The turn signal of a white Ford F-150 blinked at the curb in front of Mason Fix-It Shop—just after Mara drove past, thinking she would have to park on a side street. Since it was gray and misty, and the forecasters were saying it would be heavy rain that evening, she decided she’d rather loop back around the block and snag the Ford’s spot instead of trudging through the rain at the end of the workday. As she passed Ping’s bakery, she glanced over and saw him looking out his front window, a worried look on his face. He didn’t recognize her car as she turned off Woodstock and cut through the alley behind the shop. Less than two minutes later, she slid into the still-empty parking spot.
Ping walked up to her as she got out of the car with a basketball under her arm. “There you are. I was get
