Page 77 of The Wilder Widows

Marge hung up and turned to where we all sat stunned and staring. “He’s alive. He’s still there.” She slipped back into the water without any more words, and I struggled to form my own.

“He’s alive? And still living there?”

“Yep. Seems we didn’t even need the cop computer. She found him on Facebook.”

“You’re kidding,” I breathed. “He’s really still there?”

“He sure is. And she thinks he’s single.”

Even though I was outside, I felt all the air suck out of the atmosphere.

“Buckle up, ladies. We’ve got one more adventure to go!” Doris said, and I almost passed out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“This is crazy,” I said as I climbed back into the front seat of the car, pressing my oversized sunglasses up onto my nose. “We look ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself. I look fabulous.”

Looking over my shoulder into the back seat, I looked at Alice sporting her rhinestone sunglasses, red scarf wrapped around her head, and red lipstick to match. She was right. Even in her costume, she still looked fabulous.

“Now I feel like the old maid.”

I turned sharper to see Marge sitting behind me. The floral scarf and purple sunglasses didn’t have the same chic effect as they did on Alice, and it caused me to snort.

“So, where are we going?” Doris said from the driver’s seat, and I turned to stare at her as well. A pink scarf tied tight around her chin matched the pink sunglasses she’d picked out at the dollar store we’d just left.

“Home. This is nuts.” I shook my head and felt my headscarf loosening. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know I didn’t look as elegant as Alice. The purple scarf and oversized black sunglasses I’d tossed in our cart weren’t something I would ever wear if I wasn’t planning on stalking an old lover.

“It’s not nuts. It’s true love.” Doris smiled. Ever since meeting Axel, all she could do was smile and talk about true love. Her newfound love had her more driven to get me back to mine than even the other motivated widows.

“It’s stalking. That’s what it is. Stalking,” I grumbled.

“Not true.” Marge leaned forward into the space between the front seats. “Stalking is defined as ‘a course of conduct directed at a specific person that involves repeated, at least two or more occasions, visual or physical proximity, nonconsensual communication, or verbal, written, or implied threats, or a combination thereof, that would cause a reasonable person fear.’"

Staring at her in the rearview mirror, I only blinked.

“I asked Martha. She told me we’re good.” Marge shrugged and fell back into her seat.

“Well, okay then, Encyclopedia Britannica. So, we’re not technically stalking. Yet. But it sure feels like stalking.”

“Nope. Not unless we do it repeated times and, if he’s a reasonable person, cause him fear.”

“Have you looked at us?” I waved a hand around the car. “If I saw us on the street in these getups, I’d be scared.”

“You three may look ridiculous. But I still look good.” Alice sat back against the plush grey seat of the car we’d rented at the airport.

“Can we just forget about this? Seriously. I don’t need to see Tom again. It’s been too long. And what would I even say?”

“Well, first we need to find him and make sure he hasn’t turned into a troll in his old age,” Alice said. “Because if he has, we’re on the first plane outta here.”

“Can we just be on the first plane outta here, anyway?” I pleaded.

“No,” they echoed, and Doris started the car.

“Are you sure you won’t let me drive?” Marge asked. “I’ve seen you drive at home once, Doris. You nearly took out that group of school kids crossing the street.”

Doris puckered her lips and glared at Marge in the rearview. “That was once. There was a sunspot. I’m a good driver!”