Then, without so much as a transition, Celia changed the subject. “So, how much do I get to spend?”
“Three new outfits. We’ll decide on cost as we go.” Angela knew Celia. She wanted to go into Tucson to shop in a big mall. Angela wanted to do some investigating in both Scorpion Ridge and Adobe Hills. She had to be careful. The problem with searching for someone who was living under witness protection was she just couldn’t go into a shop, show a picture and say, “Have you seen this woman?”
If someone else was looking for Marena, they might get tipped off. If no one was looking for Marena, they might suddenly find reason to.
During the twenty-minute drive to Scorpion Ridge, Angela and Celia bargained. Celia agreed to give the clothing store in Scorpion Ridge a fair shot if Angela agreed to go to Tucson and do some mall shopping, too.
Especially since Celia was fairly certain that any small-town clothing store would not have what she wanted.
“Fair shot,” Angela reminded her niece.
At thirteen, Angela had gone shopping pretty much whenever and wherever she’d wanted. The mall had certainly been a favorite place, but more often she and her sister had shopped at luxury boutiques, never thinking about the cost.
Marena had been the clothes expert. Usually, Angela just got what Marena did but in a different color.
“This is cute,” Celia admitted after Angela parked the car. Betsy’s Bests, or BBs, was in a historic building that had always been a store. It had display windows on each side of the front door. One half was devoted to women—both Angela’s age and older. The other was devoted to kids.
Pushing open the door, Angela stepped inside and was immediately greeted by the owner. “Come in. I’m Betsy Madison. This is my store. How may I help you?”
“I start school Monday,” Celia said. “Mom says I can have a few new outfits.”
Funny how the number three had changed to “a few.”
Betsy was no dummy. Before Angela could add a word, the woman had her arm around Celia’s shoulder, was calling her by her first name and was leading her to the back of the room. Angela followed. Betsy’s Bests might be historic on the outside but it was glass-and-white and full-service on the inside. A white pillar was in the middle of the teen section. Mannequins sat on benches around the pillar, wearing jeans, shorts, crop tops and T-shirts.
“Most girls your age go for shorts,” Betsy said. “How long have you been here in Scorpion Ridge? I don’t think I’ve seen you before, and I know most everyone.”
“A little over a week,” Celia said.
Angela gave the barest nod of her head. She’d taught Celia to be careful, not to share much, and to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“What grade are you going into?”
“Eighth.”
An hour later Celia had five pairs of shorts, three new shirts and a backpack that looked more like a purse.
The only thing she couldn’t find at BBs was a pair of shoes she liked. “I’ve my mother’s feet,” Celia explained to Betsy. “Really narrow and sometimes we really have to shop before we find a pair I’ll wear.”
Betsy didn’t as much as blink. Instead she looked at Angela and said, “Are you thinking of a new outfit, too?”
Angela wasn’t, but rapport had built up between Celia and Betsy, and Angela wanted to sustain it.
“I could use a few new things. I’ll be looking for work soon.”
“We have business attire.” Betsy led Angela back to the ladies department and soon Angela was modeling a pair of black pants and a black-and-white shirt. She had three other shirts and a skirt on hangers, waiting for their turn.
“Do you have this in red?” Angela asked.
“I did but not in your size. I sold it a few months ago.”
“Too bad.”
Betsy followed her back to the dressing room, talking about what else she had in red. She waited while Angela changed into a different shirt.
“This one is too small,” Angela said, holding it over the top of the dressing room door. “Do you have it a size larger?”
“No, we’ve been out of size tens for a while now.”
Angela shook her head. “I’m not having any luck.”
Suddenly her luck changed.
“How odd,” Betsy said.
“What?”
“You have the exact same taste as the woman who bought the red and white. She bought this shirt, too. It’s why I don’t have a size ten. And, I believe the light green half jacket is one she tried on. Turns out, the color didn’t work for her.”
Angela held her breath for a moment, pursing her lips and trying not to hope. She always tried on green; it was so pretty. But it never looked good.
It made a crazy kind of sense. After all, she’d always followed Marena’s taste in clothes. She just hadn’t realized she did it even when Marena wasn’t there.
She’d had a lifetime of practice. They’d watched the same shows. Had crushes on the same boys. The day Marena went into labor with Celia, Angela’d had a stomachache.
Angela didn’t dare ask the woman’s name. That was too probing, not something you asked a salesclerk you didn’t know. Finally, Angela laughed and said, “If you tell me she had long, narrow feet, I’ll think it more than a coincidence.”
“I haven’t seen Abigail in quite a while,” Betsy continued. “I think she’s probably moved. She even had a purse a little like yours, maybe smaller.”
It was all Angela could do to hide her emotions. Abigail. She had to remember that Marena was Abigail. She wanted to whoop with joy and relief, but it was definitely too early for that. She also wanted to sit down, weep, pray. As for the purse being similar, Angela’s bag was designed for concealing a gun. Abigail probably had the same purse for the same reason.
“As for shoes? No, she didn’t buy them here.”
After Abigail had lost her leg, shoes had become a different kind of purchase.
“You know,” Angela said easily, “I’ve some cousins in the area. One of the reasons we moved here. I don’t even know all their names. What is Abigail’s last name?”
Maybe Angela had gone too far with the questions. Betsy’s eyebrow raised and she asked, “Who are you related to?”
Not a question that Angela had anticipated, but she did the best she could and named her landlord. “Bernice Holliday.”
Betsy smiled. “Bernice has a pack of family. She’s in Florida, right?”
Stay
