My feet on the steep, wooden stairs sounded like a herd of horses walking over a wooden bridge. I fitted my latchkey and opened the door of the apartment.
Bertha Cool was stretched out in the easy chair. Her thick, capable legs were thrust out straight in front of her, the feet propped on a cushioned ottoman.
She was snoring gently.
I switched on the lights in the center of the room. Bertha slept on peacefully, her face relaxed into a smile of cherubic contentment.
I said, “When do we eat?”
She awoke with a start. For a moment she was blinking the lights out of her eyes, taking in the strange surroundings, trying to find out where she was and how she’d got there. Suddenly realization dawned, and her hard little eyes glittered into mine. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Working.”
“Well, it’s a wonder you wouldn’t let me know.”
“I’m letting you know now.”
She snorted.