Chapter 6

“Marzipan!” we fairly squealed when she burst through the door to Katie’s shop. Almost everyone called Marzipan, Marzipan. A few of her intimates were allowed the use of the nickname Zip, but it was infrequently applied. Marzipan just didn’t lend herself to nickname-calling, and Marz was strictly forbidden. Nobody even knew if Marzipan was her given name or one she had chosen; either way, she had a certain dignity even in her craziest get up or when hatching her wackiest plan, which seemed to demand the respect of her full name.

She crossed the store in several strides, her feather-trimmed, sunshiny caftan swirling behind her, and I opened the hinged end of Katie’s counter for her to pass through. “Todd!” she gushed, gathering me into a hug. “It’s simply been ages. You look grand, darling, although you might consider a hat.” She fussed with my hair for a minute with a dissatisfied look on her face. “Hello, Katie.” They hugged as well.

Then to me again, “How ever was Paris?”