he asked Bill if he'd go for him."
"Perhaps she just had a notion to go shopping, but I can't imagine why she wouldn't have waited and asked me. I would've taken her."
"Maybe she didn't feel like waiting. Maybe some new widget went on sale today at the Apple store and she just had to have it, like, right now." Dottie had embraced the digital age with joyous abandon. Any new product preceded by an 'i' had to be hers immediately if not sooner.
"Except there isn't one in Harrogate, as I well know, as many trips as we've made to the one in Manchester!"
"I wouldn't worry about it, Mo... Mum. She'll turn up when she's ready."
"I suppose you're right," Dora sighed, then brightened. "You haven't been down to the farm since you arrived... why don't we walk down and I'll show you what's new since your last visit? Unless you have something more important to do..."
Jesse bussed his mother on the cheek. "Nothing's more important than you... Mum."
Dora and Jesse headed toward the North Barn by way of the path meandering around the south façade of Hollin Hall and through the iron gates in the stone wall. An elaborate network of attractive wrought-iron fencing separated public areas (the Rescue Centre) from private ones (the residences). All were connected by self-closing and locking gates to which only authorized personnel had key codes controlling ingress and egress.
Over the years, additional features—geared toward families with younger children—had been added to the basic rescue facility, mostly due to Julia's foresight that additional operating revenue would be necessary beyond charitable grants, governmental subsidies and the trust. Much of what had been the original west pasture was given over to parkland with gentle walking trails, a wading pool and well-equipped playground, a children's fishing pond, gardens, an interpretive centre and gift shop. Portable toilets were scattered throughout the grounds in addition to a large central restroom facility containing changing stations and bathing sinks, maintenance of which was contracted out. Picnic pavilions were extremely popular although no cooking or fire-building was permitted. A contracted self-contained mobile vendor provided snacks and beverages.
Dora had voiced objections to Jules' proposal that the donations-only arrangement be replaced with a minimal entry fee at the main gate. However, she'd agreed to a trial period. To her astonishment, Julia'd been spot-on in her assessment that people who had to pay for the privilege of visiting an animal rescue farm would place a greater value on the experience, especially if it provided a family-friendly venue for low- and middle-income households who simply couldn't afford the exorbitant prices at a big, noisy amusement park. Jules'd argued... and she'd been right... that many people preferred the safer, more quiet and uncrowded natural environment for an afternoon's outing with their youngsters. Jules'd backed this up by keeping a tracking sheet drawn from the guest registry which proved that most visitors were repeat customers. Donations were always accepted, of course, and it was heartwarming that so many visitors felt compelled to contribute even though they'd already paid to get in. Thus had the 'Follyfoot Rescue Centre and Family Park' come into being.
Proposed new elements were first subjected to intense scrutiny with emphasis on liability potential before being approved or discarded. For instance, it was decided that although pull- and push-carts, buggies, strollers and tricycles for small children would be permitted and available for hire, bicycles, roller skates or skateboards would not. A proposed swimming area for older children and adults at the Ladyfan Lake was nixed because of the difficulty in enforcing parental attendance when parents had younger kids to look after as well.
Another of Julia's ideas—though not a new or unique one—had been reinstitution of 'pony' rides on Saturdays and Sundays (weekdays during school hols). Local teenagers were paid minimum wage to lead the ponies and their miniature jockeys around a small tree-shaded ring while proud parents fired off snaps. Equally popular were the cart rides provided by the farm's llamas, Bonnie and Clyde, and Nubian/Boer crossbred goats, Oprah and Martha.
Any visitors who inquired into horses for hire or riding for the disabled were referred to other area facilities which offered that. The Follyfoot Rescue Centre was a good neighbor and supported local businesses and organizations wherever possible.
A decision made early on by Dora and fully supported by Steve, Julia and Ian was that any new intake arriving in a severely distressed condition was segregated over at Ian's quarantine stable, out of sight of visitors. It was one thing for guests to view a rehabilitated and obviously healthy animal, even if missing an eye or limb... and quite another to be faced with an emaciated, scabrous, apparently near-death rescuee. An adult might understand an abused animal's pre-rehab state, but it would be entirely too disturbing to a small child who wouldn't.
Although clouds threatened on the far horizon, a fair amount of visitors had already streamed through the main gate and all hands were on deck, so to speak. Half of the FollyFellows were welcoming guests and conducting tours while the other half began 'showtime' feeding, mucking out, grooming and exercising (real chores having been accomplished much earlier that morning, of course). It was important, Julia said, that visitors should be able to see such work in progress in order to appreciate the effort that went into caring for the 'living exhibits'. The centre was open to the public every day, and on Sunday didn't open until 1:00p.m. so that those wishing to attend services were free to do so. The keepers rotated days off... the animals didn't.
