Lily wore dark glasses covering a white gauze bandage taped over her left eye. “Hi, Art,” said Marg. “I think you know Lily Warner.” “Thought it was Vincenti.” I took the straight-back chair that Marg kept for her accounting clients and turned it backwards so I could straddle it and rest my forearms on the seat back. “Vincenti is my maiden name,” said Lily. “Mr. Behler said it would be simpler for the audience.” “I hope your injuries aren’t serious.” “I shouldn’t have rubbed my eye. I have to see the doctor again in a week.” “Mark doing another show about your father?” I asked. “He says they’re going to close the show with telephone calls from viewers from now on, so there’ll be no time.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you have to travel far?” “Seattle.” “Goodness,” I said, trying for a breezy tone. “What made you contact Mark Behler here in Grand Rapids?” “The producer, Chet Harkness, called me at my shop. I have a coffee bar.
