Players

Paige sat at her desk and moved the shutters on her windows. She loved the sunlight that streamed through the windows first thing in the morning. Paige’s office looked down into the driveway of her neighbor. She noticed that he was in his black Porsche 911 convertible with the top down. How odd that he would have the top down so early, she thought. She looked at the clock, 5:45 am. She needed coffee. She rose from the desk and went downstairs to make some. The aroma of the coffee was waking her up. She made some toast and smothered her favorite Sour Cherry jam on it. So much for my diet, she thought. The coffee was finally ready. She took her breakfast into the family room and turned on morning TV. She hated morning television. All of these people were too perky, too early in the morning. After watching for the day’s weather and traffic, she turned off the TV and went upstairs to shower. She didn’t have a meeting until nine, but the traffic on the 5 freeway was always backed up.

Paige washed her face and took her ponytail out to jump in the shower. She had plenty of time before she had to be at the office, so she took her time getting dressed. She blow dried her shoulder-length brown hair and put on a little mascara. Today’s meeting was informal, so she threw on a pair of black dress pants and light blue-button down shirt. She grabbed a black leather jacket, slipped on some black flats, and went downstairs. Paige walked downstairs, got her handbag and briefcase, and walked out the garage door. She got into her white Mercedes, a birthday gift from her husband, and pulled out of the driveway. She noticed that her neighbor’s car was still in the driveway, still running. How odd; he must have come back for something, she thought as she started down the cul-de-sac.

John Rader jogged up the gentle slope of the street. He loved jogging in this neighborhood. The large homes with stately oak trees reminded him of his childhood home on the central coast of California. He’d moved to this neighborhood because of the rural space and the trees. After graduating from college, his childhood home didn’t have a job market for college graduates, so he headed down to L.A. and Santa Clarita reminded him of home, so he stayed here. Most of the homes in the neighborhood were over five thousand square feet. Large homes for Santa Clarita, the only other place to get homes like this was to move to the other side of town, over by the 5 freeway. Sand Canyon was a neighborhood of country homes. The area used to be ranches and equestrian homes. Now, after the tract builders had come in, it was nice modern homes on half acre lots. Still, the lots were generous for Los Angeles and affordable. The area still had charm, horse trails and no streetlights. John got so irritated at the city folks who moved here and wanted to put in streetlights and paint that “ugly” train trestle that marked the entrance of the canyon. So silly; if they wanted to live in the city, they should have stayed in the city. He turned the corner at Chuckwagon Way, a small cul-de-sac and started up the hill. There were only three houses on this street with large lots, over an acre each. He jogged by the home on the right, a lovely yellow Victorian. He’d always loved that home, until last year when the lady of the house got too tipsy and fell off of the back balcony onto the pavement. The husband sold the house cheap and brought down the already declining prices in the neighborhood. He jogged by the middle house, a lovely Mediterranean home. The owners had unsightly floodlights everywhere and a six foot block wall surrounding the property. He had to laugh. With all of that security, they still had a car stolen right out of their garage in t