"Oh, that's exciting."
"It's harder than it looks—for me, anyway."
Jennifer wanted him to look at her and not at an imagined box. She was a solid blonde, Nordic, with broad cheeks and a big smile. "I worry about Rupert when he does things around the house. Something usually goes wrong."
"Ah . . ." Oliver said. "A minor flaw."
"Rupert is wonderful," she said. "Now, the mailing list. Hi, Jacky." Oliver turned and was astonished to see Francesca's friend in the doorway. "Jacky is one of our volunteers. She does a lot of the mailing list work. I thought you could work together on this. Jacky, this is Oliver Prescott."
Jacky stepped forward. "Jacky Chapelle," she said. She had strong cheekbones and dark blonde hair, cut short and swept back. Her eyes were hazel colored. She had a winged messenger look that lightened her direct, almost blunt, expression and her powerful shoulders.
"Uh, hi." Oliver shook her hand. "Did you find any pasta sauce?"
"Eventually."
"Oh," Jennifer said. "You know each other."
"Not exactly," he said. Jennifer looked at him closely. Hell is being in one room with two women, Owl said. Oliver cleared his throat. "Where's the computer?"