The Missing Twin. Pamela Tracy
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 as close to the truth as possible.
“Yes, Orlando.” That had been the address Angela had seen on the rental agreement.
“Abigail never said anything about having family nearby,” Betsy remarked. “Would you like me to ring you up now?”
She made it perfectly clear that no personal information would be given. Angela didn’t want to push it. She’d come shopping more often, build a rapport. Then she’d delve deeper.
“I imagine the women in town flock to your store,” Angela said. “I’m certainly impressed.”
Betsy laughed. “Believe it or not, most of my business is from tourists. They like that they might actually get to buy an outfit that their friends can’t find at a big box store.”
Angela held out her hand and introduced herself, irritated because she wanted to know more about Abigail, but didn’t want to push her luck.
“Why, you’re the woman who helped save Jake’s life. How incredibly brave.”
Angela deflected the attention from herself. “It was mostly our other neighbor Ted.”
“I’m not sure I’ve met him. But I don’t know everyone.”
“How well do you know Jake?” Angela asked.
“Quite well. My brother’s a ranger up at the Grand Canyon. They worked together a few months ago when Jake was up there. They have a lot in common. I don’t think either of them will ever settle down.”
That was something Angela hadn’t asked the sheriff about: Jake’s family.
“I’m surprised he’s not married. He’s—”
“Good-looking,” Betsy agreed.
“Does Jake have family nearby?” Angela queried, surprised that the thought of him being alone bothered her.
“I’m not sure.”
Celia cleared her throat. “Mom, we still need to go to Tucson for shoes.”
Angela headed for the counter, took her wallet from her purse and waited for Betsy to calculate the amount. Angela fingered the black-and-white outfit and even though she’d told herself to take it slow, she took a chance. “So, I might see this outfit in red if I’m in town long enough?”
“I really don’t think so,” Betsy said. “Abigail Tetterman is what I call a professional shopper. She knows as much about thread count and quality as I do. She came in at least once a week, but I haven’t seen her in about three months, so I’m pretty sure she moved on.”
The bell on the front door tinkled as another customer came in. Betsy pointed out a purse that would go perfectly with Angela’s new black-and-white outfit, then moved to greet her next customer.
It had only been just over a week and Angela had a name. Abigail Tetterman. No wonder the Feds were so strict about following protocol.
Looking down at the outfit draped over her arm, Angela could almost hear her sister’s voice. “You don’t have to worry about me. Worry about Celia.”
In Angela’s world, worry was a bit like love.
There was enough for everyone.
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