Before reaching the gates in the stone wall, Jesse and Dora were intercepted by Mr. Chadwick's emergence from the hall's kitchen entrance.
"I've located Missus Dorothy for you!" the man grinned, drying his hands on a dish towel. He pointed back to where Mac stood at the industrial stainless steel sink. "Been helping with the lunch washing up as Jonah's off to the dentist. Mr. Statham finally answered his phone and I asked him. He says he dropped her off at that new hotel, that 'virgin' one." (Here Chadwick blushed, 'virgin' being one of those words generally not used in mixed company.) "Then he went on to the dentist's office with Jonah. Said he'd had his phone turned off in the waiting room but now they're done and on their way back."
"With Dorothy?" Dora asked.
Chadwick shrugged. "He didn't say. I didn't think to ask. But he should be here directly, if you'd like to wait. Tea? Just made some fresh..."
They accepted the offer and lounged with their backsides against the wood block prep table, making conversation with the two men working at the sink and in renewed amazement at how efficiently the one-armed cook was able to perform. Statham arrived five minutes later with a miserable-looking Jonah Atmore but no Dorothy. Statham filled his own mug and they repaired to the office.
"What business did my grandmother have at the hotel, Mr. B?" Jesse inquired.
"Wasn't my place to ask Missus Dorothy and she didn't offer. Just said that's where she wanted to go so I took her. Should I've got permission from you first?"
"No, of course not! She's capable of making her own plans. She's not dotty, you know... I mean, she is Dottie but... oh, you know what I mean!"
Statham's eyes twinkled. "I do, yes. I can tell you she had a burr under her saddle about something. Seemed in an all-fired hurry to get there and told me not to bother waiting around to collect her—she'd make her own way home."
"Hmnnnn. What... erm... what was she wearing? How was she dressed, I mean?"
Statham described in vivid detail Dorothy's ensemble. "She wasn't hard to miss in that get-up!" Hastily adding "and very fetching it was, too! Very... uh... bright and cheerful, I must say! Nice to see on an old... a lady of her age..."
Statham managed to dig himself a deeper hole by adding, "You know, instead of the usual grays and browns... oh... begging your pardon, Mrs. Ross!" He flushed even deeper. Dora was still wearing what she'd thrown on that morning—her favorite old faded brown jodhpurs and an ancient though comfortable snag-ridden gray jumper.
Jesse intuited that Blair Statham's discomfiture was due to other reasons.
"You know something, don't you?" he demanded. "Better tell us before we hear from the police or those nice men in the white coats."
Statham flushed. "Well... that is... I might know something..." he admitted. "But... you know I don't indulge in gossip..."
"Out with it, Blair!" Dora barked, forgetting her own rule. "An eighty-five year old woman dressed like a flamingo shouldn't be allowed out on her own without a minder! Tell what you know!"
Mr. Statham proceeded to explain how, as he was returning to the farm's van after handing over Missus Dorothy to the doorman, his nephew Connor Statham (aka 'Connie' on dress-up nights out), one of the hairdressers at the hotel's spa, was just going off shift. They had stopped to exchange pleasantries (not gossip!). Con/Connie had divulged that Lady Butler-Thingie had arrived this morning and was ensconced in the Obama Suite along with her traveling companion, la Principessa de Thingie, who was a smasher... for her age.
Dora was stung... Elayne was in town... and hadn't even called her?!
"So..." Statham was saying, "knowing that Lady Elayne and Missus Dorothy are very close friends—both being witches and all—I assume that's where she was headed."
Jesse misheard. "Mr. Blair... I don't appreciate your using such language in front of my mother!"
Statham appeared puzzled. "But that's what they are, Mr. Jesse. Everyone's always known that. My own gran was a member of their coven, back in the day and..."
Dora fainted and both men grabbed her just before she hit the floor.
Dora quickly regained consciousness to find herself slumped in an office chair, with Jesse waving an ammonia inhalant ampoule under her nose and Blair Statham vigorously chafing her hands while Bill stood in the doorway wringing his hands. Mac, standing behind him, would have been doing the same had he a second hand to wring.
Jesse's anxious face peered into hers. "Mom... Mum... Mother, what just happened? Are you all right? Should I call for an ambulance?"
"No... no!" she protested. "I just had a little turn, is all... I'll be fine. If I could just have some water, please..."
"Water! Quickly!" Statham barked. Mac and Bill crashed into each other as they made for the kitchen and returned almost instantly with a glass each.
