This had to be Ellis minding the shop. He didn’t look a bit like his chic, dark-haired sister, though he was rather attractive in a weedy, Bambi-eyed sort of way. Maybe he was a throwback to Myrtle the naughty housemaid. He must be at least twenty, but had the softness of youth on him. In spite of fuzzy brown sideburns and jeans amateurishly studded with shiny chrome rivets, Ellis gave the impression that he’d either freeze in terror or leap for the old briar patch if she made a wrong move. Holly closed the door gently and spoke as if she were addressing a wounded sparrow. “Good morning, I’m Holly Howe. Your sister is expecting me.” Ellis gargled something that could have been, “She said to wait,” and made a furtive gesture toward a splat-backed chair. Holly took it gladly and perched her sore leg on a nearby milk can. “You don’t mind, do you? Dr. Walker told me to keep it up.” Her reluctant host didn’t seem to care what she did so long as she didn’t expect him to get too close.
