Free Hot Wheels and High Heels by Jane Graves

to the bed, turned on her side, and cuddled him against her.
    She wished she could lapse into a coma so she wouldn’t have to face the day. But sooner or later she had to get out of this bed and do
something,
though she didn’t have a clue what. The urge to draw a warm bath and haul out the razor blades had passed, but in its place was a scary little ball of nerves that felt permanently stuck in her stomach.
    She had no money and no means of getting any. No man on the horizon willing to step into Warren’s shoes. What was she going to do?
    Finally she pushed the covers away and sat up, the blood vessels in her temples on the verge of exploding. She shuffled to the kitchen and fed Pepé some of the unrecognizable animal parts in a can that her father had found, left over from a few months ago when Duke the Wonder Dog had gone to the great duck hunt in the sky. Pepé wolfed down one plateful of it and looked up for more. Darcy sighed. Her dog was so nondiscriminating sometimes that she wondered if he really was hers or whether puppies had been switched at birth.
    Darcy pulled out a chair and plopped down at the table, feeling like Raggedy Ann in the midst of a major depressive episode. And that depression took an even bigger nosedive when her mother showed her the business section of the
Dallas Morning News.
    SYBERSENSE EXEC EMBEZZLES $300,000.
    “Now the whole world is going to know about it,” Lyla said, puffing away on her Virginia Slims as if the Surgeon General had never weighed in on the issue. “You married a criminal, Darcy. How could you have married a criminal?”
    Darcy wanted to beat her head against the table. “He wasn’t a criminal when I married him.”
    “Maybe he was. Maybe he just hid it really well all these years.”
    “Mom—”
    “Forget it. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that the detective said you’ll never see any of that money again, so it’s time to start thinking about what to do now.”
    “She might consider getting that job we talked about,” her father said.
    “Clayton, will you shut up about that? Now that Warren is gone for sure, she needs more than a paycheck. She needs another husband.”
    “She doesn’t need a man to take care of her.”
    “You’re right. She doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t mind eating out of a Dumpster.”
    Thanks, Mom. I need a horrible image like that to haunt me twenty-four hours a day.
    “First things first, Darcy. Put yourself together. You’ll feel better. No woman feels good when she looks like hell.”
    Darcy wasn’t sure she’d feel good if she
didn’t
look like hell, but it was worth a shot. Forty-five minutes later, she came back out to the kitchen, her hair dried and her makeup on, and wearing a print skirt, a knit top, and her Claudia Ciuti sandals. Her mother gave her a once-over.
    “That skirt’s really not your color.”
    “It’s a print skirt, Mom. Which color isn’t me?”
    “All of them. Are you hungry?”
    Darcy poured a cup of coffee. “No, thanks.”
    “No. You should eat something.” Lyla opened the pantry door. “Let’s see . . . I have some bagels—no, wait. They’re a little green.” She moved some stuff around. “Oh. Here are some Pop Tarts. And some instant oatmeal. And one of those muffin mixes with the dehydrated strawberries.” She searched through the shelves a while longer. “And some Froot Loops.”
    Dumpster-diving was looking better all the time. “Pop Tarts, I guess.” Flavored rubber between two pieces of cardboard. She couldn’t wait.
    Lyla shoved two Pop Tarts into the toaster, then went to the kitchen sink to put some dishes into the dishwasher.
    “Oh, my
God!
”
    Darcy just about spilled her coffee. “What?”
    “Will you look at that! A limousine!”
    Darcy rose and looked out the window over the sink. Sure enough, a sleek black limo sat at the curb.
    “What do you suppose it’s doing here?” Lyla said.
    “I don’t know, but somebody’s getting out.”
    “It’s a