Different Circles

“That sounds like fun,” she said, responding automatically as she continued to work. There were three more items to scan. Two were bottles of expensive chardonnay—the most expensive wine that Alpha Beta sold at this location. The other was a bottle of pills. She scanned the wine first, suppressing the urge to shake her head as she saw the prices pop up. One bottle ran $67, the other $54. The wine alone was three times the cost of all the rest of the groceries combined. And then she picked up the pill bottle. Before scanning it, she took a quick glance at the label to see just what Laura Kingsley was buying. They were prenatal vitamins. Very interesting. That certainly confirmed the gossip that Diane had shared about the hold on the birth control pills. Laura Kingsley had to be pregnant. Whether or not Jake Kingsley was the father was the only question remaining (Darlene was already leaning in the direction of that nigger rapper that was known to frequently visit the Kingsleys as her lead suspect in the case). And here she was buying a hundred dollars worth of wine to wash down her prenatal vitamins. Her low opinion of Laura Kingsley dropped even lower.

But she said nothing. She simply rang her up and named the price for the items. Mrs. Kingsley paid for it by using her ATM card in the card reader which corporate had finally purchased for them six months before (though Elsa the maid still insisted on writing checks when she was the one purchasing groceries). The transaction was approved—it always was when members of the Kingsley household were the ones making it—and off the redhead bitch went, heading back to the parking lot and her little Volkswagen convertible so she could drive home to her mansion on the cliff, do drugs, drink wine, and poison the demon-spawn she was now growing in her belly.

No sooner had Mrs. Kingsley left the store than Darlene’s three o’clock person checked in for duty. It was Karen Michaels, one of two assistant managers and Darlene’s closest crony. They had gone to high school together and had worked together at the Alpha Beta for the past fifteen years. It was they who ruled the Oceano Alpha Beta the same way the popular clique in high school (of which Darlene and Karen most certainly had not been members of) had ruled the minions beneath them. Karen would be in charge of the store until closing time once Darlene left at 5:00 o’clock.

“Why don’t you take over for me here?” Darlene told her. “I’ve got some admin stuff I need to do before I go home.”

“Sounds good,” Karen said, amicably enough. She nodded in the direction of the door. “I saw Laura Kingsley heading out as I came in. She buying up a bunch of booze again?”

“A hundred dollars worth of wine,” Darlene said. “They are such alcoholics, aren’t they?”

“Completely,” said Karen, who drank far more wine per week than Laura Kingsley could ever hope to, though she made a point to buy most of hers in San Luis Obispo or Pasa Robles. “And I just learned something really shocking about the Kingsleys today.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Darlene. “Do tell.”

She was about to do just that, but a customer chose that moment to enter the express checkout. It was an older lady named Margaret who had at least twenty-five items in her cart, but who also spent most of her grocery budget in the Alpha Beta so they were not going to call her on it.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Karen whispered. “It’s really juicy. Check your email. I sent you a copy of the story.”

“Okay,” Darlene said, immediately intrigued.

She went to her office inside the customer service area where the cigarettes were sold and the film developing was done. She sat down at her desk and logged into her computer. She went immediately to the Alpha Beta email server and opened her inbox. She saw the email immediately and her eyes widened as she saw the subject line: JAKE KINGSLEY AND HIS WIFE ARE KEEPING AN UNDERAGE VENEZUELAN SEX SLAVE!!

“Hmm,” she said. “Very interesting.”

She opened the email and saw the picture. She then began to read.

Jake flew over the town of Oceano at 5:38 PM that evening, his altitude 2800 feet, his engines at only forty percent thrust as he made the turn for final approach and an ILS landing at SLO Regional. As was usual, a good many members of the town heard the distinctive high-pitched whine of his aircraft as he passed over and noted, many with annoyance, that the Satan worshipping death metal artist (whose wife was now pregnant with a demon spawn) was back in town for the night. He touched down at 5:43 PM and was in his BMW heading for home by 5:55. He drove through the gate at 6:12 PM and was in the house by 6:15 PM.

“Hey, sweetie,” Laura greeted when he walked through the door. She got up to give him a kiss.

“Hey, babe,” he said, accepting the kiss, which tasted of chardonnay.

“I cut up all the vegetables for you and the oven is preheated for the tots. All you need to do is cook the burgers.”