“Fine. Just hungry.”
With a quick sideways glance, Jill verified that Beth was on the phone with a client. Then she crossed over and pulled Morgan aside, lowering her voice as she spoke. “No, you’re not just hungry. You’re exhausted. It’s no wonder Dad’s worried about you. Which, in case you haven’t figured it out, is why he’s coming here straight from the airport. Did you have another bad night?”
Morgan shrugged. “I’ve had worse. Then again, I’ve had better. It’s par for the course these days.”
Jill frowned. “Maybe I should cut back on the whole decoration thing, at least for this year.”
“Don’t you dare. Your holiday spirit has nothing to do with my nightmares. If anything, it dive
rts me.”
“Not really. You’re a mess.”
“I know.” Morgan didn’t try denying it. “I’m not sure why they’ve hit me so hard this year. Dr. Bloom says it’s a subconscious vicious cycle. Reading my mother’s journals triggered a stronger-than-usual connection to her and my dad; that connection prompted me to delve deeper into her journals, which, in turn, triggered more nightmares.”
“But the nightmares were worse than usual even before you found those journals buried in that box of your mother’s things. It’s been weeks since you were yourself.”
Morgan sighed, massaging her temples. “I just have this weird, creepy feeling. I can’t seem to shake it.”
Before Jill could reply, the front door buzzer sounded, followed by a rhythmic knocking and a bark of “Lunch!”
No second announcement was needed. Jill hurried over and yanked open the door. “Hey, Jonah,” she greeted the teenager who tromped in.
“Hey.” Tall and gangly, Jonah was swallowed up by his down parka and boots, with only a lock of sandy hair and the puffs of cold air he was exhaling visible. But the telltale aromas of deli meat wafting from the brown bag he carried were the only ID required.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Jill snatched the bag, opening it for an appreciative sniff. “Corned beef on rye with mustard, and a Dr. Brown’s cherry soda. All’s right with the world.”
Shoving back his hood, Jonah acknowledged Jill’s statement with a nod. “I’ve heard those words about ten times in the last hour.”
“I’ll bet.” Jill dug around in her purse and pulled out a bill, stuffing it into Jonah’s gloved hand. “Get some pizza instead.”
“Thanks.” Gratefully, he pocketed the tip. “But I already ate. I had two pieces of your grandmother’s noodle pudding—kugel—” he amended, using the Yiddish word Lenny had taught him. “After all, I have a reputation to uphold.
“I’ll bank this,” he murmured on that thought.
Despite being Welsh, Jonah had been gobbling up Rhoda’s kugel since he was old enough to take the subway to Lenny’s by himself. Everyone teased him about it, but his addiction had landed him this delivery job. Lenny had hired him on the spot, offering him decent pay and unlimited kugel, while affectionately labeling him “The Kosher Kid.”
But the best perk of his job had been Lenny introducing him to Lane. Interning for a photographer with Lane’s skill and notoriety was the opportunity of a lifetime.
“Ah,” Morgan ventured. “Another donation to your camera fund.”
“Yeah.” Anticipation flickered in Jonah’s eyes, and his customary monotone took on new life. He was a quiet kid, and a bit of a geek. But he was a whiz at computers. As for photography, Morgan knew that was his passion, as was this new internship of his. Anytime those subjects came up, he lit up like Jill’s eight-foot Christmas tree.
“I saw a cool camera on eBay,” he announced. “A Canon Digital Rebel XTi. It’s got everything—even a self-cleaning sensor—anyway, if it’s still there after Lenny pays me on Friday, I’m bidding on it.”
Jill waved her arm at the three computer stations. “If you need extra money this month, our system could use a few software updates and a maintenance check. How about it?”
“Sure.” He scratched his head. “I’ve got two weeks’ vacation from school starting next week. I can put in a few days here.”
“Great.”
Jill and Jonah lapsed into computer jargon, and Morgan used the opportunity to pluck her sandwich out of the brown bag and head for the kitchen.
She was halfway there when the front door buzzer sounded again. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Jonah open it. A tall man in a wool overcoat stepped inside. His features were concealed by a turned-up collar, but he had dark hair and a no-nonsense stance.
He folded down his collar and unbuttoned his coat. There was something decidedly familiar about him. Which meant he must be a client. And that meant she could kiss her pastrami good-bye.
“Hey, Jonah,” he greeted the boy. “Making a lunch delivery?”