“I’m sure glad you weren’t coming down with anything, Earl,” says Mary Beth. “I’d hate for you to miss this tournament!” Earl forces a smile, though sweat prickles down his back. Every door and window in the house had been checked twice before they left. Locked. Chained. Secured. He’d even stood in the dark kitchen

Earl leans across the table, eyes glittering. “What do you mean, think I got it figured out. I got it figured out.” He slapped the magazine. “I’ll pass these photos around Sling-It so fast your sweet little reputation won’t know what hit it.  You’ll never be able to show your face in there again!” Earls

Things are hoppin’ like a field full of caffeinated rabbits at Sling-It tonight. Pins are crashing, music’s thumping, and the whole place smells like popcorn, shoe spray, and competitive spirit. Earl pauses at the entrance, scanning the lanes until he spots Mary Beth’s team. He squares his shoulders, smooths his shirt like a man with

Tracy stares at the photos in front of her and gasps—a full, hand-to-chest, pearls-clutching gasp. Her eyes flick up to Bunny, then back down to the album like it might bite her. Mary Beth’s mouth gaps like a fish out of water. Collective silence. Then— “OH my word,” Mary Beth finally breathes. Alice blinks. Once. Twice.

“Oh honey, you just don’t belong there,” Bunny’s sister sighs. “You put a Georgia peach in abowl of coleslaw and what do you expect? You should come on home.” Bunny lets out a soft little sigh, the kind that floats more than it falls. “Oh now, Charity, youknow I’ll get myself out of this little