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That Old House Smell
The text from my mother came in at a little past four-thirty.
We’re just passing through Mesa now. The nav says we’ll be there in about an hour.
Perfect timing. I’d been a little worried that they’d show up before five, and then I’d have to decide whether to close down the shop on what was usually my busiest day of the week, but since they wouldn’t be arriving until five-thirty, that gave me plenty of time to wrap things up on my regular schedule and still be out at the Bigelow mansion to greet them.
Since she’d mentioned a navigation system, I guessed that they must be driving here in Tom’s fancy Porsche Cayenne SUV, and not one of his vintage sports cars. It made sense for that kind of trip, because the last thing you wanted was to have engine failure somewher
