Finding Sarah Read Free Page B

her hands on her hips and stared at the display. “You didn’t mention
you’d sold the vase and one of my frames,” Anjolie said. She looked at Sarah
with narrowed eyes. “I’ll take my check now, please.”
    “They were stolen. This morning.
The police were here. They think they know who took them, and I’m sure they’ll
get them back soon.” She lifted her chin and met Anjolie’s gaze. “Can’t you
leave your work with me for a few months longer? I know things will pick up.”
She heard her voice rise in pitch and hated herself for it.
    “Sorry. It’s settled. I agreed to
bring my work to Pandora’s.”
    Too drained to think, much less
argue, Sarah went to the storeroom for some tissue paper. Without speaking, the
two women wrapped and packed Anjolie’s silver.
    “I’ll give you a week,” Anjolie
said. “If the cops don’t find my stuff, I’ll expect a check.”
    Sarah watched Anjolie load the
carton into her van. When the phone rang, Sarah let the heavy back door swing
shut and hurried through the shop. At the sound of Mr. Ebersold’s condescending
voice, her stomach sank. Her bank appointment. She looked at her watch. She was
twenty minutes late. Her attempts to explain were cut short.
    “I’m sorry Sarah, but there’s no
reason to reschedule. I’ve reviewed your loan application and it wouldn’t be
prudent for us to grant the loan at this time.”
    “I understand.” The words barely
made it past her constricted throat. “Thank you for your time.” She waited
until she heard him disconnect before she slammed the phone down. She would not
be defeated. Not by some little old lady, not by a temperamental artist, not by
a cheapskate banker. This shop was her life and by God, she would see it survive.
    Sarah stormed into the storeroom
and dragged out the boxes of Easter merchandise. She was too upset to open the
shop and it seemed as good a time as any to begin her new displays.
    Even the fingernail she broke
when she ripped open a carton didn’t bother her. She dug through Styrofoam
packing material and pulled out hand-painted wooden tulips, their smooth
surfaces soothing her nerves. She fetched some vases from another display and
arranged wooden bouquets.
    After an hour lost in the
creative process, Sarah stepped back. The store reflected a vision of a
springtime garden, replete with wooden bunnies hiding among caches of
decorative eggs. She let that familiar glow of satisfaction wash over her as
she surveyed the results of her labor, remembering how she and David had
agonized over the carpet. It had to be neutral to set off the artwork, but
beige or gray was so boring. They had finally settled on an amber brown and now
it became freshly turned garden soil.
    Outside, ominous rumblings of
thunder sounded in the distance. Sarah clutched her arms around her waist, her
thoughts returning to the rainy night the Highway Patrol officer had come to
her door. In that instant, Sarah had known her life would never be the same.
Her David, her soul mate, dead at twenty-six. He had finished her thoughts,
known what she needed before she did.
    She touched her chest, feeling
David’s wedding band on the chain beneath her sweater. Even a year after he’d
died, she still felt incomplete without him.
    He couldn’t have killed himself.
It was an accident, no matter what anybody said. In good weather, the mountain
road was dangerous enough with its twists and turns and it had been stormy that
day.
    The pangs of guilt returned. If
she’d been with him, would he still be alive? They’d never had secrets. Or had
she missed something?
    Accident or suicide, could she
have had anything to do with his death? Had his mind been on their quarrel and
not the road? Her eyes and throat burned. She might as well go home. She
gathered the insurance papers, locked up and hurried toward the bus stop,
hoping the bus would arrive before the rain.

Chapter Two
     
     
    Sarah sloshed her way to her
four-plex apartment building,