“The deli? Why does that involve you?”

“Me? It involves you, too. You promised!”

“I never!"

“You did. Remember last week when your battery died and I drove your car pool?”

Shelley muttered an obscenity. "I still don't see why we have to go to the grand opening of a deli. The opening of a dress shop, maybe, or a travel agency that's giving away a free trip to some island where there are no children allowed—"

“We're attending the deli opening because my firstborn has a summer job at the deli and it's motherly to rally around—"

“But I'm not Mike's mother," Shelley grumbled.

“—and mainly because Conrad and Sarah Baker are nice people who need all the support they can get."

“Oh-ho. Look out," Shelley said, pointing ahead of them on the sidewalk. A terribly fit, handsome man in his late forties was jogging toward them. He had one hand on his throat, apparently taking his pulse, and was looking at the watch on his other arm as he ran. He never did look up as he ran right between them.

“Excuse me?" Shelley called after him.

He turned, flashed a Hollywood-ish smile almost as showy and brilliant as his impressive prematurely white hair, and waved at them. It wasn't an apologetic wave, more of an acknowledgment of minions who had done well in staying out of his way.

At least, that was Jane's take. "He's a prize jerk," she said.

“Who was that?" a voice called out of the darkness.

Jane and Shelley detoured to join their neighbor Suzie, who was sitting on her front porch. Suzie Williams was a big woman, platinum blond and terribly frank. Jane thought of her as a nineties version of Mae West, but stunningly beautiful. Not only were they neighbors, but Suzie had a son the same grade as Jane's youngest and Shelley's boy. They'd all sat through a seemingly endless number of school plays, Cub Scout pack meetings, and summer softball and soccer games together.