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“Can I help with anything?” I asked.

“Oswald, you’re a guest. Go wash your hands—that goes for the both of you—and sit down.”

The Birches could throw down in the kitchen, and they’d pulled out all the stops for our visit. The dining table was packed with platters and bowls, and I loaded up my plate with a sampling of all that was offered.

Sheila took a sip from her glass. “Now that you’re here, Ozzie, maybe we can get to the bottom of the argument that took place at Melting Mozz.”

Dial’s fork stilled mid-bite. “Momma, I told you that was nothing but a nasty rumor.”

“Word on the street is you and Ozzie were in the thick of it.” Joe was not above playing bad cop to Sheila’s good. The Birches had left Hume, but they were still connected to what went on in their hometown via friends, my mother among them, who were providing the couple with a fresh supply of gossip.

“Daddy, we didn’t come all the way here to talk about silly rumors.”

“So, there wasn’t a fistfight?”

“Sheila, this roast is cooked to perfection. Like cutting into butter.” I hoped my well-timed compliment would shift the conversation.

“Thank you, Oz.” Sheila’s smile was a facsimile of Dial’s.

“I just want to make sure the Birch name isn’t associated with foolishness.” Joe’s voice carried a stern edge.

“Now, sir, Dial and I have been intermingled in all kinds of shenanigans, and the Birch name keeps weathering the test of time,” I said.

“Aren’t you two a bit old for public disagreements in restaurants?”

“Daddy—” Dial started.

“I’ll have to take the lion’s share of the blame on that one,” I interrupted. “It was a misunderstanding, and the conflict was brief after Dial set me straight.”

“It was a nothingburger, and your little friends need to mind their business and stop throwing stones. I could easily chuck a few rocks at the glass houses of the fine citizens of Hume.” Dial’s voice was laced with irritation.

“What did I always tell you?” Joe said. “Rumors spread like wildfire in a town like Hume, so make sure you don’t keep kindling too close to your house.”

“If Oz and I were at odds, would we be here, together, breaking bread?” She rested her arm on the back of my chair.

“This is what I know: you and Oz are on and off so much, it keeps my head spinning.”

Dial released a long sigh, probably regretting the choice to visit. “Maybe you should get that checked out, Daddy. You don’t wanna blow your top.”

Sheila painted a smile on her face. “I heard Mr. Rosen is flashing the mail carrier each morning. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or just a frequent accident, but he tends to linger until she arrives.”

“Gross. Now that’s what we need to be worried about. He’s a Flashing Tom.” I pretended to be outraged.

“The saying is Peeping Tom,” Dial corrected me.

“A person who flashes is liable to peep. Either way, it’s all creepy.”

“Well, sometimes you need to air out your junk,” Sheila joked.

Joe laughed, which helped to lighten the mood. Papa Birch was usually jovial, but he didn’t play when it came to the family name, which was tied to Hume and Figs and Twine. He didn’t want his kids to be the generation that chipped away at the Birch moniker and the respect embedded in it.

“So, what do you two have planned for the rest of the night?” he asked.

“This.” Dial swept her hand over her surroundings.

“Our little homebody.” Joe shook his head.

“You can’t come to visit and not hit up a club or bar,” Sheila said.