In daylight, Daisy’s guest house lost some of its Addams Family quality; it seemed old, but homey. Daisy’s cookies, on the other hand, were like tiny flat rocks.

The muffins were fine, but these are evidently from another tradition of hospitality.

I bit down bravely on one and wondered desperately if my health insurance would cover it as a ‘work-related accident’.

Daisy hovered in front of me. “Please, help yourself to another one. They’re called ‘forgotten cookies’, you know. I’d be happy to share the recipe.”

“Forgotten, huh?” Like forgotten knowledge, or things that should be forgotten.

“Well, yes; you bake them in the oven, and then just leave them to set overnight. I haven’t quite perfected the recipe yet.”

“I—ow!—see.” I had come back to retrieve the other case with my tools and equipment; I hadn’t intended to stay, but Daisy’s polite insistence had been irresistible.

Unlike this damn cookie, which is pretty resistible. I think I just felt a filling go.

To cover the sound of my determined gnawing, I tried to make conversation. “So, when are the carpenters coming to sort out the leak in the, uh, Paihamu Suite?” The rain looked like it was going to carry on for at least another two days, and possibly get heavier.

Daisy looked around, suddenly pensive. “Well, I’m afraid it isn’t going to be quite as easy as I’d thought, Mr. Sanders. It’s—oh, never mind.” She was bright and brittle for a moment. “I’m sure it’ll all sort itself out in the end. Here, have another cookie.” The tray rattled ominously in my face, and visions of a lengthy appointment with my dentist danced in my head.

“Thank you, Miss McNeish; I will do in just a moment.” I was about to make my excuses and leave, but something about her manner made me stop. “How do you mean it isn’t going to be as easy as you’d thought?”

Daisy sighed and wheeled the cart out of her way, before sitting down in the large armchair opposite me and picking her crochet off the side-table.

We were in the parlor; with the curtains open, the gloom was pushed back a little, and the whole place looked almost inviting, once you got used to the pictures. The armchair was very large indeed, and I got the feeling that if Daisy leaned back, she’d disappear into it. The hook began to flash in and out of the square of yarn as she looked around.

“Well, the problem is that there aren’t any full-time carpenters in town, you see. I’ve called one to come down from the city, but he says he can’t be here for at least a month; he’s booked solid, it seems.” From a bustling, energetic presence, she suddenly looked rather small and faded. “I’m not really sure what to do.”

I frowned. “A month?” That wasn’t good, given the state of the weather. A month of continuous leaks would ruin the ceiling in that room and render the damage much more serious. Judging by the state of Daisy’s house, she didn’t have the money to either convince the carpenter to come sooner, or pay for the repairs after a month’s worth of on-and-off rain.

“Yes, indeed.” Daisy nodded, downcast. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sanders, I don’t mean to bother you with it.”

“No, no, not at all.” I thought for a moment. “Look, Miss McNeish. When I was in college, I worked every vacation on a construction site, as a carpenter. It was a good job, and it gave me some pretty useful skills for excavations, in fact.” Taking a breath, I continued. “Now, I stress that I am not a qualified carpenter, but I think I could rig up something to stop the problem from getting any worse. Maybe just a plastic tarpaulin, and some waterproofing; it won’t look very appealing, but it will put a stop to the leak, and prevent damp collecting in the roof. This will at least do until you can get someone down from the city.”

Daisy’s eyes widened, and the crochet hook stopped its passage for a moment. “Really, Mr. Sanders? Are you sure? I would have to insist upon paying you, though. I don’t want to presume on your work, and—”

“Honestly, Daisy, it’s the least I can do. You’ve been very kind to me so far, and it should only take me a morning or so, so it’s not going to mess up my schedule. I’ll take a look at what’s going on in the roof, and see what I can do in the next day or so.”

The elderly lady was mortified. “But the payment—”

“No payment necessary. I insist.”

If you can’t do something to help out a kindly old lady, Sanders, you really are the kind of heel Cat seems to think you are.

“Well.” She sat back in the armchair, and to my relief, wasn’t swallowed up by it. “This is very kind indeed of you, Mr. Sanders. And you so new in town, as well. I’ll keep you well-supplied with baking, at the very least.”

Oh, dear. Dentures, here I come.

“That would be, uh, great.” I looked around. “To be honest, you’re one of the few people in town who seems to understand how important it is to preserve the past.” There was, indeed, plenty of the past in this room, as much as in the entire rest of the house. But the more time I spent here, the more I appreciated its weird charm.

I’m still not staying another night with the opossums, though. No way.

“Oh, well.” Daisy waved a hand. “I do understand how important it is to remember things. Time passes so quickly, and it’s so easy to forget. Even when you don’t intend to.” Her eyes flicked to the pictures on the mantel. Amidst the family portraits, one stood out; a young Maori man in uniform, clean-shaven and handsome, holding a book. Daisy’s eyes lingered on it for a few moments, then she shook her head. “I think the work you’re doing is very important indeed, Mr. Sanders.”

“Thank you, Miss McNeish. I wish everyone felt the same way you do.” I slid out of the armchair and stood up. “Now, I hate to rush off—and, thank you, as much as I would love another cookie, I just don’t have the room, yes, very unfortunate, I know—but I think I hear the taxi outside. I’ll take my case back to the bar, and then stop by later to see what needs to be done on the ceiling.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you again, Mr. Sanders. You really are a very fortunate visitor indeed.” Daisy saw me to the front door as I wheeled my case out and waved to Jack Collis, the cab driver, as he pulled up.

Well, it’s not part of your job, Sanders, and I wouldn’t put down in your Government report the morning you spent doing building repairs. But it’s not like anyone’s going to know, and it’s the right thing to do. Maybe if Cat finds out she’ll stop thinking I’m such a bad guy after all.

Yeah, right, I thought as I hefted my case into the trunk of Jack’s waiting cab.

And she might kiss me again. Not much chance of either of those.