Gemotions

The champagne cork exploded against the stucco, a sharp crack that sliced through the pre-dawn quiet. Sarah giggled, the sound echoing in the empty street. She'd been right. *Absolutely right.* Mrs. Gable, with her chipped nail polish and thrift store sweaters, had a *fortune*. Sarah knew it. The whispers from the estate agent, the suspiciously long holiday she took every year, the way she *never* seemed to pay for groceries. Now, after accidentally spotting Mrs. Gable’s house being professionally photographed for a magazine spread, Sarah was vindicated. She took another generous gulp of the sparkling wine, the bubbles tickling her nose. “Well, well, well,” she murmured to herself, a slow smile spreading across her face.