“Must be,” Debbie Sue said.
***
Sandi wrapped a rubber band around the day’s deposit and dropped it into the side pocket of her satchel. Another profitable day. She couldn’t keep from being self-satisfied. She had gambled on a venture that had done well.
“C’mon, Waffle, let’s go home.”
The golden dog rose and trotted to the back door, looking back at her as if to be sure she followed.
Her affection for this dog was more than she had ever had for another pet. He was more than a pet; he was a companion and a friend. The only thing lacking was speech. He was so smart, if he suddenly started talking, she wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, she often wondered if he and Jake communicated.
Outside, she opened her SUV’s back door and Waffle dutifully jumped in and seated himself squarely on his haunches in the middle of the bench seat. She assumed that position gave him maximum visibility and the opportunity to sniff the air from the open window or to lay his head on her shoulder as she drove.
“Let’s run by the bank,” she said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “I’ll go the long way.”
Waffle gave her a whine of approval. He loved a car ride, even lingered behind in the car occasionally after they got home, not eager to leave his comfortable spot or the wonderful smells that came to him as they moved along. Sometimes she had to coax him into the house.
Sandi lowered all windows, allowing the cool autumn late afternoon to enter. Turning the radio volume higher, she sang along with a Carrie Underwood tune. She couldn’t wait to get home and chill out. And she had to call Richard.
Taking one residential street, then another, she slowed as she spotted the pickup truck she had seen earlier in the day occupied by the good-looking Nick Conway. It was parked in Sylvia Armbruster’s driveway. That woman was the most accommodating female in the whole area. Sandi’s mouth slid into a sneer. Typical man.
Sandi and Sylvia had been classmates in college and even then, Sylvia’s reputation for sharing her attributes had been well known. Twelve years hadn’t whetted the woman’s appetite for collecting males, only now her trinkets were men instead of boys.
She might be even prettier now than she had been in college. She was also smart and well-educated. She was a CPA and had recently opened her own practice.
Sandi still intended to ask Fiona about Nick Conway, but seeing him at Sylvia’s told her all she needed to know.
She turned into the commercial deposit lane at the bank.
“Hi, Miz Walker,” the young teller at the window said. “How’s Waffle today?”
Everyone knew Waffle. H e had been a fixture in both her store and car only for only a couple of months now, but inquiries about his wellbeing came regularly.
“He’s good, thanks. He’s enjoying his ride in the car.”
“I can see that.” The teller returned the deposit cartridge with a receipt. “Y’all be careful out there.”
“You, too,” Sandi called back as she drove away.
The brief exchange brought to Sandi’s mind how much she loved Midland and why, after losing her job and getting her second divorce, she had chosen to stay here instead of moving back to Big Spring. It was the people. Over a hundred thousand residents lived in the city of Midland, but it still had a small-town feel with small-town values.
Since she had lived here for years and formerly worked at a major bank, she felt she knew everyone, which made the good-looking stranger all the more puzzling. If she knew everyone, how had he slipped under her radar? Perhaps it was because she was loyal to her boyfriend, Richard, and rarely noticed anyone else.
If her neighbor Fiona, on the other hand, had encountered the hunky Nick Conway, she would have talked about him for weeks. A new, good-looking single man was always good for weeks of gossip.
As Sandi pulled into the drive of her two-bedroom vintage home—built in 1955 to be precise—she spotted her pal and neighbor sitting on her front porch step, cigarette in hand. She was wearing her perennial favorites—T-shirt and shorts and four-inch high-heels.
Fiona, barely five feet tall, insisted that high-heels and shorts made her appear leggy and therefore, taller. Sandi had pointed out numerous times that a height of five feet was still five feet no matter how you tried to rearrange it.
Sandi had known Fiona only as a customer of the bank until after she and Ken Coffman divorced and she had been forced to find a more affordable home. By the end of the first month after Sandi had moved into her place on Buffalo Way, she and Fiona had become fast friends.
Sandi enjoyed going out and having a good time, but Fiona was flat-out crazy when it came to socializing. She loved to party and rarely encountered anything in life to drag her down or stop her momentum. Fiona did things Sandi would never dream of doing, said things Sandi would like to say, but usually remained mute. Thus, Sandi reveled in her company.
“Hey girl,” Fiona yelled, hoisting a margarita glass. “Come on over! It’s happy hour on Buffalo Way!”
Laughing, Sandi yelled back, “Give me a minute.”
“Hell to the yeah!” Fiona answered. “I’ve been home since two o’clock. Made my first margarita at two fifteen.”
Fiona owned a busy, successful beauty salon and she was rarely home as early as five, much less two. Sandi noticed a slur in her speech. “You’ve declared the whole city block your bar?”
“What time ’zit now?”
“A little after five. Save me a margarita. I’ve got a bone to pick with you. I’ll be right back.”
As Sandi started toward the front door with Waffle trotting along with her, she could hear her friend still talking. “Me? You got a bone to pick with me? What’d I do? I didn’t do it, whatever it
