He came into the kitchen and watched her as she flitted from counter to counter, cupboard to pantry, collecting ingredients and utensils. The oven was on. He wondered what she was baking. “What’d you say about Roberferghen?”
She flashed him a quizzical look. “Who? What?”
“Just now. I was in the other room and you said something about Roberferghen several times.”
“I don’t know. That’s what I came in to find out.”
Picking up a measuring cup, she sifted flour into it and shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What were you just saying?”
“Just now, before I came in here?”
Shaking her head, she poured the flour into a bowl. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Her tone made it clear that the topic was closed. Turning, he sighed and left.
Now he’d never know what Roberferghen is.