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– Mr…? – Hell, I can’t remember his last name either. Damn those moonshiners with their apostrophes.

He turns abruptly, stretches his lips into an unpleasantly formal smile, and waits a while for my response.

– Just Lori, – he says, coughing into his fist and getting rid of the joy on his face.

– That’s better. – I point my finger at my own lips. – Ostentatious friendliness doesn’t suit wolves, Mr. Laurie.

He nods, and then utters some kind of joke about the business. Funny, I suppose.

– May I have a glass of water, Mrs. Sheremetyevo? – He clears his throat again, takes out his snow-white handkerchief and furtively wipes the moisture from the outer corners of his eyes. – You smell a little… weird smell?

I go to the cabinet, which, like almost everything else here, is densely decorated with children’s crafts-mostly salt dough figurines-pour a glass of still mineral water and hand it to Laurie.

– It’s cinnamon, – I say after a while, as he takes a few sips and clears his throat again. – We had a candy fair. I wish you’d come sooner – you could have bought a couple of boxes of pastries and contributed to charity.