Rexanne Becnel - Leaving L.a.

“Will you please shut up?” I muttered to him. To the old woman—Harriet was her name—I waved. “Hello there.”

“Why, hello.” She smiled and gestured me over.

I went. Tripod remained behind, howling like I’d abandoned him on the side of the road. As if.

“You’re Harriet, aren’t you?” I began. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me but—”

“Zoe.” Her eyes lit with recognition, and the loveliest smile brightened her sweet, old face. “Zoe Vidrine. I’d recognize that flame-red hair anywhere.” She reached out a hand to me and squeezed tightly. “Even prettier than I remembered. But I could swear someone told me you were…” She trailed off, too polite to finish the thought.

“Dead?” I grimaced. “That seems to be the story Alice spread around. But it’s not true.”

“But why did she think you were dead?”

Because she’s a lying thief, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. “We lost touch for a while. But now I’m back.”

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