Steady, old girl, she thought. You had your chance with this one.
He glanced past her toward the Porsche, and his face fell. “Oh, Sarah, look at our car! The poor old thing has turned into a train wreck.”
She was so grateful to him for not berating her directly that the automatic apologies died stillborn. Gritting her teeth to keep from blurting something stupid, she stood back while Fletcher photographed the car in place with a small, expensive looking digital camera. She wasn’t surprised. He was an avid photographer.
“It’s a liability thing for my insurance,” he said, giving her another shot of those perfect f*****g teeth. Sarah didn’t give it a thought. Fletcher always took pictures, even when they were kids.
Engine noises from the street made them both turn to watch a big, slant-de
