"Have you ever stolen anything?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever taken money for sex?"
"Yes."
"Have you broken any of the rules here in prison?"
"Yes."
"Are you a good mother?"
She hesitated, then answered weakly, "Yes."
There was a break in the rhythm, silence in the room. Outside, Gus felt a little sorry for Shirley. That hadn't taken long. Pappy had his control question. She had lied. Pappy knew what it looked like when she did. Now he could fish for the really big lie.
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
"No"
"Is today Saturday?"
"Yes."
"Are you twenty-one years old?"
"No."
"Have you ever met Beth Wheatley?"
"No"
Are you sitting down now?"
"Yes."
"Are you a woman?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where Beth Wheatley is?"
"I might."
Pappy grumbled. "You have to answer yes or no." "Sorry."
"Are you blind?"
"No."
Are you in prison?"
"Yes."
"Do you know where Beth Wheatley is?"
"No"
There was another pause, but Gus could only guess at what it meant.
Pappy continued, "Do you smoke cigarettes?"
"Yes."
Is your mother alive?"
"I--I don't know."
She'd thrown him a curve in response to what was intended as a neutral question. Pappy moved on. "Can you speak Japanese?"
"No"
"Do you know how to swim?"
"Yes."
"Do you own a car?"
"No"
"Did you have anything to do with Beth Wheatley's disappearance?"
"No"
Outside, Gus felt his weight nearly falling against the door. He was weak at the knees. It was over. He had his answers.
But was it the truth?
Chapter Forty-Two.
Andie had hoped to hear that a deal with Shirley Borge was a slam dunk. Instead, Isaac had turned the heat right back on her. If Andie could continue to cultivate her own leads, they wouldn't have to cut a deal with an inmate. The thrift shop seemed like the logical place to keep mining. Another day or so undercover wouldn't kill her, though she wasn't a hundred percent sure she could say the same about Beth Wheatley.
Mrs. Rankin, of course, had found enough projects to keep Andie working undercover till they carried her out on a gurney. She'd actually made a handwritten list with little boxes on the side for Andie to check off each project before moving to the next. By mid-afternoon Andie had swept out the storeroom, laundered a box of baby clothes, and ironed a full rack of dresses.
She had saved the most undesirable job for last, stitching lost sequins back onto a used wedding dress. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the woman who had worn it, what made her get rid of it. Money problems possibly. Divorce probably. Or perhaps she had never really liked it in the first place. Andie had shopped weeks for her own dress, mainly to please her mother. The one Andie had wanted was too sexy for Mom's taste. Her mother's first pick was way too traditional. They settled on a thousand dollars worth of satin and lace that was now rolled in a ball and stuffed in the closet where Andie had thrown it after she'd raced home from the church and ripped herself out of it.
The bell on the door tinkled. A customer entered, bringing a rush of cold air through the door with her. Andie looked up. It had been a fairly slow day, but she had made a point of discreetly checking out everyone who visited the store.
It was a woman, Andie noted, at first blush much like the others who had come and gone today. Her clothes were clean but old. She was dressed in layers, like someone who spent a good deal of her time outdoors or in a poorly insulated home. Her face showed no smile, no discernible expression at all.
She went straight for the sweaters Andie had folded that morning. She walked with polish--or like someone who used to have polish. Her appearance was anything but. The hair was short and lacked style. She wore no makeup, no polish on her fingernails. Her face was tanned and windburned, like a migrant worker. The ears were pierced, but she wore no earrings, no jewelry of any kind. Everything about her was functional with no excess. Yet she seemed different from the others, oddly out of place.
Andie rose from her chair and started toward her. She'd offer some help, maybe strike up a conversation. Of all the customers who had come by today, this one was the most intriguing.
"Get out!" shouted Mrs. Rankin.
. Andie froze. The bossy old woman was standing a few steps behind her. The customer looked up, nervous. Mrs. Rankin hurried past Andie. "I said, get out of here."
The woman seemed flustered. "I was just--"
"I told you not to come around here no more. Now, get out."
Her hands shook as she placed the sweater neatly back on the stack. She glanced at Mrs. Rankin, then at Andie. She was embarrassed, not at all confrontational. Quietly, she walked to the door, opened it, and left without a word.
Andie watched through the window as she crossed the street, then turned and faced Mrs. Rankin. The old woman just glared, as if to say, Don't ask.