Christmas In Mustang Creek. Maisey Yates

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      “I have no idea,” Jax replied, wiping off the gravy boat carefully; it was obviously antique—Spode, he saw, turning it over—and probably irreplaceable. “She must’ve waved a magic wand over them or something. How long has she known your aunt?”

      “I asked, and Aunt Geneva was pretty vague about it.”

      He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he thought about it before asking neutrally, “Was she vague in general?”

      “No.” Charlotte’s voice was firm but held a hint of sorrow. “Smart as a whip, to use an expression of hers. But she’s aware that she’s having some issues in the memory department, and she can’t manage this big house. That I understand. I think she’s happy to be in a community of people like her, and it’s a comfortable place. She’d love to have Mutley and Can-Can there with her, but she’s afraid she won’t be able to take proper care of them. I guess it makes her feel better to know that someone else—Mrs. Klozz, and now me—is on it, and that eases her mind.”