The tragedy of entropy I

any displays of mawkish sentiment. Caleb’s Mom turned in her seat to speak to Nadine, who was knitting a wee bonnie tam for Matlock. Nadine was talking about the mysterious admiring men who shyly wooed her in unusual ways.

Nadine said, “Nearly the same time every day, right around dinner, the phone rings, and I pick it up.” She paused, stopped knitting and leaned forward, continuing in a lower register, “and he doesn’t say anything.” The tam was kelly green.

“Who do you think it is?” his Mom said.

“I don’t know, but last time I was in Walter’s grocery, there was this fellow just staring at me, and he followed me to the parking lot.”

Caleb’s Mom said, “Did he say anything to you?”

“No,” Nadine said darkly. “He just kept looking at me. So it might have been him.” She resumed her knitting.

“Well what did he look like?”

“He was tall and kind of swarthy. He had a thin moustache.”

“He sounds rakishly handsome. How old?”

“Oh I don’t know. In his early sixties I guess.”

“Distinguished.”

“Or dangerous!” Nadine simpered.

Caleb put his two bits in. “The person making the calls could be a telemarketer. They call several lines at once and all the lines ring but they only talk to the person who picks up the phone first.”

“I don’t think it’s a telemarketer because when I answer the phone I can hear him breathing on the other end!”

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