Every Night at Six Thirty, Bob Drove Away, Until His Other Wife Said My Name

“Good morning to you both,” Martha called back, smiling on her way to her sedan.

The moment Martha shut her car door, Bob swung back to me, the friendly glow gone from his eyes in an instant.

“I want your mother’s private inheritance passbook brought down to my desk at the store by noon tomorrow,” Bob said.

“That passbook goes with my personal account,” I said.

“We’re consolidating our assets,” Bob said, leaning in so close his words were hardly more than a whisper.

“I won’t let your sudden paranoia ruin my good name in this town.”