of clerks and receptionists in the stores along the town’s main street. “It’s not a perfect likeness.”
“I’ll be glad to look at it again.” The clerk had a matronly figure and a round, pleasant face, with big eyes that narrowed when she concentrated. After a few moments, she muttered, “Come to think of it, something about her does seem familiar.”
Kelly’s heart gave a hopeful leap. Finally, after hours of frustration, this could be the break she’d been waiting for. She held her breath as though even the simple act of exhaling might ruin the clerk’s concentration. Time seemed to lengthen, and the swirl of conversation dimmed, taking a back seat to the drama.
“I’ve got it!” the clerk said decisively. Her gaze lifted. “She looks like you.”
The air left Kelly’s lungs, the hope that her long shot was about to pay off fading along with it. This wasn’t the first time today Kelly had experienced the same swing of emotions. A half dozen other people had also pointed out the resemblance. Kelly was beginning to understand how the eyewitness had mistakenly picked her out of a photo lineup.
“It’s not me.” Kelly took back the sketch. “But thanks for looking at it.”
“Well, I hope you find her,” the clerk said kindly. “Do you mind me asking why you’re searching for her?”
“I have something of hers,” Kelly said. Before she could expand on her answer, the door banged open, admitting a noisy, laughing family of four.
“I want chocolate chip.” The smaller of the two children, a thin, dark-haired girl of about three years old, skipped up to the counter, flashing an adorable smile. Her mother immediately followed, placing hands on the girl’s shoulders to hold her back.
“You have to wait your turn, sweetie,” she said.
“Why?” the girl asked, eyes big and wide.
As the mother explained, the clerk laughed, then told Kelly, “We’ve been really busy this week with the Fourth of July weekend coming up. Can I get you something?”
Why not? Kelly thought, and ordered a bowl of fudge ripple ice cream. She found a table at the back of the store, shrugged off the backpack and sat down, digging into the ice cream with a plastic spoon while people laughed and talked all around her.
It didn’t dawn on her how hungry she was until she swallowed the first mouthful. The last thing she’d eaten was a package of cheese crackers from a vending machine. When had that been? This morning? Last night?
She truly didn’t remember. Driving her own car to Indigo Springs had seemed too risky, so the Tuesday morning after her Monday arraignment she’d set out for the bus station. Using cash she’d withdrawn from her modest savings account, she’d taken a series of buses. What would have been a five-hour trip had stretched to eighteen, with Kelly trying to catch snatches of sleep during the long night of transfers and layovers.
It occurred to her that by covering her tracks she was acting like a guilty woman. At the very least, she’d violated the terms of her bail, but she didn’t see how the authorities would know she was gone until she failed to show up for her preliminary hearing, whenever that was. Spencer Yates, if he suspected she’d left the state, should be bound by attorney-client privilege not to tell.
In any event, she couldn’t go back to Wenona until she found Amanda, and that might take a while. Nobody who’d seen the sketch had inspired even a glimmer of hope, with the exception of the construction worker with the great smile.
It turned out he hadn’t recognized Amanda, either, which wasn’t surprising. He’d been supervising the construction of a new wing of town hall, his attention divided between a crew putting up drywall and a desperate woman shoving a sketch at him.
She gazed down at her bowl, stunned that it was already empty. Weariness set in from her nearly sleepless night, weighing down her very bones. She needed to summon the energy to pick up the backpack she’d stuffed full of clothes and leave the ice-cream shop. She had only a few more businesses to canvas. Once she did, she’d have to tax her tired brain to come up with a new strategy.
She supposed she could make copies of the sketch and hand them out on the street, but she’d have to include contact information, something she was reluctant to do because she couldn’t shake the feeling the authorities would be looking for her.
The jingling of the bell on the door announcing the arrival of a new customer added to the general hubbub. Kelly looked up, expecting more tourists in search of an afternoon snack.
A tall man in a policeman’s uniform entered the shop. He ignored the ice-cream counter, his gaze sweeping the shop and zeroing in on Kelly. The breath in her chest froze, as cold as the ice cream she’d just eaten. She told herself to remain calm, and reminded herself she’d only left Wenona yesterday. The law couldn’t possibly have found her already. Even her attorney couldn’t be sure she was gone.
The cop played havoc with her rationale, striding directly for her. Her heart stampeded, and she felt like she might pass out.
The penalty for violating the conditions of bail was an immediate return to jail. She imagined herself behind bars, heard the sound of a cell door slamming shut, felt the weight of panic crushing her chest.
He stopped at her table and loomed over her, blotting out her view of everything but him. “I need to talk to you.”
Battling her growing dread, she tipped her chin, fervently reminding herself she was innocent. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The corners of the cop’s mouth dipped slightly. “I didn’t say you did.”
“Then why…” She stopped in midquestion, belatedly realizing his uniform of a short-sleeved khaki shirt and dark pants was decidedly different than those worn by the New York policemen who’d arrested her. “You’re not a cop, are you?”
“No,” he said.
She squinted, making out the words on his silver badge. Wildlife Conservation Officer it read. Another term for forest ranger.
Relief saturated her limbs, making them weak. Her brain started to function with more clarity. Even in the unlikely event the cops in New York knew she’d left the state, this was Pennsylvania. If this man had been a cop, he wouldn’t be on the lookout for her.
“Would it matter if I was a cop?” He had an aggressively masculine face with a square jaw, lean cheeks and an outdoorsman’s tan. Short, thick brown hair, lightened by the sun, sprang back from a widow’s peak above assessing brown eyes. She guessed he wasn’t yet thirty.
“No. No. Of course not.” She bit her lip to stop from issuing another denial. She tried to smile but felt her lips quiver. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
He gestured to the sketch on the tabletop. “That,” he said. “Can I sit down?”
“Yes, of course.” She felt like she was on a roller coaster, having survived one plunge only to be ascending another incline, praying this one wasn’t too tall to climb. She turned the sketch around so that it faced him. “Do you know her?”
He picked up the paper, his expression giving away nothing. She wondered who had told him about the sketch. Her guess was the construction worker, who’d probably known
