Mother Read Online Free PDF Page B

House. He continued on without sniffing her flowerbeds for fertilizer. Aida could do that herself.
      He passed Milton and Candy Sachs’ two stories of cotton candy fluff. Poor Prissy, stuck between the Lowells’ pumpkiny paint job and Candy’s pink taffy apple one. Between the colors and those noisy dogs - not to mention Crystal’s hair and tattoos - Prissy must be fit to be tied.  
    He passed by Duane and Jerry’s home and their pale-stooled dog wagged his tail in greeting from behind the white wrought iron gate. He glanced across the street and saw Aida’s broad behind as she weeded her patriotic flower bed. He looked away before she noticed him. Sighing, he thought of those tight, tattered jeans she used to wear with her tight tie-dyed tank tops. Those were the days.  
    Next came the Collins’ huge home and Stan was pleased to see no sign of Burke. Before they’d remodeled, Prissy’s house had been the biggest on the street; but Burke and Geneva-Marie had recently turned their two-story traditional into a Spanish hacienda, even adding a second story to their three-car garage. Beautiful as it was, it stood out like a sore thumb on the cul-de-sac full of Federal, Colonial, and other traditional American styles. He nodded to young Billy Sachs who delivered papers, mowed lawns, and washed cars in the neighborhood. Today, Billy was waxing Geneva-Marie’s pearl white Escalade.  
    Billy was a great kid, lucky to be adopted by such attractive, well-to-do parents. His mom, Candy, was as statuesque and beautiful as any model, plus she was friendly, fun, and addicted to soap operas. She didn’t seem to have a brain in her head, but she was sweet like a little puppy dog. He liked her almost as much as he liked looking at her, even if she was taller than he was.  
    Stan continued on, passing Babs and Carl Vandercooth’s oyster gray Colonial. They were good people, the Vandercooths. Next was Ace Etheridge’s light turquoise house. The editor of the Snapdragon Daily was a widower, but his grown daughter, Iris, had been living with him since her divorce five years earlier. Her radio blared and that pretty Adele woman belted out that she was sorry for breaking someone’s heart. Nice voice on that one.  
    Iris was watering, her blond hair in a ponytail, wearing denim cut-offs that accentuated her long legs. Looking good, Iris. As if reading his thoughts, she turned and waved. He waved back. She wore a light blue sweatshirt in deference to winter. In summer, she was even more fun when she waved.  
    He crossed the street - Daisy Drive - and passed by the Crockers’ corner home. His belly growled as he scented more barbecuing meat. Roddy and Bettyanne had painted their simple home in a green so light it was almost white. It made a nice backdrop for Bettyanne’s massive flower beds. Even this time of year, they bloomed in radiant blues and purples. Bettyanne had the greenest thumb in the neighborhood. Not only that, she was a pretty little thing, with golden curls that made her look like an innocent child. She and Roddy - an officer on the Snapdragon police force - had no children, just the flowers, and a pair of fluffy white cats that sat sunning themselves inside their picture window. Nice people, the Crockers. It was good to have a cop living on the street, too.  
    The Dunworth sisters lived next to the Crockers and their yard could have used some of Bettyanne’s green thumb . Nice ladies, the Dunworths. And such sweet voices, too. He saw Nelly Dunworth - a medically obese woman in her forties at least once a day as she rode her scooter around the cul-de-sac; it was nice she could get out.  
    Next to the Dunworths lived his own next-door neighbors, Earl Dean and his wife Earlene, and their twin daughters, Daphene and Delphine. “The Shining Twins,” Morning Glory Circle called them. Privately, of course. Earl might be the best chocolatier this side of the Rockies - his candy shop, The Fudge Depot, had been written