"You should take her back to the house and call the doctor straightaway," Statham opined.
Jesse agreed. "We'll take Dorothy's cart... that'll be fastest."
"I'll get it and bring it around, she always leaves the keys," Bill offered and bounded away.
"There's no need for all this uproar," Dora insisted, and was ignored. The cart was brought around to the door and Jesse picked his mother up and carried her out to it. In parting he requested that Mr. Statham ask his nephew to utilize whatever contacts he had to find out what was going on up in the Obama Suite and in particular to determine if their runaway granny was indeed up there.
Back at the house, they came in through the garage entrance. Dora refused to be carried up the stairs but did allow her son to hold her arm as he marched her to her room. She was hesitant about allowing him to help get off the boots, jodhpurs and jumper, insisting he turn his back while she divested herself of her underwear and slipped on the nightgown she kept under her pillow.
"For heaven's sake, Mom... this is no time for modesty... you forget I live in the House of Hormones!" Jesse complained. "And I'm calling your doctor whether you like it or not. People don't just faint for no reason. If you don't give me the number I'll get it from one of the girls."
Dora grumbled but dictated the number to him. He made the call and got the after-hours service. A few minutes later Dr. Sheffield returned his call, promising to be there within the hour. Jesse made sure Dora was installed in the bed with the covers pulled up and instructed her to stay right where she was, saying that he'd be back in a few minutes to check on her.
Jesse ran to his room to start making calls as he quickly changed clothes, becoming increasingly frustrated as he dialed number after number only to hear 'Please leave a message' or a similar instruction. What was the use of cell phones if people didn't keep them on in the event of an emergency! He charged downstairs into the kitchen and found Miz Bee (today it was Miss Vera) thwacking into submission an enormous wad of rising dough.
"I need a pitcher of water and a glass to take upstairs to Mother. She fainted while we were down at the farm. I've put her to bed and called her doctor to come and have a look at her."
Miss Vera slowly rotated her head, holding up her sticky, floured hands and fixing him with an owl-like stare through her thick-lensed spectacles.
"'Ad one of 'er little turns, 'as she?" she asked calmly.
Jesse paused, "What do you mean, 'one of'? Have there been others?"
"Aye." The cook didn't seem especially surprised or alarmed.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Quite a bit, 'ere lately. First I 'eard 'er fainted over it, mind you."
"Does my father know? Has she said anything to him about it?"
"Don't think so, no. Don't want to worry 'im, see. Same as 'e don't want to worry 'er about 'is turns, when they comes."
"Say what?" Jesse's mouth fell open. "You mean... both of them have been ill and they're keeping it from each other?"
"T'ain't sick," Miss Vera said lugubriously, having returned to her kneading. "Just that old spell wearin' off. Soon's they remembers everythin' they'll be fit as butcher's dogs... or not."
Jesse stared at her blankly. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. I just know that my mother is ill and I can't get in touch with anybody."
"Calm yersel', laddie." With a sigh, Miz Bee abandoned the dough bowl and moved to the sink to wash and dry her hands before plugging in the electric kettle. "What your mum needs to set 'er right is a nice cuppa. What she don't need is you flappin' an' yappin' all around an' gettin' 'er all upsot. You go find that Vi'let an' send 'er back 'ere. I'll have a tray ready for 'er to take upstairs an' she'll set with Miz Dora all quiet-like. Then you get out the way an' stay out the way 'til that lady doctor gets here." Beginning to assemble tea things on a tray on the counter, she added with a sniff, "An' that's me advice."
Feeling himself both chastised and dismissed, Jesse slunk out of the door to search for the elusive maid, whom he finally located stocking towels in the downstairs bathroom. The girl immediately abandoned her task and headed for the kitchen while Jesse took up a station at the front door, where he continued dialing phone numbers.
WITCHES IN WINDSUITS
Meanwhile, back at the hotel... Elayne pried open a gummy eyelid and fixed a malevolently bleary eye on her smartphone, skittering merrily on the bedside table just out of reach while tinkling out the 'Wicked Witch' theme for the umpteenth time. She mumbled a freeze spell and it fell blessedly silent. But of course, now that she was awake there was an urgent need to visit the loo... which meant she had to get up and out of the bed. A peek at the bedside digital alarm clock and a secondary glance into the mirror over the bathroom vanity confirmed two unhappy realizations... she'd only had an hour's rest and she looked like something disinterred from Tutankhamun's Tomb. Mission accomplished, she was considering crawling back into bed when there came a knock on her door.
"Auntie Elayne... wakey wakey!"
