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“Well, they’re like comics, only with pictures instead of drawings.” She took out her phone and googled ‘photo comic’ and landed on one where a woman was gazing longingly at a handsome man with a cleft chin. Above her head a thought balloon showed what she was thinking: ‘Oh, Matt. If you don’t kiss me right now I’ll just die!’ And above the cleft chin guy’s head another thought balloon said: ‘I’d kiss you right now, Evelyn, if my wife wasn’t looking.’

And indeed, in the next panel the image panned out and now you could see that Matt and Evelyn weren’t alone, but in the company of his wife and what presumably was her husband. More thought balloons had been inserted, with the one above Evelyn’s husband reading: ‘I just wish she’d look at me the way she’s looking at Matt.’ And the one above Matt’s wife: ‘Look at the way Evelyn islooking at Matt. Oh, no! They’re having an affair!’

“Huh,” said Vesta thoughtfully. “Do you think this will sell?”

“It’s cats, Vesta. People love cats.”

“I’m not so sure. People are used to seeing cartoon characters, not real people.”

“Or cats.”

“We could always give it a shot. You’re probably right in that it’s easier to snap a couple of pictures than to find an artist who’ll draw this stuff.”

“And cheaper.”

“And cheaper.”

“Did you draw this?” asked Scarlett as she tapped the strip of paper.

Vesta swelled with pride.“Yep. My very first cartoon.”

“So explain the joke to me.”

In the first panel, the blob that was Harriet had a speech balloon over her head, and it read:‘Oh, Brutus, the moon is full, and so is my heart.’ And then in the second panel they just kinda stared at each other, and finally in the third panel Harriet said, ‘Smoochie poo, my heart belongs to you.’ And he: ‘Boo-boo, my heart belongs to you.’

Scarlet looked up.“I feel like there’s something missing. Like a punchline?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Vesta agreed.

“This stuff is supposed to be funny, Vesta, and this ain’t funny.”

“No, I guess it isn’t. Well, I just whipped this one up last night. And when I showed it to Harriet she thought it was great—the best thing she’d ever seen. I guess she’s biased.”

“Harriet would say anything—as long as she’s the star, she’ll like it.”

Vesta sighed.“You know, Dave James makes it look easy, but this is pretty darn hard.”

“You keep mentioning Dave James. Who is he?”

“The guy who makes those turtle cartoons. Tollie the Turtle?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess it’s tough to top that turtle.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

Both friends sipped from their drinks as they glanced around at the people passing on the street.“You know, maybe we should do like comedians,” Scarlett suggested. “Bounce ideas off one another.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I come up with an idea, and then you work with that and come up with another idea and so on and so forth. That’s how the professionals do it. I’ll start. Ping-pong ball.”

Vesta frowned.“Ping-pong ball? That’s the best you can come up with? How is that funny?”

“It’s not. It’s just to get the ball rolling. Come on. Your turn. Anything that pops into your head.”

“Is this how Dave James works? Cause I’ve never seen a ping-pong ball featured in his stuff, and I’ve been reading Tollie the Turtle every morning for the past fifty years.”

“Just humor me” said Scarlett. “Ping-pong ball. Go.”

“Um… tennis ball?”

“Football.”

“Basketball.”

“Volleyball.”

Vesta groaned.“This ain’t working.”

“I got a feeling we’re not doing it right. Let’s try something different. Chamomile tea.”

“Black tea.”

“Green tea.”

“Ice tea.”

“Lemon tea.”

Vesta threw up her hands.“I’m sorry, hon, but I’m starting to think you’re as lousy at coming up with jokes as I am at drawing stuff.”

Scarlett frowned.“It’s so weird. This brainstorming stuff is supposed to work.”

“Well, it’s clearly not working now, unless we want to make a cartoon about tea or sports, which are two topics that aren’t remotely funny in my opinion.”

“We could always ask the cats to come up with something. They’re pretty funny.” Just then, Vesta’s granddaughter walked by, followed by four cats. “I wonder where they’re going.”

“Don’t worry,” said Vesta curtly. “I’ll find out.”

And Scarlett had no doubt in her mind that she would.

Chapter 4

Waldo McLoughlin’s office was as nice and polished as the banker himself: contrary to the olden days, when one expected to find wainscoting and portraits of bearded stern-looking men adorning the walls, his office was actually very modern. Glass walls, polished concrete floor, glass desk, and a clear view of an open-plan office where dozens of worker bees were presumably busying themselves with transferring the moneys entrusted to them by their clients and putting them to good use elsewhere.