But I digress. The question of the day was why his Hugger Orange Camaro was parked next to a Dumpster behind the Piggly Wiggly.

I sat there, hands on the wheel, and pondered my next move. What was the harm in waiting awhile? I wasn’t exactly spying on Lance; I was only admiring the lines of his “classic” car. Lance should thank me for guarding his prized possession against the off chance a band of vandals was roaming the loading dock in search of empty boxes.

I didn’t have long to wait before a silver gray sedan whipped into the lot and squealed to a halt next to the Dumpster. Lance climbed out of the passenger side and exchanged what appeared to be angry words with whoever was driving. He then slammed the car door shut and stalked toward his Camaro. The driver of the sedan stomped on the accelerator and roared off. I caught only a quick glimpse of a dark-haired woman as she zoomed past.

Lance was in an equal hurry to make his getaway. He slammed into reverse, backed out of his hiding place, and peeled off. Curious to see what he was up to, I shifted into gear and followed, hoping he wouldn’t happen to glance into his rearview mirror and spot me. Both cars cleared the Piggly Wiggly lot at opposite ends and turned onto the highway. The dark-haired woman headed east; Lance took off in the direction of Serenity Cove.

What was all that about? I wondered as I headed home. Who was the dark-haired woman? And why the secrecy?

I wished I had gotten a better look at the driver of the sedan. It really was time for new glasses. I’d been procrastinating for months, but the time had come to make an appointment with the optometrist. However, even at a distance, and even needing new specs, I could tell from the body language that Lance had been furious. Bill had recently made the observation that Lance had a way of ticking people off. Now someone had turned the tables.

Paybacks are hell.