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years.”
    “Unless he’s very well preserved, Cal Burke hasn’t hit forty yet.”
    “Really?” Linda swept her long black hair into a scrunchy band. “I just assumed he was older. Most law enforcement types who become PIs are retired. I’ll have to get the scoop from my contact about why he left. What’s he look like?”
    “Tall. Dark-haired. Brown eyes. Solid.”
    Linda wrinkled her nose. “Solid as in one too many doughnuts?”
    “No. As in stalwart. Honorable. Someone you could count on.”
    Linda turned her head without breaking stride. “I see he made quite an impression. Is he good-looking?”
    “Yeah.” Very.
    “Woohoo.” Her friend beamed at her. “This whole experience may have some side benefits you never dreamed of.”
    “Forget it. He’s married.” She picked up her pace.
    “How do you know?”
    “He has a very distinctive wedding ring.”
    “Too bad.” Linda’s face fell. “But one of these days you’ll meet a handsome, stalwart man who isn’t. And you need to be open to that. You can’t discount all men because of one bad experience. It’s time to write off Jack and move on.”
    “Trust me. I’ve written him off.”
    “Sorry. Not buying. You guys broke up a year ago. If you’d moved on, you’d be dating again.”
    “I’ve had more important things to do.”
    “Like what?”
    “Work, for one.”
    “You can’t work twenty-four hours a day.” Linda cocked her head. “Or maybe you can. Maybe that’s what it takes to be nominated for a Pulitzer prize. Which eliminates me from the running. I’m not that dedicated.”
    “Not true. You work hard.”
    “But Scott comes first.”
    Moira couldn’t argue with that. Since Linda and Scott had married two years ago, her friend’s priorities had shifted. Her own might have too, if things had worked out with Jack. But hard as the breakup had been, what if she hadn’t discovered his true character until after she’d married him?
    Now that was a scary thought.
    Moira suppressed a shudder.
    Her phone began to trill, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check caller ID, grateful for the distraction. “I need to take this. It’s the garage with the estimate for my car.”
    “No problem. I’ll make a few circuits of the playground. That’ll keep the blood moving.” Linda gestured to a loop path that branched away from the main road and set off.
    Pressing the talk button, Moira greeted the technician, who got down to business at once.
    “We’ll, she’s fixable. That’s the good news. The bad news is it won’t be cheap.”
    The man rattled off a list of things that needed to be replaced, including the back fender, bumper, trunk lid, and taillights on one side. Her head was spinning by the time he finished.
    And when he gave her the total, the bottom fell out of her stomach.
    Why, oh why, had she opted for a high deductible and lower premiums when she’d renewed her car insurance three months ago? Yes, she’d been accident-free. Yes, the odds had been in her favor that her record would continue. But what was that old saying about being penny wise, pound foolish?
    “That about wraps it up, ma’am. You want us to go ahead and get started?”
    What choice did she have?
    “Yes, fix everything.” Visions of a menu featuring macaroni and cheese for the foreseeable future danced in her head.
    “I’ll have her ready for you by the end of next week.”
    “Perfect.” She started to say good-bye, then frowned. “Wait a second . . . what about the broken window?”
    She heard the sound of rustling paper. “I don’t see any notation about that. I checked your car out myself before I turned her over to one of the boys, and I didn’t see any broken windows.”
    “But the man at the accident scene said there was glass on the seat.”
    “I’ll take another gander, but I don’t think we missed anything. The only broken glass we saw was the taillight. Did you have a ceramic mug or a hand mirror in the