The morning sun beat down, making Amelia’s eyelids feel heavy. Another day. She sighed, burrowing deeper under the covers, the cool cotton a small comfort against the encroaching heat. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, always seemed to be out, puttering in her pristine garden, but now she was wheeling a shopping cart full of groceries through her front door. Amelia had peeked through the blinds yesterday, and noticed that the shopping cart was brand new. The thought of getting up to go get some cereal was exhausting. She remained in bed.
She remembered the rumors about Mrs. Gable. Whispers of an inheritance, old money, investments. Amelia had always dismissed them as gossip, the usual small-town nonsense. But seeing Mrs. Gable’s cart, the glistening chrome, started her mind working. Perhaps she should make a cake. Perhaps she should "casually" drop by to offer it. Her stomach grumbled. The idea of baking was only slightly less appealing than the concept of starvation.
Then she heard the faint *thump* of her neighbor's front door closing. Just the sound of it, the expensive mechanism, seemed to indicate something out of the ordinary. She considered it for a moment, weighing the effort against the potential reward. The effort won. She sank further under her covers, lost in thought.