“I hope so. I’m like Uncle Paul,” Mrs. Riker admitted. “I need friends as I never needed them before. My husband is dead, as you must have guessed. He was a reckless driver, especially when he was alone. He was killed in an accident.”
“What was that?” asked Horace, cutting down on his speed.
“You heard it. You might take it as a warning,” Judy told him. “You have plenty of time to write up this story. The Herald doesn’t go to press until tomorrow morning. ‘Slow down and live,’ as the road signs say.”
“Thanks, I will,” he replied. “I was just trying to get you home in time for supper.”
“I’ll get supper better if I’m all in one piece. I haven’t decided what we’ll have, but you’re all invited,” Judy told them.
But Horace said he had other plans—which included Honey.
“Anyway,” Judy said, “we want you and the children to stay, Helen.”
Mrs. Riker smiled as if the use of her first name cemented their friendship. She was a beautiful woman when she forgot to be worried and frightened. Judy guessed she was still in her early thirties.
“You must have married very young,” she commented a little later.
“Too young,” Helen Riker replied. “I hadn’t learned to do my own thinking.”