Isolde and Ambrose really need to learn to use an iron. Look how rumpled their clothes are! I’m not much better, I suppose. I tried the spray-on wrinkle remover and it was too stinky to work.


Mary slipped the key from under a  flowerpot. Head down and shoulders hunched, she handed it to Ambrose. He charged into the shed, almost falling back out again for the smell. “Whoa! Well, somethin’s getting in here! That is quite a stench.”

Isolde stood in the door, blocking Ambrose in. “Take a look in the corner, by those tires. That’s where any compost or bees’d come in.”

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