Blink and You Die

‘These are exoticker,’ said Mrs Digby.

‘Exoticker?’ repeated Ruby.

‘More exotic,’ said Mrs Digby. ‘More exotic than what the farmers’ market sell. These you have to forage for and even then you gotta be lucky, and I don’t have the time to be lucky nor the inclination to go roaming through the forests of Minnesota trying to spot a hen of the woods.’

Ruby shrugged. ‘So substitute.’

‘What with, might I ask?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby. ‘How about button mushrooms?’

Mrs Digby shook her head. ‘What you don’t know about cooking is a lot.’

Which was true.

The phone rang and Ruby picked up.

‘Pest control, we spray you pay.’

‘Hey Ruby, it’s us! We’re in Paris!’

‘Mom?’

‘Oui, but of course.’

‘Ciao ciao Ruby!’

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘How are you?’

‘Well, the weather here is très froid you know, and there’s neige.’

‘What? You mean snow?’

‘Uh huh, lots and lots of neige, the airport is still closed.’

‘So when are you likely to make it home?’

‘Ooh la la – heaven only knows.’

‘Would you like to talk to Mrs Digby?’

‘Oui, yes, if you please s’il vous plait.’

Ruby handed the phone to the housekeeper and left them to it.

Maybe she’d have a go at solving Mrs Digby’s fungus problem.

Ruby might not know a lot about how to get her hands on a hen of the woods, but she knew someone who probably did.

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