The Bridge Murders

He leaned against the tailgate of his truck a copy of Audubon’s book, Birds of North America, in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other.  He decided to bring the book at the last minute just in case someone driving along River Road saw him parked there and wondered what he was doing.  Bird watching was practically a religion in Bridgeville.  No one would suspect that his real reason for being there was to catch a glimpse of Connie when she finished her bridge game and headed for home.  He never would’ve known where to find her if he hadn’t overheard her mention it to the cashier at Kroger’s grocery store yesterday.  He always did his shopping at 8:30 in the morning on Monday because often Connie was there at that time.  He loved chatting with her as they poked and prodded the produce looking for the freshest ingredients for their upcoming meals.  He was lucky his job was so flexible.  Otherwise, he’d have to look for other ways to be near her.

Suddenly he heard Molly Donner’s screen door slam and saw the ladies head for their cars.  He looked through the binoculars searching for Connie’s frosted hair.  There she was climbing into that sporty little black car of hers and turning left toward town.  Probably headed for home to cook supper for that husband of hers.  As he watched her car turn the bend and disappear from sight, he wished she were hurrying home to cook for him.

Sighing, he got into his truck and pulled out onto River Road.  Better get back to work before somebody missed him and started asking questions about where he’d been.  As he drove along, he made up his mind to take bridge lessons the next time they offered them at the Adult Education evening classes.  Any excuse to be near Connie.  He thought about her day and night dreaming of the time when they would be together, longing for the time when their lives would be one.