25

The manic shopping was wearing her down. To escape, she said, “I’m starving. Is it lunch time yet?”

They had lunch in a classy, energetic café that catered to an upscale crowd. The walls were white and decorated with flowering plants, mirrors and stained glass lamps. Green wrought iron chairs graced each table, and the seats were upholstered in red-and-white striped canvas.

Wiley had to admit the food was good, though her mother was doing her best to give her a bellyache. It wasn’t anything she said, it was the way she watched Wiley’s posture, scrutinized the way she ate. Wiley had never been accused of being Miss Manners, but she’d never seen the point of having no elbows on the table or chewing her food one hundred times. Co