Sally didn't wait for an invitation but flung the door open. "Would you please answer your phone?! Dottie is driving me crazy!" Even as she spoke, her own smartphone began playing 'The Ride of the Valkyries'. Sally was in slightly better shape than her aunt... but only just.
The room phone rang and Elayne picked it up. "Guiseppe's Bar an' Grill... oh hi there Jean-Luc... yeah and a gracious howdy to you, too... nah, I hadda get up to answer the phone anyway... oh yeah?... oh, she is? Yeah... that's my cousin Dodo... no, I'm ain't havin' you on... you go ahead an' send her on up, okay. Thanks a bunch, Jean-Luc. Yer a sweetheart!" Elayne made kissy noises into the phone and rang off, then immediately redialed for room service. "Is it too late for brunch? Yes. Fine. You decide, we're not picky. Oh... better make that for three... no, four. Yes... four people. Thirty minutes? Yes, that'll be dandy. Thanks." She hung up.
A few minutes later there came a pounding at the doors to the suite, which Sally answered to reveal a short stocky elderly person resembling an animated fuchsia (variety 'Roessee Blacky') and a nervous reservations manager. Dottie 'DoDo' Jones marched in after flinging a venomous scowl at the hapless Jean-Luc who had thought it prudent to personally accompany the furiously insistent and possibly deranged elderly woman upstairs.
Even at her worst (and at her age), Sally was still a fine-looking woman who commanded attention and she certainly had his. Her unbound silver hair, impossibly thick and lustrous, streamed about her shoulders and almost to her waist. She fixed her large amber eyes on his pale watery blue ones and spoke softly, hypnotically.
"You will now return to your station and you will not speak of this person's presence to anyone. You and anyone in your immediate vicinity will deny having seen her. You will inform anyone who inquires that the Lady and La Duchessa are incommunicado but are accepting written messages. You will not disturb us other than to hand-deliver said messages. No hotel staff will recall having served us. That is all. You may go."
"Very good, Your Grace," the Belgian intoned, bowing robotically and chugging away down the corridor.
Behind her, Dottie snickered. "La Duchessa? What's all that about?"
Greetings, hugs and kisses went around then Dottie threw disapproving looks at the two other women. "This won't do at all, girls. We have much work ahead of us. Both of you... hop in the shower and get dressed."
After advising Dottie to be on the lookout for room service brunch on its way, the two disappeared into their respective bedrooms, emerging thirty minutes later with hair more or less repaired, makeup in place and warm-up suits similar to Dottie's—buttery yellow with brown accents for Sally and British racing green with silver trim for Elayne. All three tucked into the excellent selections even though Dottie'd just eaten a few hours ago (she never turned down free food). Shortly after staff (Raisha and her kinswoman Ayesha) had whisked away the trolley and removed the crockery but leaving the coffee service, a pair of widely grinning Guianian porters (Cleménte and Armine) muscled in a large round mahogany table to displace the smaller one that normally occupied the lounge.
Elayne and Sally set about unpacking their extensive wardrobes, having previously resisted the complimentary valet's efforts to do that for them—thus greatly disappointing Deirdre from Dublin who was intensely curious as to how these women, or any woman, could possibly manage traveling with only one relatively modest piece of luggage each (56cm x 45cm x 25cm per British Airways restrictions). If she'd paid attention to the prominently emblazoned logos (TARDISette® Intergalactic Traveller™), she might or might not've had a clue without having to view the contents.
Dottie meanwhile was exchanging text messages with Hazel who was still trapped at home with her three hyperactive granddaughters (too much sugared breakfast cereal) while awaiting the arrival of the sitters, two other older granddaughters who were already late. Hazel of course wanted to know what the other three were wearing so she could coordinate.
Done with the clothesand personal items (including an inflatable donut for Elayne who was inclined to certain personal discomforts particularly after a long flight), Elayne and Sally proceeded to extract laptops, lined notepads and other minutiae of office operations until the mahogany table had taken on the appearance of a military command post. Other miscellaneous items were set off to the side for future use except the box containing a round inflatable miniature (18in x 8in) scrying pool plus electric pump (ScryAll® Deluxe Personal Portable™ by Nanjing Pegasus Recreation Equipment Co. Ltd.). After Elayne had it blown up and installed it on a bit of open floor space as far from the windows as possible to avoid glare interference, the other two used ice buckets to fetch water from the bathrooms. Sally located a footstool for Elayne, who would be manning the equipment, to sit on. ("I get down on my knees I won't never get up again!")
"Okay ladies, let's get this show on the road," Elayne commanded, clapping her hands briskly. "We'll have to catch up Hazel when she gets here. Dorothy... would you lead off with an update?"
