“Yes. Is Tanney Or there? I need to speak to her.”
That’s the trouble with phone messages. One’s handwriting can potentially prevent a whole conversation. I had left my info with one of the Tabard Inn’s very friendly receptionists.
Sure, I knew about whom Irene was inquiring. But if I were a literalist, I would have to answer her question with a definitive no. Ms. Or is not here. Who are you and how did you get this number?
I began, “So what’s the deal with the chicken and lizard...”
Giggles again. I couldn’t even get out my question.
Apparently the diorama (see previous post) was created by Jill Stapleton, an artist who years ago had worked at the Tabard. According to Irene, she made it using pieces of fabric and scraps she found lying around the inn. Jill also did a painting I noticed hanging in the stairwell. It advertises that the Tabard serves breakfast every day. And guess what? It’s another humanized chicken, sitting at a breakfast table with legs crossed and reading a newspaper.
“Her sister worked here too,” said Irene. “But she wasn’t an artist.”
The last Irene heard, Jill was in Boston. No forwarding number could be found, but Irene promised to call back if she located it. I’ll alert Ms. Or to expect the call.
