Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon. Darlene Gardner

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      SOFIA DONATELLI sat behind the steering wheel of her Volvo in a parking spot on Main Street with a view of Sandusky’s, too distracted to enjoy the new-car smell.

      She wouldn’t have noticed Gertrude Skendrovich passing by on the sidewalk tightly clutching a bag from Baked Delights in one of her pudgy hands if Gertie hadn’t waved enthusiastically.

      Sofia waved back, sorry that the sleek blue Volvo made her so easy to spot. She couldn’t regret splurging on the car. It performed splendidly in crash tests, a consideration of great importance for someone who’d lost her father in a car crash before she’d ever known him.

      Gertie’s smile widened, as though delighted Sofia had acknowledged her.

      Sofia was neither naive nor foolish. She hadn’t changed so much as the world around her had. There was no escaping that her life B.L., before the lottery, was different than it was A.L.

      B.L., the curmudgeonly Gertie wouldn’t have raised her head let alone her hand. A.L., she was probably trying to ingratiate herself with Sofia so she could ask for money.

      Word had already gotten out that Sofia was an easy mark. Maybe that’s why none of the letters the television station had forwarded from the Connies had sounded legitimate.

      Tony had followed up on one of the more promising leads this afternoon, although he didn’t know she was aware of that. But why not let her stepson screen the phonies? If he’d interceded before she’d met the sweet little bleached-blond impostor, she might not have cried herself to sleep last night.

      She wiped away a tear, one of many she’d shed for the daughter she didn’t know. She’d changed her mind about surrendering the infant while in the delivery room, but her mother said it was too late, that the adoption had already gone through.

      Sofia blinked determinedly to dry her eyes. She’d think about her search for Constanzia later. Right now, she needed to find out why Art Sandusky had been avoiding her.

      Wiping her damp palms on the legs of her lightweight black slacks, she determinedly climbed out of the Volvo and marched into Sandusky’s. The cashier, a young woman with her blond hair in a ponytail, was new, saving Sofia from having to stop and make small talk.

      The store was a grocery store/butcher shop that specialized in fine cuts of meat, which could be had at a counter that stretched the length of the back of the store.

      The four aisles leading to it were narrow and packed with limited selections of bread, wine, cheese and just about every other ingredient that went into serving a nice dinner.

      Sofia picked an empty aisle, which seemed the quickest path to Art Sandusky, but knew she’d made a mistake when a short, plump woman rounded the corner.

      “Sofia! It’s so wonderful to run into you.”

      “Hello,” Sofia said, trying to place her. The population of McIntosh had grown in recent years to about four thousand, not so many that Sofia didn’t frequently run into people she knew but not so few that she was acquainted with everyone. Since she’d won the lottery, however, it seemed that everyone knew her.

      This woman was around the same age as she was. Something about her small blue eyes looked vaguely familiar.

      “You remember me, don’t you?” The woman fussed with her frosted blond hair. Her roots needed a touch-up. “Betty Schreiber from high school. We sat next to each other in Geometry.”

      The years peeled away, and Sofia recalled that Betty had been a popular majorette who’d dated a star football player and barely noticed Sofia was alive.

      “I’ve been meaning to call you since I moved back to McIntosh,” Betty said.

      “When did you move back?” Sofia asked, mostly to buy time so she could figure out how to make her escape.

      “Maybe five years ago,” Betty said. “You know how time flies.”

      “Yes, I do. Listen, I’m sort of in a hurry.”

      “Then I should come straight to the point.” Betty chewed her bottom lip, shifted her weight from foot to foot. “This is sort of awkward, but considering we were classmates, I was hoping you’d help me out.”

      Sofia’s internal alarm sounded. “Help you out with what?”

      “The transmission on my car up and died last week. With my husband out of work— did I tell you I was married?—we don’t have the money to fix it. It’s been a real hardship.”

      Sofia remained silent, surprised that she wasn’t shocked. But then strangers had asked her for money since she’d won the lottery. Why be amazed that a long-lost classmate was hitting her up?

      “It’s not like I’m asking you for a new car. It’s only a thousand dollars. If you could find it in your heart to do this for me, I’d be so grateful.”

      Sofia would be grateful if Betty got out of her way. She reached in her pocketbook for her checkbook. She could almost see Betty salivate. “What service station do you use?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Tell me the name of the service station, and I’ll write out the check.”

      Betty’s face whitened but she recovered nicely. “Surely that’s not necessary. Can’t you just make out the check to me?”

      “I’m sorry, but my stepson would kill me if I did that.” Sofia affected a sheepish smile and shrugged. “He’s worried that people might try to take advantage of me. I’m sure you understand.”

      “Well, uh, yes, I do.” Betty seemed at a loss as to what to say next. She brought a hand to her head. “Would you believe I don’t know the name of the service station my husband uses? I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

      Sofia nodded, careful not to encourage her. She put her checkbook back in her purse. Betty stammered a goodbye and couldn’t seem to leave the store fast enough. Sofia hoped it was because she was ashamed of herself but imagined Betty would dream up some other way to ask her for money.

      No matter. The woman was gone for now. Sophia walked determinedly to the back of the store, careful to not make it look like she was hurrying. She resisted the urge to take her compact from her purse and check her makeup. Tony said she looked good. She knew she looked good.

      “Just do this,” she whispered aloud when she was almost at the counter.

      She faltered when she noticed a middle-aged man placing an order. She glanced at him long enough to ascertain she didn’t know him, but the butcher behind the glass counter caught her attention.

      In a white butcher’s apron with his large, strong hands encased in flimsy plastic gloves, Art Sandusky wasn’t trying to be noticed. He was a simple man: kind, hardworking, principled.

      She’d known him since he’d moved to McIntosh and opened Sandusky’s fifteen years ago. The gossip was that his ex-wife had left him for another man, something Sofia had found to be inconceivable even before she’d realized she was attracted to him.

      It had happened gradually. At some point during the СКАЧАТЬ