She’d needed something stiffer than coffee no matter that it was early still, and apparently so had Angie, as she’d come over only moments after the phone call. The two women were currently seated in Tiffani’s kitchen, as her two daughters had made their way to school while Grady had headed off to oversee the lumber yard that had been in her family for years, which he was now a partial owner of.
“Some people really hold a grudge,” Angie stated, staring into her cup of coffee as the smooth scent of whiskey drifted up with a wisp of steam.
“It’s not funny,” Tiffani replied, taking a long swig from her own cup as the liquid burned initially but traced a slow and pleasing trail of warmth down her throat, all the way to her belly.
“It’s not meant to be,” Angie said defensively, “But it’s been over twenty years. Why would anyone come back after all that time and start trouble?”
“Do you really need a reminder?” Tiffani shot back as she set her cup down, “I set her shoes on fire for what she said about cheerleaders, so she torches a part of my yard? You put worms in her sneakers after gym class and you find a pair of shoes on your yard crawling with worms? It’s a good thing Becky and Katie don’t live here any longer. I’d hate to see what she might do to them.”
“You could call and ask them,” said a voice from the doorway. Both women jumped as Tiffani uttered a startled shriek, almost throwing her cup in fright as they both turned towards the front entrance. “Or better yet, you could just turn on the news.”
“What the hell are you doing in my house??!” Tiffani shouted, “Get out!”
Casey, who stood in the open doorway, chuckled as she said, “That’s an interesting choice of words Tiff. But before I leave, of my own volition, I wanted you to see something. Turn on the TV please.”
Tiffani just looked at her, dumbfounded and more than a little pissed off.
“Turn it on!” roared Casey, her voice hitting a bass note that had both women shrinking back. The fire in the other woman’s eyes was blazing fully now as she looked fully ready for violence, or at the very least ready for a verbal confrontation of epic proportions.
“Angie, turn it on please,” Tiffani almost squeaked.
“Oh no, no no no,” Cassie crooned, sounding absolutely deadly, “YOU do it Tiff. It’s your house after all, and she doesn’t work for you here.”
Tiffani glanced at Angie, but what she saw made her recoil once again.
(to be continued)