sprinkler shower.
As she got out of the car and walked along the cracked sidewalk, her nostrils inhaled a sweet, fruity scent. Old Florida, she thought fondly, veering around a spreading bird of paradise plant.
The front door swung open, and a thin woman wearing rollers and a housecoat confronted Marla. “Do I know you?"
Marla mustered a smile. It was difficult to ignore the woman's red-rimmed eyes and trembling lower lip, but she managed a cheerful demeanor. “I'm looking for Tesla Parr. My name is Marla Shore."
"You just missed her. She left a few minutes ago."
"Oh. Isn't this her place?"
The woman gave a harsh laugh. “Hell, no. Who are you and where did you get that information?"
"From the sports club where she works. I'm a member there, and I wanted to know if she gave private appointments. As a hairdresser, I'm on my feet all day. I really need someone to come to my house and give me a massage after work. I can afford whatever fee Tess charges."
"Oh, yeah?” The woman's blue eyes glinted with avarice. “Wait just a minute, honey. I'll write down an address where you can find her."
"Are you her friend?"
"Sorry, I'm Betsy. We're ... more than friends."
Betsy grinned, showing surprisingly even teeth. With a smile, her expression lost its haunted look and transformed her features. She was a pretty woman, Marla thought, when she wasn't crying. Now what did she mean by that remark? Were she and Tess on intimate terms?
Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Marla returned to her car. Temperatures ranged in the seventies, and humidity was low, making it a delightful evening for a barbecue. Her rumbling stomach heralded dinnertime. One more stop, then she'd proceed to Eddie's house, where the rest of her staff had probably finished their first round of drinks.
Traffic was heavy with rush-hour commuters, soit took her longer than normal to travel to Davie, the nearest town to the south. The directions took her to a community with speed bumps, which she cursed each time the Camry jolted over one. Whoever voted them into the development should grow like an onion, with his head in the ground. All they did was ruin the tires.
Hungry and annoyed, she wasn't in a good mood when she rapped on the door at 501 Fairlawn Court. It hadn't escaped her notice that the dark-green Buick she'd seen Tess leave in earlier now sat in this driveway. Expecting the woman to open the door to her house, she received an unexpected shock when a man responded to her summons.
"Slate! What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as she could speak. From his matted dark hair, freshly scrubbed face, and bare chest, she surmised Slate wasn't prepared for visitors. His exposed feet bore strange marks and looked swollen.
"I'm going to ask you this same thing,” he snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.
"I was looking for Tess."
"Why? And who told you to come here?"
She shifted her position. “Betsy said I had the wrong address, and she gave me this location. Is this where Tess lives?"
"Yes and no."
Resisting the urge to crane her neck and peer inside the house, she gave him a determined stare. “I need to talk to her."
Slate pursed his lips, which, Marla realized, bore faint traces of lipstick. Did he and Tess have a relationship? If so, what was Tess doing over at Betsy's house? And why did Tess list her girlfriend's address as her own?
"She's not available,” Slate told her. “But if you want to come in, just give me a minute to straighten things up.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You probably wanted to ask Tess where I lived anyway."
"Oh ... right. So are you two very close?"
He slicked a lock of hair off his forehead. “Not in the way you mean, sweetheart. Come in and I'll prove it."
"Okay.” Her foot shot forward, but he wedged the door against her.
"Wait.” A look of panic flickered behind his expression. “I have to put some things away."
"You just said I should come inside."
"Not yet. Maybe we should
As she got out of the car and walked along the cracked sidewalk, her nostrils inhaled a sweet, fruity scent. Old Florida, she thought fondly, veering around a spreading bird of paradise plant.
The front door swung open, and a thin woman wearing rollers and a housecoat confronted Marla. “Do I know you?"
Marla mustered a smile. It was difficult to ignore the woman's red-rimmed eyes and trembling lower lip, but she managed a cheerful demeanor. “I'm looking for Tesla Parr. My name is Marla Shore."
"You just missed her. She left a few minutes ago."
"Oh. Isn't this her place?"
The woman gave a harsh laugh. “Hell, no. Who are you and where did you get that information?"
"From the sports club where she works. I'm a member there, and I wanted to know if she gave private appointments. As a hairdresser, I'm on my feet all day. I really need someone to come to my house and give me a massage after work. I can afford whatever fee Tess charges."
"Oh, yeah?” The woman's blue eyes glinted with avarice. “Wait just a minute, honey. I'll write down an address where you can find her."
"Are you her friend?"
"Sorry, I'm Betsy. We're ... more than friends."
Betsy grinned, showing surprisingly even teeth. With a smile, her expression lost its haunted look and transformed her features. She was a pretty woman, Marla thought, when she wasn't crying. Now what did she mean by that remark? Were she and Tess on intimate terms?
Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Marla returned to her car. Temperatures ranged in the seventies, and humidity was low, making it a delightful evening for a barbecue. Her rumbling stomach heralded dinnertime. One more stop, then she'd proceed to Eddie's house, where the rest of her staff had probably finished their first round of drinks.
Traffic was heavy with rush-hour commuters, soit took her longer than normal to travel to Davie, the nearest town to the south. The directions took her to a community with speed bumps, which she cursed each time the Camry jolted over one. Whoever voted them into the development should grow like an onion, with his head in the ground. All they did was ruin the tires.
Hungry and annoyed, she wasn't in a good mood when she rapped on the door at 501 Fairlawn Court. It hadn't escaped her notice that the dark-green Buick she'd seen Tess leave in earlier now sat in this driveway. Expecting the woman to open the door to her house, she received an unexpected shock when a man responded to her summons.
"Slate! What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as she could speak. From his matted dark hair, freshly scrubbed face, and bare chest, she surmised Slate wasn't prepared for visitors. His exposed feet bore strange marks and looked swollen.
"I'm going to ask you this same thing,” he snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.
"I was looking for Tess."
"Why? And who told you to come here?"
She shifted her position. “Betsy said I had the wrong address, and she gave me this location. Is this where Tess lives?"
"Yes and no."
Resisting the urge to crane her neck and peer inside the house, she gave him a determined stare. “I need to talk to her."
Slate pursed his lips, which, Marla realized, bore faint traces of lipstick. Did he and Tess have a relationship? If so, what was Tess doing over at Betsy's house? And why did Tess list her girlfriend's address as her own?
"She's not available,” Slate told her. “But if you want to come in, just give me a minute to straighten things up.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You probably wanted to ask Tess where I lived anyway."
"Oh ... right. So are you two very close?"
He slicked a lock of hair off his forehead. “Not in the way you mean, sweetheart. Come in and I'll prove it."
"Okay.” Her foot shot forward, but he wedged the door against her.
"Wait.” A look of panic flickered behind his expression. “I have to put some things away."
"You just said I should come inside."
"Not yet. Maybe we should
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