"Now, while we eat," Byron said, blowing on a hot French fry, "you can give your head a rest for a few minutes, and I promise you, while your stomach is doing some work of its own, your brain'll be busy too."
"I'm not so sure," Peter said. He took a sip of his milk.
The telephone rang.
"I'll get it," Grace said, returning from the kitchen with a bottle of cider vinegar. Byron made a beckoning gesture for the bottle.
"I got it," Peter said. "Holmes residence," he said, wiping his lips on his sleeve. "Hi, Peggy. What's up? Wait, let me guess, a problem with my stock sale already," Peter said with a smirk and a roll of his eyes at Byron.
"His secretary," Byron said, identifying the caller to his wife.
"What?" Peter shouted, eyes suddenly wide with panic.
"What is it?" Byron asked, coming to Peter's side.
"Hello?" a voice called softly, from inside the house.
"All right, yes," Peter said. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
He hung up the phone and stared at the handset.