Today's Reading
Daphne took a tramadol to ease the pain in her shoulder as she settled into her recliner with a Lee Child novel. She loved Jack Reacher. Jack was the 'man'—making short shrift of any bad guy who crossed his path and always coming out on top.
Too bad real life wasn't like fiction.
Fifteen years as a cop had shown Daphne that all too often it was the bad guys who came out on top, and sometimes those bad guys were in law enforcement. Shaking her graying ponytail at the unwelcome memories, she drained her Coke.
Claire pushed herself up from the garden kneeling pad to admire the results of the red geraniums nestled in among the lavender and coreopsis ringing her patio. She'd hit some tree roots and had to use the shovel to break through the roots and turn the soil. Now, shovel on her shoulder and gallon pot of geraniums in hand, she headed next door.
She had been teaching her neighbor how to plant flowers, but Daphne's recent shoulder surgery had intruded. Claire decided to surprise her and finish the planting. Finding Daphne's patio gate ajar, and with her hands full, she nudged open the gate with her foot. Since her surgery, Daphne napped a lot, and Claire didn't want to wake her. Having been through a few major surgeries herself, she knew sleep was an important part of the healing process.
Intent on her mission, Claire moved on soundless rubber-soled garden clogs across the patio, setting down the pot of geraniums. Now, where's the best place to plant these? She glanced about the space littered with sports equipment and overflowing bags of Coke cans for recycling. Hearing an odd noise, she turned.
Claire gasped when she saw a bulky figure in a hooded sweatshirt inside, pinning Daphne to her recliner. The man's hands were around Daphne's throat, and she was making choking sounds. Oh my God. Grasping her shovel with both hands, Claire charged through the open sliding glass door and hit the intruder on the back of the head.
Hard.
He fell to the floor, unconscious.
Coughing, Daphne grasped at her throat. "Oh my God, Daphne, are you OK?"
She nodded, eyes streaming. "Water," she wheezed.
Claire rushed to the kitchen. Handing the glass of water to Daphne, she saw the handprints on her friend's throat and felt sick. Grateful to see the figure on the floor still unconscious, she asked, "Did he break in?"
Massaging her throat, Daphne said, "I left the patio door open to get some air. I dozed off and woke up to him choking me." She eyed the blood seeping onto the blue area rug. Pushing herself out of the recliner with her unencumbered arm, she winced as she bent down beside her attacker. Placing her fingers on the man's thick neck, Daphne expelled a sigh.
"He's dead."
"Dead?" Claire staggered, feeling faint. "Oh my God. I killed someone?" Stomach roiling, she pulled out her phone with a shaking hand.
"Stop," Daphne ordered. "Don't call the cops."
CHAPTER TWO
Barbara pulled on her Spanx. Hard as she'd tried—daily jogging, doing sit-ups, increasing her gym workouts—she couldn't get rid of the tummy pooch that showed up at sixty. Spanx was the only thing that gave Barbara the flat stomach she'd had all her life. Sixty was well in her rear-view mirror now, but apart from the DMV and her doctor, no one knew her age.
And Barbara was determined to keep it that way.
"It's our secret," she said to the vintage doll occupying pride of place on her dresser. Glancing at Barbie, she observed wryly, "No tummy pooch on you." Then she headed out on her daily run.
Earbuds in, Barbara jogged along Cedar Glen's shady pathways, singing along to Beyonce's "Put a Ring on It." Multiple men had put a ring on her back in the day, but after her third divorce, Barbara decided she wasn't cut out for marriage. Hailing from the land of big hair and beauty pageants, she wed the high school football hero after graduation. Three weeks after divorcing her football crush, who turned out not to be a hero, she eloped to Mexico on the back of a bad boy's Harley.
Marriage number two ended the day Barbara walked in on her husband in bed with a barmaid who'd overdone the peroxide. She miscarried the next day.
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