The Land of Mango Sunsets Read Online Free PDF Page B

friend of Irene Waddlesnotte’s niece—a most unfortunate family name. Originally from Alabama, I thought she had said. I’ll admit that my anxiety was growing. I wanted a tenant in that apartment and the money in my account.
    It was ten-thirty. The New York Times crossword puzzle was completed (there was nothing quite so uplifting as a Monday puzzle), Harry was fed, the house was clean, the fireplace was crackling with another log of imitation wood, and I was dressed for the day. Even though I wasn’t necessarily going anywhere, I made it my habit to shower and dress nicely each day. I mean, maybe Charles’s home-wrecking vamp, Judith, might get hit by a truck or a taxi and I could be called on to identify her mangled body. What a cheery thought! I decided to write a note and make tea.
    Dear Robby,
    This is just a little note to say how much I appreciate that you shoveled my steps and sprinkled salt on my snowy sidewalk. This winter has been particularly harsh and it is so kind of you to think of your neighbors. Your mother must be very proud to have such a fine young man as her son most definitely is. Please accept this small token of my gratitude and treat yourself to an ice cream cone!
    Cordially,
Miriam Elizabeth Swanson
    I put the kettle on to boil and placed cups and saucers on a tray with spoons, napkins, and a plate for some cookies. I spooned two heaping teaspoons of loose Irish Breakfast tea leaves in my favorite teapot. I used milk in my tea, but what if my visitor had a preference for honey and lemon? Well, guess what? I didn’t have any lemons, so that was just too bad for her. And honey? Too messy. The only reason I was serving tea was to have the time to grill her about her life and past. I had taken Kevin’s paranoia to heart and my intention was to find out everything I could before I signed a lease with anyone.
    By the time the doorbell rang, I realized I had worked myself into an unpleasant state of crankiness. As you know, I deeply resented having to rely on paying strangers under my own roof in order to afford my home. The other, and perhaps more shameful, part was that my world had become so small that I hoped my new tenant would also be a friend. If my tenants were my friends, then I wouldn’t have to hate their presence as much.
    I buzzed her in, went to my front door, and opened it.
    “I’m Miriam Swanson,” I said, extending my hand. “Won’t you come in?” She was attractive in a coarse kind of way. Overprocessed hair worn in a style too long for her age, too much décolleté exposed for daytime…
    “Thank you.” We shook hands. “I’m Jean Waring.”
    Nails obviously fake…
    “It’s very nice to meet you, Jean. May I take your coat?”
    Cashmere? Who bought that for her?
    “Thank you.”
    She handed it to me and stood with her back to the fireplace. I folded it neatly and placed it on the arm of my sofa.
    “Gosh! It’s so cold outside! Isn’t this weather unusual? I can’t recall winter being quite so nasty and cold.”
    I nodded and said, “Won’t you sit down?” I indicated the wingback chair next to the fireplace for her and I would sit opposite her in the club chair. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
    “Oh, yes! That would be lovely!”
    “Yes, it is unusually cold this year.” I poured a cup for her. “Milk?” I poured another cup for myself and added milk.
    “Oh, no. Just plain tea is fine. Anything hot…”
    I put a cookie on the side of her saucer and handed it to her. “Anything with caffeine, I always say. Keeps me going! So, now, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”
    “I agree. Thank you! Well, I’m from Pennsylvania. Near Philadelphia.”
    “And what brings you to New York?”
    “A fresh start. I work in the banking industry and I just decided that since I’m single—”
    “You’ve never married?” I didn’t believe that for a minute.
    “Oh, well, yes, but a million years ago. I got married right after high school and had a