“Yes, that would be a problem,” I said. “Perhaps if you—”
“Even with all the windows open, a car's way too small right now. I just need to rest here for the time being. If the car's in the way, I’d be happy to give you the keys so someone could move it.”
“The car's fine where it is,” I said. “Have you ever considered getting a convertible?”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Michael has a convertible,” I said. “It's amazing how free and unfettered you feel, driving around in a convertible.” “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“One of us could run you home in the convertible if you like.”
“I wouldn’t want you to go to that much trouble,” he said. “Just a coat hanger. And maybe a light blanket, if you have one.”
I gave up and went inside to fetch a coat hanger. I found Michael, Dad, Eric, and Dr. Blake sitting around the kitchen table, eating chocolate ice cream.
“Aunt Meg, do you want some ice cream?” Eric asked. Dad waved the scoop invitingly.
“What's wrong?” Michael asked, putting down his spoon.
“Dr. Smoot plans to camp in our backyard tonight,” I said, heading for the hall. “I’m going to take him a coat hanger for his suit.”
“No you’re not.” Michael caught me by the arm and steered me back to the table. “You’re going to have some ice cream. I’ll deal with Smoot.”
“He’d like a blanket, too, if we have one,” I said. Michael nodded, and disappeared into the front hall. I sat, thinking I was too tired to eat, but after I’d stared at Michael's ice-cream bowl for a few seconds, I decided it looked appealing after all.
“So, getting back to the opossum,” Blake said. I glanced over and saw that he was, indeed, holding up a small, sleepy-looking possum. “Do you know what else is interesting about it?” He was using that determinedly cheerful voice people often use when talking to young children, so I deduced that he was speaking to Eric. But Eric was at least half a dozen years too old for that kind of voice, so I also deduced that Blake hadn’t had much contact with children.
Either of Eric's older brothers would have called Blake on it, but Eric was a remarkably good-natured kid. He merely shook his head.
“They have an opposable hallux!” Blake said. “Do you know what that is?”
“Big toe,” I said through a mouthful of ice cream. Dad beamed at me. “Good guess,” Blake said.
“Wasn’t a guess,” I said. “Dad taught us all about possums. We had plenty of them around the house when I was growing up.”
“It's illegal for private citizens to keep them!” Blake said, in the booming tones of a fire-and-brimstone preacher denouncing fornication.
“Not if you’re a licensed wildlife rehabilitator, which Dad is,” I said. “It's perfectly legal.” I was tired, but I restrained myself from sticking out my tongue and saying, “So there!”
“Well, that's all right then,” Blake said. Rather grudgingly, I thought. “Anyway, the interesting thing—”
“Hey, Meg!” My brother Rob came in, carrying an empty icecream bowl. “There are a couple of Sprockets here to see you.”
“That's all we need,” I muttered.
“What's a Sprocket?” Blake asked.
“The people we bought the house from,” I explained, scraping up a last bit of ice cream. “Edwina Sprocket, the former owner, left equal shares in her estate to all her nieces and nephews, or to their children if they were already dead, which meant that before we could buy the place, we had to get each and every one of them to approve the terms. Over a hundred in all.”
“That must have been difficult,” Blake said.
“Difficult? It would have been difficult if they were reasonable people,” I said. “And they’re not. It was well-nigh impossible. But I thought we’d finally finished with the Sprockets. Did they say why they were here?”
“Um... not really,” Rob said. “They just asked for you.”
“Figures,” I said. “I’ll go see what they want.”
The two Sprockets were typical—short, pale, and rather mousy, with peeved expressions on their largely chinless faces. They looked for all the world like large white rats who’d temporarily taken human form. I was half inclined to ready a cage for them, between the hyenas and the acouchis. They’d have made perfect casting for Cinderella's coachman and footman.
“Rutherford Sprocket,” one of them said. “And this is my brother Barchester.”