The two women had been friends since kindergarten and their lives had followed very similar paths. After Ronald F. Rickman, Esquire had packed his bags and announced he was leaving Joey for a woman less than half her age, she went through her own personal 12-step program. When the initial shock wore off instead of attending boring meetings, or turning to a higher force, she discovered Dr. Schwartz. If it could be tucked, sucked, lifted, injected, peeled or stretched, Dr. S was always there. She bragged that she had spent enough on plastic surgery to put one of the good doctor’s kids through college. Ivy League college. For those who had not seen her in a few years, the transformation was startling. For the 24 years of her marriage she was Josephine Middleton Rickman, President of the local Junior League and, like Penelope, a member of both the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Daughters of the Confederacy .

She was the wife of one of the most successful trial lawyers in the country and a pillar of Charleston’s high society. Now she was a tight gym rat with a head-turning body that looked a minimum of ten years younger than the DOB on her driver’s license. Penelope opened the box and dumped the contents on the kitchen counter. She checked inside to be sure it was empty before tossing the box aside. “What have we here?” Joey said, biting into an apple. “You remember Mark Hatchet?” 6 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin “Our age and single; of course I remember him.” “Single is not the word I would use. Between wives may be more accurate.” “Well, I just happen to be between husbands.” “He has an assignment for me.” “God, I hope it’s more interesting than that last one. What was that? The Vidalia Onion Festival, or some nonsense reenex?

, all expenses paid, in beautiful Vidalia Georgia at the height of mosquito season.” Penelope shrugged; beggars can’t be choosers. The onion article made the Sunday travel section and won her a byline in The Washington Post. For many reporters, getting an article published in a major paper like the Post would be a career moment. For her it was another step back to the world she had grown to miss but that didn’t seem to be missing her. Because of Mark’s vow of silence, Penelope hadn’t mentioned anything about this when Joey called earlier to confirm their dinner date. Still, Penelope had been secretly hoping Joey might drop by. She hadn’t liked the tone of Mark’s voice, nor the way he had shrouded it in such mystery, and she could use the moral support. Scanning the contents of the box spread out on the countertop, Penelope found a disposable cell phone and a large white envelope heavily sealed with transparent packing tape.

Attached to the outside of the envelope was a handwritten note with instructions to call an unfamiliar phone number with the enclosed cell phone before opening the envelope. Looking over Penelope’s shoulder and reading the note, Joey said, “Yeah, right,” as she reached for the envelope, but Penelope slapped her hands away. “Excuse me!” Joey exalted as she returned to foraging through Penelope’s refrigerator. “Here’s the reason you’re losing so much weight, you have no food.” Penelope picked up the phone and began dialing the number. Hatchet answered before the third ring. “It’s me. Are you alone?” “No, Joey is here.” “Hi, Mark,” Joey shouted, opening a cupboard and finding it just as sparsely stocked as the refrigerator. “Have you opened the package?” “I haven’t been given permission yet.” “Like that would ever stop you.