Her Name Is Iris
Time to call the code.
I untied the apron, folded it in half, and laid it over the back of an empty chair. I was done with the costume.
“Actually, Derek, I’d love to make a toast.”
I took my backpack off the hook by the hutch, pulled out the pale yellow folder, and set it in the middle of the tablecloth.
“But first, a trivia question for the table. Since we’re toasting this roof — Derek, why don’t you tell your guests whose name is on the deed?”
He snorted, but his eyes were fixed on the folder. “It’s Mom’s house. It’s a family asset. What is this garbage?”