Gwen reached into a fat brown paper bag on the vinyl seat next to her and took out four more blue envelopes.

As she turned toward the front window to call the waitress, her eyes met mine.

Her hand stopped dead over the top of the paper bag.

She jerked her arm back and shoved the whole pile of blue cards under her big brown leather purse.

“Brenda, hi there,” Gwen called across the diner, her voice quick and sharp.

“Afternoon, Gwen,” I said, holding my coffee cup in both hands.

“Enjoying your lunch?” she asked, drumming her nails on the edge of the laminate table.