A wind-damaged sign at the beginning of the long private road reading “Wanda"s Wigglers” had Rey and Linda placing $20 wagers that Wanda"s was a worm farm. Given the dimensions of the property and warehouse, it was doubtful, but never say never. Tablet still in hand, Gail had done a quick search to find WW had been a manufacturer of animal-shaped, sugar-laden, wiggling and jiggling gelatin delights. Linda was $20 richer.
“You can still kinda smell the smoke.” Wrinkling that pretty (perfect) Hollywood nose, Rey gazed at a heavily damaged L-shaped building flanked by a long row of Cook Pines.
Although only in business a little over two years, the company had shown promise, garnering positive reviews about its marketing campaigns and employment opportunities. Sadly, two weeks ago, due to el
