Sandra glided into the main living room.  She would have run.  But the pumps she wore prohibited that.  And running in her stocking feet in her frazzled state was a surefire trip to the emergency room if she wasn’t careful.  She had enough presence of mind to realize she wasn’t firing on all cylinders.  Something about the sight of the gold had turned her head into one big clanging, calculating cash register.  When she blinked, images of Mediterranean villas popped up on the inside of her eyelids.  There and then gone in a flash, just that fast. 

Alarm bells only went off when she saw the line of clear drool escaping Steven’s lower lip.  Aside from that, he looked perfectly ordinary.  A boring, beer bellied, middle aged loser.  Just the sort of man...

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