Gable was wiping down the front counter of her pastry shop.

She met my eyes through the window, put down her rag, and pulled the cloth shade down over the glass.

Frank had spent the afternoon making the rounds of the local shops, dropping hints that my house was going into foreclosure.

In a town of four thousand, a rumor traveled faster than any court filing.

Grace came around the corner from the pharmacy with a small brown paper bag.

She smoothed her linen apron down over her coat and walked right up to me on the sidewalk.