car.
Chapter 5
S o much to talk about, so little time. As soon as Heather had given Amanda the keys to her rental home and went to one of her six doctors to get a new prescription, she called Sharon Peavy, leader of the Bible study, and made plans to meet at the Starbucks at Hillside Park Village as soon as Heather could get off work.
They met at a quarter to five and ordered lattes, which sat before them at a table Sharon chose, right where the picture windows looked out on the Hillside Park Village parking lot. The Starbucks was beloved because it had such a magnificent view, from its floor-to-ceiling picture windows, of the entrance to the parking lot. That might not sound like much, and in fact, there was absolutely nothing scenic about it. But it did allow those sitting in Starbucks to gaze out on the cars coming in and out of the outdoor shopping mall, the oldest and most prestigious in Dallas with all the top-name boutiques, and see who was driving what, and with whom, and where. Indeed, the table Sharon had chosen was ground zero for Hillside Park gossip, because there were few things more interesting than who was driving, shopping, dining, or just simply hanging out with whom.
“Well, well. Guess who’s back in town?” Heather asked quietly, scanning the coffee shop to see if there was anyone present whom she would not have wanted to hear her brand of talk.
“Mmmm, Amanda Vaughn,” Sharon said, in the same conspiratorial low tones. “Oh, honey—I heard all about it at Bible study.”
Heather reached for her latte. Then, realizing that the last thing she wanted was a two-hundred-degree beverage on a one-hundred-degree day, let it sit there. She spun the cardboard holder around the cup and bit her lip.
“I just gave her the keys to her house this afternoon,” she said.
“Which house?”
“The Harrington place. Four bedrooms, fabulous kitchen looking out onto the family room/play area—”
“Solarium, media room, six thousand square feet,” Sharon finished for her. “Mmm-hmm. I saw the listing.”
Heather looked puzzled. “That’s a five-million-dollar house!” she exclaimed. “No offense, but what are you doing looking at houses with that kind of price tag? You can’t really afford it, can you?”
Suddenly she wondered if maybe Sharon had won the Texas lottery, or perhaps she had a new sugar daddy who could be persuaded, somehow, to give her the down payment on a new house. Maybe if he was real wealthy, high-profile, and married, she could wrangle him into buying the house for her in cash. For a moment, Heather’s hopes rose about Sharon’s potentially higher socioeconomic status. That would be a pretty nice commission for Heather.
But Sharon shook her head. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she asked, a little embarrassed by just how much she knew about the Harrington property. She tapped her foot uneasily against the table’s metal base and looked away. The house had sat on the market for eight months because its owner, Tom Harrington, had been a little too emotionally attached when setting the asking price. So few nice houses came on the market in Hillside Park that many buyers were happy to pay a premium just to live in the neighborhood—it was that desirable. But Tom’s timing had been poor, and he had slapped that luxury premium on the asking price just at the point when the market was starting to head south.
Sharon knew about the house for another reason. In her mind, Tom Harrington represented perfection in a man. He was wealthy, he was kind, he was a great husband by all accounts, he was very good-looking, and when he stood on his wallet, he was ten feet tall. She had always had a thing for him.
Not everyone was as impressed with Tom Harrington as Sharon and Heather, however. Years ago, when everyone had just been out of college a few years, Tom made a business investment with the friend of a friend. They seemed like nice enough people—they were horse people,
Chapter 5
S o much to talk about, so little time. As soon as Heather had given Amanda the keys to her rental home and went to one of her six doctors to get a new prescription, she called Sharon Peavy, leader of the Bible study, and made plans to meet at the Starbucks at Hillside Park Village as soon as Heather could get off work.
They met at a quarter to five and ordered lattes, which sat before them at a table Sharon chose, right where the picture windows looked out on the Hillside Park Village parking lot. The Starbucks was beloved because it had such a magnificent view, from its floor-to-ceiling picture windows, of the entrance to the parking lot. That might not sound like much, and in fact, there was absolutely nothing scenic about it. But it did allow those sitting in Starbucks to gaze out on the cars coming in and out of the outdoor shopping mall, the oldest and most prestigious in Dallas with all the top-name boutiques, and see who was driving what, and with whom, and where. Indeed, the table Sharon had chosen was ground zero for Hillside Park gossip, because there were few things more interesting than who was driving, shopping, dining, or just simply hanging out with whom.
“Well, well. Guess who’s back in town?” Heather asked quietly, scanning the coffee shop to see if there was anyone present whom she would not have wanted to hear her brand of talk.
“Mmmm, Amanda Vaughn,” Sharon said, in the same conspiratorial low tones. “Oh, honey—I heard all about it at Bible study.”
Heather reached for her latte. Then, realizing that the last thing she wanted was a two-hundred-degree beverage on a one-hundred-degree day, let it sit there. She spun the cardboard holder around the cup and bit her lip.
“I just gave her the keys to her house this afternoon,” she said.
“Which house?”
“The Harrington place. Four bedrooms, fabulous kitchen looking out onto the family room/play area—”
“Solarium, media room, six thousand square feet,” Sharon finished for her. “Mmm-hmm. I saw the listing.”
Heather looked puzzled. “That’s a five-million-dollar house!” she exclaimed. “No offense, but what are you doing looking at houses with that kind of price tag? You can’t really afford it, can you?”
Suddenly she wondered if maybe Sharon had won the Texas lottery, or perhaps she had a new sugar daddy who could be persuaded, somehow, to give her the down payment on a new house. Maybe if he was real wealthy, high-profile, and married, she could wrangle him into buying the house for her in cash. For a moment, Heather’s hopes rose about Sharon’s potentially higher socioeconomic status. That would be a pretty nice commission for Heather.
But Sharon shook her head. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she asked, a little embarrassed by just how much she knew about the Harrington property. She tapped her foot uneasily against the table’s metal base and looked away. The house had sat on the market for eight months because its owner, Tom Harrington, had been a little too emotionally attached when setting the asking price. So few nice houses came on the market in Hillside Park that many buyers were happy to pay a premium just to live in the neighborhood—it was that desirable. But Tom’s timing had been poor, and he had slapped that luxury premium on the asking price just at the point when the market was starting to head south.
Sharon knew about the house for another reason. In her mind, Tom Harrington represented perfection in a man. He was wealthy, he was kind, he was a great husband by all accounts, he was very good-looking, and when he stood on his wallet, he was ten feet tall. She had always had a thing for him.
Not everyone was as impressed with Tom Harrington as Sharon and Heather, however. Years ago, when everyone had just been out of college a few years, Tom made a business investment with the friend of a friend. They seemed like nice enough people—they were horse people,
Similar Books