"As you already know, yesterday Jesse informed Steve that he was about to be visited by the ghost of summer 1994 past. As to be expected, Steve didn't take it very well but he can't deny the reality of his situation. As far as I know at this point, he hasn't told Dora yet.
"For both of them, the..." Dottie paused. "What's an antonym for memory lapse?"
"I don't think there is one... we're referring to them as 'flashbacks'," Sally said.
"Right. That'll do. These flashbacks are occurring more frequently and more clearly. They've both become obsessed with trying to remember what happened That Week. They're both worried they're losing their marbles. They haven't talked about this with anyone else yet much less each other... except of course Dora told me and Steve might have said something to Ron on account of Ron told Hazel he suspected Steve might be having an affair and Hazel told me the same thing about Dora this morning except she didn't believe Dora would do such a thing but I told her... oh... and I did have to explain to Hazel about the memory block..."
"Dottie!" Elayne interrupted. "Do try to keep to the thread, dear. I meant, what are they doing right now?"
"Oh... well... let's see. We had breakfast. Everyone left except Steve, Dora and Jesse. Not counting Vera Barton and the maids, of course. Steve told her he was too busy to go hacking with her and—let me tell you!—she was not best pleased..."
"Dorothy!" Elayne reprimanded.
"I'm getting there!" Dottie snapped back. "As I was saying, Steve went to his study. Dora told Jesse he'd have to go with her and they left. I went down to the Farm and got Blair Statham to drive me here... he's sweet on me, you know, but he really isn't my type... Anyway, Steve and Ron are going to look at some sort of boat this afternoon, he says, and I don't know what excuse he's given her... he's never shown any interest in sailing before! Ron's starting to have flashbacks, too... so Hazel says... but he's not as far along as the others. It's possible they—he and Steve—might get around to talking about that while they're on the road. Hazel says Ron said something about how he might bring it up..."
"Statham... Statham... didn't he used to own that big racing stable...?"
"The very one... fell on hard times, he did. Lost everything. Lives at Follyfoot now with the rest of the geezers."
"Which has nothing to do with our problem," Sally interjected. "What's Dora doing today, do you know? With everyone out of the house?"
"Haven't the foggiest... and Jesse's still there, don't forget, plus Vera and the maids, so it isn't feasible to go over there and beard the lioness in her den, so to speak. And that's where we are at the moment. Have you any ideas, either of you?"
Elayne drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. "Sally and I agree it might be best to tackle her first but we're not sure if this would best done before or after Steve tells her about the boy. You are aware, are you not, that he's Sally's grandson as well?"
Dottie was surprised. "No. I didn't know that. Oh my. That does present complications! And explains why she's here with you. I was wondering about that..." Her eyebrows knitted in a frown as she glanced at Sally. "Hang on... as I recall, weren't you married to that..."
"Yes. Still am."
"Oh my stars and garters! If this isn't the best drawing room farce ever! Straight out of P.G. Wodehouse. Noël or Oscar couldn't have done better!" Dottie slapped her thigh and guffawed then abruptly turned serious. "I trust this doesn't adversely affect your objectivity?"
"Not at all," Sally answered serenely. "I'm here to help. I want what's best for my grandson and I was after all indirectly involved with getting Steve and Dora together in the first place. As much as any of you, I have a personal interest in seeing that they stay together."
"I just want to be sure you don't harbor any grudges... I assume you know about the..."
"The Kiss," Sally said. "Yes, of course. And I took it into account at the time as a necessary adjunct to accomplishment of the mission."
"Been me, I woulda turned him into a..."
"Elayne! Don't even go there!"
"Just sayin'..."
"Well, just don't!"
Dottie chimed in with prurient interest. "Are you real sure they didn't... you know?... because I was never 100% sure myself. Good thing that first baby looked like a Ross!"
"Didn't happen. If it had, I would've known."
"Back on topic, girls!" Elaine said loudly, just as there was a knock on the door. She got up to answer it and admitted Hazel, resplendent in a sleek black faux leather windcheater with skin-tight spandex leggings and black high-top Nike® running shoes. More greetings, hugs and kisses were dispensed and Hazel joined them at the command post.
"So, what's up? Do we have a plan yet?" she asked ingenuously.
Elayne screwed up her face. Sally rolled her eyes. Dorothy sighed.
"I see. Well, I've come up with a couple of ideas, last night and on the way over... if you're interested," Hazel offered shyly. "I mean, I know I'm not certified or anything... but..."
"Any contributions are welcome," Marie-Solánge said.
"We need all the help we can get," Dorothy-Maire exclaimed.
"Hazel Marie has the floor... the table... whatever!" Marie-Elayne dictated.