them, or so he suspected, since few people around Granville had any idea at all what really went on behind closed doors of their respected neighbors’ houses.
And as long as they never found out, and that fridge kept getting visits from the money fairy, that was okay with Jack Dunston. Because a neighborly outlook, family values, and an old- fashioned lifestyle were all well and good. But if the day ever came when he decided to stop bowing down to men he didn’t particularly like, and lost his job, nothing beat a whole lot of cash.
Friday, 6:30 p.m.
Walter Kirby and his family lived in a pretty, woodsy subdivision just north of town, filled with huge lawns and dozens of modern-looking houses. The place had sprung up prerecession, when people were looking to upgrade to McMansions. It had yet to recover from the downturn, which had seen a third of the homes in the neighborhood go to foreclosure. A few of the yards were overgrown, old, swollen newspapers rotting on the curb like big dead rats.
There weren’t quite as many For Sale signs as a year ago, though. Apparently a few upwardly mobile locals and newcomers to town were taking advantage of the bargains. Still, it didn’t look great.
Lexie wondered if Walter had thought about getting out. With Ann-Marie’s cancer treatments going on for well over a year, he had to have considered looking for a job elsewhere, where he wouldn’t have to commute an hour to get to and from the best hospitals.
But when she turned her car onto his block and saw the teenagers hanging out in his driveway, she knew he wouldn’t have done it. He’d never have made the girls change schools, not with the twins being in their senior year. He’d just done his good-dad-good-husband thing and made that drive, trying to keep everyone happy and the balls of his family life up in the air.
“Hey, Lexie!” one of the kids called when she pulled up in front of the house, parking at the curb. There were already four cars in the driveway. She expected a couple of those, Taylor’s VW Beetle and Jenny’s PT Cruiser, to be pulling out soon. It was almost game time.
“Hey, girls,” she said, nodding to Walt’s younger daughters as she exited the car. The other two were probably inside donning their makeup, uniforms, and their school spirit. Rah-rah.
Cheerleaders had never been among her favorite people, not even when she’d been in high school herself. But somehow the Kirby twins managed to be okay despite their perkiness. Probably had something to do with the good parents who were raising them.
“Seen any serial killers lately?” asked one of the smirking boys from the neighborhood.
“Only the one hiding under your bed, waiting for you to go to sleep tonight,” Lexie immediately replied, used to the snark. Hell, at least the kids would say such things to her face.
“Dad said for you to go on around back. He’s firing up the grill,” said Christy, Walter’s youngest child, who was still snorting over the way her male friend’s face had gone a little pale.
Lexie smiled at all the teens as she worked her way through them, holding a brown bag containing a six-pack in one arm, and a bunch of flowers in the other. She emerged into the backyard just in time to hear Walter muttering something about his propane. “What’s that, boss?”
He glared down at the grill. “Might as well be in the kitchen. Damned gas grill doesn’t taste much different than the stove. But they say it’s healthier than charcoal.”
“Ugh. Grunt. Caveman must cook meat over flame,” she teased, handing him a beer.
He twisted off the cap and took a long pull. “So,” he asked when he was finished, “how did you spend your day today, other than pretending to be sick?”
She tilted her head in confusion.
“Stan. He came in to tell me he felt sure you weren’t ill and I should talk to you about the importance of not calling off work on a Friday just because you don’t feel like coming
And as long as they never found out, and that fridge kept getting visits from the money fairy, that was okay with Jack Dunston. Because a neighborly outlook, family values, and an old- fashioned lifestyle were all well and good. But if the day ever came when he decided to stop bowing down to men he didn’t particularly like, and lost his job, nothing beat a whole lot of cash.
Friday, 6:30 p.m.
Walter Kirby and his family lived in a pretty, woodsy subdivision just north of town, filled with huge lawns and dozens of modern-looking houses. The place had sprung up prerecession, when people were looking to upgrade to McMansions. It had yet to recover from the downturn, which had seen a third of the homes in the neighborhood go to foreclosure. A few of the yards were overgrown, old, swollen newspapers rotting on the curb like big dead rats.
There weren’t quite as many For Sale signs as a year ago, though. Apparently a few upwardly mobile locals and newcomers to town were taking advantage of the bargains. Still, it didn’t look great.
Lexie wondered if Walter had thought about getting out. With Ann-Marie’s cancer treatments going on for well over a year, he had to have considered looking for a job elsewhere, where he wouldn’t have to commute an hour to get to and from the best hospitals.
But when she turned her car onto his block and saw the teenagers hanging out in his driveway, she knew he wouldn’t have done it. He’d never have made the girls change schools, not with the twins being in their senior year. He’d just done his good-dad-good-husband thing and made that drive, trying to keep everyone happy and the balls of his family life up in the air.
“Hey, Lexie!” one of the kids called when she pulled up in front of the house, parking at the curb. There were already four cars in the driveway. She expected a couple of those, Taylor’s VW Beetle and Jenny’s PT Cruiser, to be pulling out soon. It was almost game time.
“Hey, girls,” she said, nodding to Walt’s younger daughters as she exited the car. The other two were probably inside donning their makeup, uniforms, and their school spirit. Rah-rah.
Cheerleaders had never been among her favorite people, not even when she’d been in high school herself. But somehow the Kirby twins managed to be okay despite their perkiness. Probably had something to do with the good parents who were raising them.
“Seen any serial killers lately?” asked one of the smirking boys from the neighborhood.
“Only the one hiding under your bed, waiting for you to go to sleep tonight,” Lexie immediately replied, used to the snark. Hell, at least the kids would say such things to her face.
“Dad said for you to go on around back. He’s firing up the grill,” said Christy, Walter’s youngest child, who was still snorting over the way her male friend’s face had gone a little pale.
Lexie smiled at all the teens as she worked her way through them, holding a brown bag containing a six-pack in one arm, and a bunch of flowers in the other. She emerged into the backyard just in time to hear Walter muttering something about his propane. “What’s that, boss?”
He glared down at the grill. “Might as well be in the kitchen. Damned gas grill doesn’t taste much different than the stove. But they say it’s healthier than charcoal.”
“Ugh. Grunt. Caveman must cook meat over flame,” she teased, handing him a beer.
He twisted off the cap and took a long pull. “So,” he asked when he was finished, “how did you spend your day today, other than pretending to be sick?”
She tilted her head in confusion.
“Stan. He came in to tell me he felt sure you weren’t ill and I should talk to you about the importance of not calling off work on a Friday just because you don’t feel like coming
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