At the beginning of May, I was at home on a Sunday afternoon when Marlene called.
“Hey, what’s up?” I greeted as I loaded the dishwasher with one hand.
“Can you come over in ten minutes? I need help with something.” She was whispering for some reason.
“Sure.” I hung up. Maybe Beebub was out of town on business? It didn’t matter. I would do anything for Marlene.
I took my time dressing in a threadbare T-shirt and an old pair of jeans that I’d had since high school, which depressed me because it meant I was still as scrawny as I’d been back then. Sadly, I would never be the buff type. I grabbed my work gloves, just in case, and sauntered across the fields to the purple house. Beebub had recently repainted it a less vivid shade than before.
I noticed her car was in the driveway, but not
