Finding Sarah

Sarah Tucker's hands shook with anger as she fumbled the keys into the lock of That Special Something. Bad enough the bus driver stopped beside a puddle the size of Crater Lake, which she cleared despite the restrictions of her skirt and pumps, thank you very much. But when that headbanger in the heavy metal-blasting SUV had sped by, any satisfaction at her nimble footwork disappeared in a dousing of muddy water.

The cheerful jingle of the boutique's door chimes did nothing for her mood. Sarah rushed to her small office behind the glass sales counter and shrugged out of her coat to assess her wardrobe damage. She had an appointment with Mr. Ebersold at the bank to discuss her loan application. She couldn't go home and change, and the last thing she wanted was to look like she actually needed a loan. If you needed money, you couldn't get it, but if you had it, they'd give you whatever you asked for. She dampened some paper towels and daubed at her mud-spattered shoes and stockings.

Enough negative thoughts. Sarah hung up her keys and tossed her instant soup packet into the basket by her coffeepot. Another gourmet lunch. At a knock on the door, she checked her watch. It wasn't quite ten, but she'd open for a possible sale. Patting her windblown hair into place, she hurried to the front door.

Christopher Westmoreland stood there, looking impeccable as always. No headbanger would dare splash water on his perfectly creased black trousers. His strawberry-blond hair wouldn't dare blow in the wind.

"Chris. What brings you to town?" She stepped back into the store and toward the register. "I'm getting ready to open, but if you need anything, I'll be glad to get it for you." As if he'd actually buy something.

"Not today. I've got some appointments over in Salem. Thought I'd say hello before I head out." He strolled to the counter and leaned over its glass top, close enough for Sarah to smell his sandalwood aftershave and the cinnamon gum he chewed. "You haven't returned any of my calls. I know things have been tough since David … died. I want to help. Why won't you let me? For old times' sake?"

Memories of David crashed over her. It had been more than a year, but the pain lay right beneath the surface, waiting for her to drop her guard. She shoved her emotions back into that metal strongbox in her brain, slammed the lid and turned the key. She was no longer Sarah, David's wife. Or Sarah the daughter, or Sarah the high school sweetheart. She was Just Plain Sarah.

Sarah met his pale green eyes, the ones she'd found so irresistible in high school. "We've been through this before. I need to do it on my own. I can manage without your money." Even though he'd promised "no strings", Sarah knew if she took a dime from him, she'd be attached with monofilament line. The kind that cut when you tried to break it.

"Are you sure? You look like you haven't slept in a month. And your hair. Why did you cut it?"

"Well, thanks for making my morning." Sarah fluffed her cropped do-it-yourself haircut. "It's easier this way."

"How about dinner tonight? Come on, Sarah. We're friends, right?" His eyebrows lifted in expectation.

Dinner with Chris or five-for-a-dollar ramen noodles at home? Accepting dinner wouldn't be selling out, would it? "Maybe. Call me later, okay?"

"Great. See you." He turned to leave, a broad smile on his face.

"I said, 'maybe', remember?" Sarah walked him to the door and flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open". She rearranged the crystal in the front window to catch the light and dusted the brightly colored pottery, shifting a pot, turning a vase so its pattern was visible from the street. Once she was satisfied with the effect, she meandered through the shop, adjusting animal carvings and moving a display of stationery to a roll-top desk.

An hour later, Sarah refused to let the lack of customers bother her. Easter was approaching, then Mother's Day, and throngs of people would descend upon That Special Something to find the perfect gift. Throng? Right now, she'd settle for a trickle.

The door chimed. Sarah assessed the well-dressed woman who entered the shop. Probably in her sixties, with a large designer purse draped over one shoulder. A hat with ribbon trim and black leather gloves made her a bit old-fashioned and out of place for the tiny Oregon town, but a customer was a customer. Sarah gave the woman her biggest smile and stepped out from behind the counter. "Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to That Special Something. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"My niece is getting married. I thought I might find something out of the ordinary here." Her voice was clipped, with a touch of sophisticated arrogance that said she was used to getting her way.

"Unique gifts are my specialty." Sarah motioned to a display of crystal. "Perhaps she'd like these hand-painted wine goblets? Or some of these Egyptian perfume bottles?"

"Thank you. I'll browse for a while, if you don't mind."

"Take your time. I'm Sarah. Feel free to ask any questions." Fighting the urge to follow her customer around, Sarah retreated and let the woman roam the shop.

The way Chris had referred to David's death churned through her thoughts. That horrible pause. The same one everyone used. But Sarah knew it had been an accident. David would never commit suicide. This afternoon, she'd get a loan from the bank and rehire the private investigator, or find a better one. The investigator would get the police to reopen the case and they'd find out it wasn't suicide. Then she'd get the insurance money, which would pay off the loan and the shop would be safe. It made perfect sense. And maybe it would eliminate some of the guilt.