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Vesta shrugged.“I guess he’s all right. At my age you can’t be picky, so I’m going to give it a shot and see what happens.” She got up from the table and wiped her lips with her napkin then threw it down. “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be pretty late.” And with a slight grin, she disappeared upstairs.

Marge and Tex shared a look of surprise.“So Vesta is dating again,” said Tex finally.

“I don’t know what to think of it,” said his wife. “Wilbur is not exactly the guy I thought she’d fall for.”

“She hasn’t exactly fallen for him, though, has she? Sounds more like a marriage of convenience to me.”

“Marriage?” asked Marge, her eyes wide. “Do you really think they’ll get married?”

He shrugged.“Who knows? If they really fancy each other, anything could happen.” And hopefully it would. Also, if Wilbur and Vesta got hitched, Vesta would probably want to help her new husband out at his store. Which would make it unnecessary for Tex to get rid of her now—saving him the aggravation. In other words: a real win-win.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” said Marge. “First Odelia is getting married, then my brother, and now Vesta! Three weddings in one year! It’s too much, Tex!”

“We don’t know if your brother wants to get married,” said Tex soothingly. Alec and Charlene’s marriage had been announced in the Gazette, but that had merely been a ruse. And since neither the Chief of Police or the Mayor had mentioned the M word since, Tex didn’t think they’d go through with it.

“Everybody’s getting married and we’re staying behind, Tex,” said Marge sadly.

“That’s because we’re already married,” he pointed out.

“You know what I mean.”

Actually he didn’t, but by that time Vesta was stomping down the stairs again, and this time she was wearing an actual dress, something Tex hadn’t seen her in since… probably ever!

“How do I look?” asked Vesta, twirling around and looking as prim and happy as a blushing bride.

“You look great,” said Marge.

“Try not to sound so surprised, Marge,” said Vesta. “See you later. Oh, and don’t forget to tape my show, Tex.”

“I won’t forget,” he said, and watched the bane of his existence practically skip out of the house—and very soon, he hoped, out of his life!

Chapter 13

Randy Hancock looked in the full-length mirror and thought he looked pretty decent for his age. At sixty-five most men had lost their youthful good looks, but he was still as slim and trim as he’d ever been. And in spite of the fact that he hadn’t worked out in a long time, he felt pretty healthy, too. Plus, and this was a big plus, he still had all his hair!

Then again, he had devoted his entire life to staying in shape and probably his body was still enjoying the residual effects of having worked out for several decades.

And he was just standing on one leg and raising the other one as high as he could when his phone chimed. He sat down on the bed in this, his new home away from home, and frowned at the message. It was from the same number the video had come from, and read:‘Time to get real, Randy. Transfer ten million dollars into the following account and I’ll deliver the antidote. Failure to comply will result in certain death. Do or die time, booby!’

“Oh, dear,” he muttered. He immediately got up and bellowed, “Chase! Chase, honey, I just got another one of those horrible messages!” He found the cop in his bedroom, folding laundry and neatly placing it in a drawer. He smiled at the sight of the amazing glutes the man had. “You work out a lot, don’t you?” he said, a soft purr in his voice now.

Chase looked up, surprised that he was no longer alone.“Oh, hi, Randy,” he said.

“You can call me Ran-Ran, big boy,” said the fitness legend as he leaned against the doorframe. “So is it true what they say about cops?”

“What?”

“That you always carry a concealed weapon between your thighs? No, don’t answer that,” he said, closing his eyes. He shouldn’t give in to temptation when circumstances were as dire as they were. “I got another message,” he said, holding out his phone.

Chase took the phone and glanced at the message, then whistled through his teeth.“Ten million dollars. Have you got that kind of money… Ran-Ran?”

“Well, yeah, I’ve got the money, but I don’t want to give it to these horrible people. I worked for that money. It’s my money, and they’re trying to steal it from me. So what do I do, Chase?” He’d sidled up to the cop and now read along with him on the phone, taking in the muscular cop’s body odor, which was musky and really, really nice. “What do you recommend?”

“I talked to one of my former colleagues,” said Chase, “and sent her the video and the messages. She’s promised to take a look and hopefully she’ll be able to tell me who sent them.”