Big Boned

Magda and I exchange glances. Neither of us is having much success at keeping a straight face.

“Okay,” I say. “Well, good luck with that, Sarah. Safe sex, right?”

“Of course,” she says, with a sniff. Then, because apparently she can’t help herself, she darts forward and gives me one final hug before turning around and ru

“Yeah,” I say, patting her on the head. “Me, too.”

Then, to my great relief, she drifts away to the bagel bar.

“She is such a pill sometimes,” Magda observes, as she fluffs up her already enormous hair.

“Tell me about it,” I say, with a happy sigh.

“Well,” Magda says. “You’ll never guess.”

“No,” I say to her. “You’ll never guess.”

“I already know about you,” Magda says, waving a heavily manicured hand. “You caught Dr. Veatch’s real killer, and she tried to shoot at you, and you nearly died. So what else is new? I got something really important to share.”

I put one hand on my hip.

“Fine,” I say. “That’s not what I was going to tell you. But go ahead. Tell me your news. I’m sure it’s a lot more important than mine. Not.”

Magda looks right, then left, to make sure no one is eavesdropping. Then she leans forward across the register to whisper, “My news is… you were right!”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. It’s not very often that someone tells me that I was right about something. So this really is news. “I was? About what?”

“About Pete!” Magda cries, leaning back. She’s gri

I am not generally a squealer, but letting that sentence trail off like that is just plain cruel, and has me squealing.

“And what?” I shriek.

“And he said he feels the same way about me,” Magda whispers, happily. “We’re going out now.”

I stare at her. “You’re lying.”

She grins at me. “I am not lying. Oh, we’re not—what did she call it? Making sweet love all day? — yet, like Sarah is. We’re taking it slow—you know, because of the kids. But we’re definitely right for one another. Now. What do you have to say about that, Miss Heather Wells?”