Dreamland(23)

She went to the bathroom and made a quick ponytail, using a rubber band she found in one of the drawers, then searched under the kitchen sink and in the pantry for the cleanser. She sprayed the surface of the stovetop and began to scrub, noting the burns and scratches, but some of the spills seemed welded to the surface. With a strange sense of satisfaction, she wrapped the tip of a butter knife in the dishrag and, bearing down hard, watched the crusty remains slowly curl away.

After the stovetop, she’d nearly sweated through her shirt from exertion. She sprayed cleaner into the oven, knowing it needed to soak for a while, then went upstairs to the bathroom and removed her shirt. She washed it with a bit of shampoo, then hung it to dry over the shower curtain. It was pointless to put a single piece of clothing in the washer. After that, she started to get ready. She slipped into a clean shirt, pinned up her hair, and slid on the wig, becoming a short-haired brunette again, before wrapping her chest in the Ace bandage. She added dark foundation, changing her complexion, and applied dark lipstick. After donning her sunglasses and baseball hat, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Perfect.

She left the house and marched down the gravel road that led toward town, feeling the crunch beneath her feet. She stopped twice to peek over her shoulder at the house, trying to gauge when it could no longer be seen from the road. Since moving in, she’d automatically turned toward the windows whenever she heard a vehicle approaching, watching to see if it slowed, and she wanted to know how far away a vehicle could pull over and park without being seen.

It took almost an hour to walk the three miles to the store; it would take longer on the way back because she’d be carrying bags, one of which would include a gallon of milk. She knew it was good exercise, just as she knew she was already too thin and that too much exercise was the opposite of what she needed. As she’d glanced in the bathroom mirror while hanging her shirt, she was able to count almost every rib.

The store was family-owned, not part of a chain. It was called Red’s and looked as though it had been in business since Kennedy was president. Across the street, there was a gas station that appeared equally dated, next to a small hardware store. After that, there was a bunch of nothing for at least another mile, until the motel and the diner. It might be less expensive to shop if she ventured farther into town to the bigger stores, but that meant a much longer walk.

Unlike in major grocery stores, the selection was limited, but that didn’t matter, because her list was limited. Into the cart she piled apples and milk and bread and another box of cereal. She found more hamburger and chicken, but this time nothing was marked down. Despite her worries about money, she splurged on carrots and cauliflower, knowing that Tommie needed vegetables. She could steam the cauliflower, add milk and butter, and serve it like mashed potatoes or simply roast it. With every item added to the cart, she mentally subtracted the cash she knew she had. She didn’t want to have to ask the cashier to take something away that had already been rung up. She didn’t want any unnecessary attention.

There was one woman in line at the checkout, and Beverly could already tell that the cashier was the chatty sort. Next to the checkout stands was a rack of magazines; Beverly picked one up. When it was her turn, the cashier pulled the cart forward and began unloading items, already beginning to talk. Beverly stood in profile—exposing more of her back than her front to the cashier—her gaze buried in the magazine to keep the woman from speaking with her. From the corner of her eye, she watched the cashier ringing up items. The woman’s name tag read peg. Beverly set the magazine aside as the last item was loaded and reached for the bills she’d stashed in her pocket, suddenly remembering there was something she needed to know.

“Is there a bulletin board with job listings anywhere? Like cleaning or babysitting?”

“There’s a board near the exit, but I don’t have any idea what’s up there,” Peg said with a shrug. She loaded the items into plastic bags. “Did you find everything?”

“Yes,” Beverly said. She reached for the first of the bags, looping one of the plastic handles around her arm.

Peg glanced up, then seemed to peer even closer.

“Excuse me, but don’t I know you? You look sort of familiar.”

“I don’t think so,” Beverly mumbled. She reached for the other bags and began walking toward the exit, feeling Peg’s eyes on her, wondering if Peg was in the store the last time she’d shopped, feeling a growing sense of dread. Why else would Peg think she seemed familiar? What else could it be?

Unless…

For a moment, she felt almost as though she was about to drop the bags; questions began to tumble and spin through her mind like clothes in the dryer.

What if Peg’s husband worked for law enforcement?

What if Peg’s husband had seen a bulletin about her and brought it home?

What if Peg’s husband had asked Peg to stay on the lookout?

What if…?

She stopped and closed her eyes, trying to remain steady on her feet, trying to slow her mind.

“No,” she said aloud, opening her eyes. That couldn’t have happened. There was no doubt Gary had already instituted a nationwide manhunt—Kidnapper on the loose!—but would Peg’s husband have brought home the report? To have his wife study it, so she could watch for random wanted strangers, in case they wandered into the store? In a town like this? She wasn’t even sure if Peg’s husband was in law enforcement; in fact, she wasn’t even certain that Peg was married at all.