Fat Cat Takes The Cake

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“That’s a lot of mail,” Anna Larson said. She was taking a short afternoon break, sitting on the squeaky stool at the work island in the kitchen of the Bar None, the dessert bar shop co-owned by her and Charity Oliver, called Chase by almost everyone.

“Look!” Chase waved an envelope at Anna. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks red, partly from coming inside out of the early December cold, but also from excitement.

“If you held it still, I could see it.”

Chase smiled at her business partner and surrogate grandmother. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll open it for you.”

“You know that’s a federal offense,” Julie Larson said.

“Julie.” Anna put on her stern-grandparent face, which looked incongruous with her soft gray hair and her periwinkle eyes, much more used to smiling. “You don’t always have to be a lawyer.” Anna wore her usual bright sweater with a plain T-shirt and jeans. This sweater was a rough, burlap-like material in aqua and bright green, worn over a pale blue shirt.

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