I step out of the house.
Agnes greets me with a scowl. “Angela,” she says coolly.
“What’s going on?”
“Why don’t you ask Mr. Universe over there?”
I look across the street at Jonas, who waves at me and calls out: “You want another martini?”
“We’re only friends,” I tell Agnes.
“Does he know that?”
Jonas crosses the street to join us. “Ladies,” he says. “A little excitement in the neighborhood, hey?”
“You heard the gunshot too?” I ask him.
“I had my workout music at full blast, so I can’t be certain what it was I heard.”
“I think that’s Rick Talley’s Camaro over there,” I say. “What the heck is he doing at the Leopolds’？”
Jonas sighs. “And here come the consequences.”
“Of what?” I frown at Jonas, who earlier tonight was so cagey about the Leopolds and their marriage. “Oh my god. Are you telling me Jackie Talley’s the one?”
“The one what?” Agnes says.
“The one Larry’s been banging!”
“I’m not at liberty to confirm or deny,” says Jonas.
“You don’t have to! The situation’s clear enough to—”
The crack of another gunshot makes us all freeze. We stand there paralyzed, even as we hear Lorelei screaming: “Stop! Oh my god, please stop!” It’s a shriek of sheer terror, the shriek of a woman desperate for someone, anyone, to save her.
I don’t even pause to think about it; I run toward the Leopolds’ house. It’s not like I’m entirely on my own; I have backup in this fight. Someone has to save Lorelei, and right now we’re the only ones who can do it.
I scramble up the porch steps and the first thing I see through the open doorway is broken glass littering the foyer. A few steps inside, I spot where the glass came from: a shattered picture frame, now hanging askew on the foyer wall.
I move into the living room, my shoes crunching over glass shards, and the sight of blood makes me freeze. It’s just a few spatters, but they stand out shockingly bright on Lorelei’s white leather sofa, the sofa she once proudly informed me cost two thousand dollars. Slowly my gaze pivots to the source of that blood: Larry, who’s now lying on the floor, clutching his left shoulder. He’s very much alive and moaning.
“You son of a bitch, you shot me! You fucking shot me!”
Rick Talley stands over him, clutching his weapon in both hands. His arms tremble, the barrel of the gun bobbing in his unsteady grip.
“Why?” cries Lorelei, who cowers behind her bloodstained sofa. “Why are you doing this, Rick?”
“Tell her, Larry,” Rick says. “Go on, tell her.”
“Get out of my house,” says Larry.
“Tell her!” Rick’s arms snap taut, his aim suddenly straight and true, the barrel pointed directly at Larry’s head.
In panic, I turn to Jonas for help.
Only he isn’t there. The only person behind me is Agnes, who’s doubled over in the foyer, hacking up phlegm. I’m the one person who can stop this.
“Rick,” I say quietly. “This doesn’t solve anything.”
He looks at me, clearly surprised to see me. His attention was so fixed on Larry, he wasn’t even aware that I’d come into the house. “Go away, Angie,” he says.
“Not until you put down the gun.”
“Jesus, do you ever stop sticking your nose into other people’s business?”
“This is my neighborhood. It is my business. Put down the gun.”
Lorelei pleads: “Listen to her, Rick. Please!”
“I have every right,” he says, his gun swinging back toward Larry.
“No one has a right to kill anyone,” I say.
“He ruined my life! He took what wasn’t his.”
Larry snorts. “Jackie sure didn’t object.”
Not helping, Larry. Not helping at all.
“What are you saying, Larry?” asks Lorelei, her head popping up from behind the sofa. “You mean it’s true?”
Larry groans and tries to sit up but falls back again, clutching his wounded shoulder. “Will somebody here just call a fucking ambulance?”
“You and Jackie Talley? You two did it?” says Lorelei.
“It didn’t last. And it was a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“Way back. When she started working at the high school.”