Rachel Lee - Defending the Eyewitness

The man didn’t wave back, though. He just looked a moment longer, then sauntered on down the street.

“Well,” she said to the empty store, “I bet he doesn’t sign up for a class.” Then she laughed and got to work.

Sundays were always a slow time, when a few women dropped in to pick up something, or to chat for a couple of minutes. It was a good time for catching up on things that she’d let slide during the week, from neatening her stock, to putting out fresh items, to sweeping floors and cleaning the bathroom. Her back office really needed some work, but she didn’t feel like tackling it yet. She had a theory: once she put something away, she’d never remember where it was. Her stacks were her filing cabinet until she was certain she was done with an item. So far, the only way she’d managed to lose a thing was by putting it away.

Sometimes she thought she needed a highly organized assistant, but the idea of giving over control of so many important things made her hesitate. Then she wouldn’t be able to find anything at all, and what if something went wrong?

She was still shaking her head at her own hang-ups when she heard the bell again. Leaving her office, she went out front and was surprised to see Austin.

“Hi,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to see your shop. It’s bigger than I envisioned.”

“Well, being in an old house has some advantages,” she said. “We’ve got rooms in the back and upstairs for the sewing classes, and plenty of space up here for stock.”

He nodded, hovering just inside the door as if he wasn’t certain she wanted him there. Well, she wasn’t, but this was a shop, for crying out loud, and he wasn’t the first man to walk in here. “Look around if you like,” she said when he didn’t move. “I was just getting ready to close up.”

“I don’t want to keep you. I was curious. Now when you talk about it, I’ll have a mental image.”

She paused as she turned her key in the register, locking it. “Do you need mental images?”

“Don’t you?”

“I never really thought about it.”

“It’s not only images. I keep a mental map. I like to know where everything is and what it’s like, insofar as I can.”

That made sense to her, given the job Gage had mentioned. “I guess I haven’t thought about it because I’ve always been here. Seriously, feel free to look around. I need to take the trash out.”

“I can do that for you. Where do I go?”

She pointed to the big wastebasket at the end of her counter. “Down the hall. Just outside the back door is a big bin. Be sure to use the doorstop or you’ll be locked out automatically.”

“Got it.” He hefted the large can easily, with one hand and disappeared down the hallway. She returned her attention to tidying the last bits on the counter, but as she finished she found herself looking at the front window again. The day was still bright, the hour early, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about. For some reason she remembered that man who had been looking in earlier, and tried to place him. She was sure she knew him. Well, sort of. She didn’t claim to know everyone in the county or even the town, and she spent most of her time here in the store and with the women.

She sighed and shook herself. What did it matter who he was? Just a guy from around here who had probably noticed some item in the window.

Curiosity pushed her and she went to look at exactly what she had displayed there. It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten, but she wondered what might have captured his interest.

Then she saw the beaded and embroidered purse Mary Jo Suskind had made. Golden threads, tiny silver beads, it was a work of art.

That was probably it. The guy might have seen it and been wondering if his wife would like it. She was sure he hadn’t been attracted to the baby booties, kids’ sweaters or even the brightly colored block quilt. No, it had to have been the purse. She hoped he came back and bought it. Mary Jo would be thrilled.

“All done,” Austin announced from behind her. “I locked the dead bolt. Is that enough?”

“Around here it is,” she said, turning toward him with a smile. He replaced the empty can, then came toward her.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m finished.” She flipped the light switches by the door, casting the shop into shadows except for one security light. Stepping outside with him, she locked the front door.

“Walk you home?” he asked.

Something inside her froze. Too friendly too fast. She tried to push past the feeling but it was too late.

“I know,” he said. “I’m just the roomer you didn’t want.” His face shut as if a gate slammed down and he walked away, heading in the opposite direction of her house.

Damn it, she thought, suddenly furious at herself. Just how long was she going to let the past shadow her present? When was she going to become whole again?

Never, she thought grimly. Never. She ought to know that by now. Her mother had been murdered eighteen years ago, she couldn’t even remember what she had seen, but to this day she was always on edge around men she didn’t know well. And since she avoided men as much as possible, that wasn’t a terribly large group.

She began to walk home, wondering how she should handle the matter with Austin. He’d made a casual friendly offer. She wondered what her face must have looked like to cause him to shutter that way and head in the other direction.

It did not at all make her feel good to think she had offended him. She might be paranoid about men, and with good reason, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone needlessly. Not even a strange man.

Who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer. He’d been forthcoming with her this morning. But that couldn’t change her instinctive reaction.

Damn, she thought privately as she walked. She passed people she recognized, a few of the women who frequented her store, giving smiles and nods but not pausing. She had to get home. She wondered if she would arrive to find that Austin was moving out.

She decided she was catastrophizing what was surely a minor incident. If he left because of an expression on her face, then she was better off without any roomer at all. Its not as if she needed the money. She just didn’t like living alone in a big, empty house.

Probably another thing she could trace back to her mother’s murder. She sighed, feeling a whole bunch of self-disgust. She was grown-up now, and surely she should have conquered at least some of her childhood fears. It didn’t matter that they were grounded in real events. What mattered was that they still ruled her.

She picked up her pace, trying to infuse herself with determination, although for what she didn’t know.

She let herself into her house after waving to old Mrs. Bushnell across the street. The woman couldn’t get around much anymore, but she did enjoy rocking on her porch on a sunny, pleasant afternoon.

Corey needed to get over there again soon, she decided. Mrs. Bushnell’s children dropped by often to look in on her, but the woman had been one of her grandmother’s dear friends, and from time to time Corey liked to drop by with some baked goods and a little conversation. It had been a few weeks now. Too long.

Inside, she almost froze as she closed the door. The house was silent, but she could smell someone else. A man. Austin, she realized, putting the scents together. Leather, man and a faint scent of bar soap.

Her heart had accelerated at her initial awareness, but she drew a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. This was stupid, she told herself. Absolutely stupid. After eighteen years?

In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee, and after looking around, she realized there was no house key on the counter or table. Apparently Austin hadn’t decided to move out. Yet. Considering her reluctance to have him here, her own relief surprised her. She didn’t want him but she did want him?