Andie was one of only three remaining passengers. The others had gotten off earlier in Ellensburg.
Andie put her coat on, slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, and stepped down to the sidewalk. It was colder than Seattle, just a half hour of daylight remaining. Her breath crystallized in the crisp, dry air. A chilly gust of wind stung her cheeks. She wished she had invested in a pair of gloves, but that could be remedied at the used-clothing store. She had studied a map during the ride and knew which local bus she needed. The number five bus was stopped at the traffic light just a half block away. With a ten-second burst she reached the bus stop at the corner just in time to board. In five minutes she reached I Street and North First Street.
The bus rumbled as it pulled away, leaving her on the corner by the AM/PM mini-mart. From her research Andie knew of the shootings there, at least one fatality. Farther north toward the town of Selah was an old hotel that had been converted to a mission. Good intentions, but a definite up-tick in derelict foot traffic. Andie saw two of the homeless huddling in cardboard boxes in the empty parking lot across the street. She checked her watch. Quarter till five. They were bedding down for the cold night, no doubt. Andie would have to do the same soon. Just up the street were clusters of rundown motels and low-rent apartments, popular with hookers and boozers. To keep in role, she'd take a room there. But she was in no hurry to check in. The Second Chance clothing store was a couple of doors down. She was eager to pay a visit.
It was a typical storefront with a plate-glass window. The dresses on display were on hangers, not mannequins. Andie peered inside from the sidewalk. The store was long on inventory, short on decor. The overhead lighting was stark fluorescent. The old tile floors were cracked and stained. You could see where the previous tenants had kept counters and other fixtures that had long since been removed. On the shelves along the far wall were folded pants, Tshirts, and sweaters. Most of the clothes were hanging on the five metal racks that ran the length of the store. Dresses and skirts on one, button shirts on another. Kids' clothing, winter coats, and miscellaneous items filled the rest. A few wedding dresses were on display in the very back.
As Andie entered, the bell on the door announced her arrival. An old woman came out from behind a curtain in back. She was quite the sight. Wrinkled white skin, like an albino rhinoceros. Jet black hair, as if she'd dyed it with shoe polish. She said nothing, just watched. Andie simply acted like a customer.
It was a strange feeling. There she was, browsing through used clothes, needing nothing, pretending to be someone she wasn't, not really sure how any of this might help her find a woman she had never met, a woman named Beth Wheatley.
The logical thing was to strike up a conversation and see where it went. She found a pair of gloves, which she needed.
"How much are these?"
The woman wasn't far away. She'd been hovering like a security guard, not about to be shoplifted. "Whatever the tag says. You buy a few more things, I'll knock a little off."
Andie tried them on. "These are nice."
"I guess," she said.
"I'll take them." She handed them over, smiling.
The old woman started toward the cash register. Andie followed and stopped before the counter. It was a glass display filled with costume jewelry, none of it very valuable. Andie shot a longing look at a string of faux pearls. "I've always wanted a necklace like that."
"All it takes is money."
"How much is it?"
She punched the register, ringing up the gloves. "More than you can afford."
"How much?"
"I can let you have it for forty dollars."
"Oh." It wasn't worth half that, but Andie played dumb. "I'm sure that's a fair price. But I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money."
"Tough break."
"Yeah. I'm kind of out of work right now."
She gave Andie the once-over, judging her appearance. "What a surprise." The register clanged as the cash drawer opened. "That'll be three bucks for the gloves."
Andie dug in her pockets for two singles and some loose change, acting as though it were her last three dollars. She counted out the dimes on the countertop, then handed it over. "Maybe I could work here."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Don't think so." "Looks like you could use some help around here unloading boxes, cleaning up, whatever."
The old lady just glared. "I don't hire strangers." "I work cheap."
"You all do," she said wryly. "When you work, that is."
It was a racist jab, something Andie wasn't accustomed to. But she let it go. "I'd even work free for three days. You can stay right here and watch me, get to know me. If you like me, you keep me and give me the necklace for three days' salary. If you don't like me, you let me go. You pay me nothing."