I draw up short when I see the fancy SUV parked next to my truck. That wasn’t there when I ducked into the pharmacy before heading to Goody’s office earlier. The vehicle belongs to Mollie, no question. People in Hartsville drive practical cars. Ones that don’t have $500 tires and cost an arm and a leg to fix. The Range Rover is just as shiny and ridiculous as its owner. Rounding the front of my Ford, I jam my hat onto my head and resist the urge to roll my eyes at the grumble of the Rover’s supercharged engine. Mollie’s got the dang AC going full blast at all times, no doubt. A princess like
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