Deborah’s—or now, Sharon’s—official first day of independence had started out well, with a nice hot shower where she masturbated until she came loudly. That helped her relax immensely. But by the time she fixed her flat hair that really needed some sort of mousse or gel, and dressed in another boring plain T-shirt-and-capris ensemble, the headache lurking in back of her head came on full force. Her hunger pains changed to cramps. All these signs predicted her period. Unfortunately she’d didn’t have anything she needed, no pills for her discomfort or anything to stop the flow that would come in the next few hours, judging by the spotting she found in her underwear.
Upon opening her door, the bright sun blinded her, making her headache even worse. At least she had her sunglasses to block the light. She needed pills to numb the pain, tampons, caffeine, and some sort of sustenance before she started gnawing on her nails again.
Woodberry Creek in the daylight was very different from when she’d first arrived. The street in front of her bustled with cars and people. The stores were open and the smell of baked pastries tempted her. She spotted a drugstore named Meede’s on the corner to her right. Just what she needed. She patted her pockets where her wallet and hotel room key were and started walking that way.
The walk took less than ten minutes and, when she opened the door, a bell rang. What’s with this town and bells? Shaking her head, she glanced up at the signs above the aisles to find what she wanted. She grabbed a bottle of Midol then went in search of her favorite brand of tampons.
Seeing she was all alone, she opened the Midol bottle and quickly swallowed three of the blue pills without water. Yellow-black dots had appeared in front of her eyes, warning a migraine was imminent unless she took the pills. She’d also buy a hot-water bottle while she was there, just in case her cramps became too much.
There were too many brands of tampons to count—all except the ones she wanted. “How can they not have the brand I like?” she muttered irritably, and as she leaned down to pick up a box on sale, a breezy female voice spoke beside her.
“You know, you shouldn’t bend over like that. You might pull your back. I also recommend Meede’s tampons over the ones you’re picking.”
She stood up too fast, wincing at a pain shooting down her spine. She arched her back for a moment, holding the box she was going to buy. The bottle of pills dropped and blue tablets scattered on the floor.
“Great.” She started to kneel but then a hand landed on her arm. She sprang away from the touch.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to intrude on your personal space. Stay where you are. I’ll clean this up.”
The woman sat on her heels and picked up the pills. Deborah only saw the top of her head encircled in blinding red curls.
She almost started to walk away, but then the woman, who came a few inches past her chin, smiled ruefully and held out the bottle. She quickly scanned the petite, close-to-plump woman wearing a short denim skirt and a sleeveless white button-down shirt with matching white sandals displaying her magenta-colored toes.
“Um, thanks,” she said hesitantly, trying her best not to touch the woman as she took the bottle. The woman gave her a big smile, her lips too wide for her face. Deborah wouldn’t say she was attractive—perhaps passingly pretty at the most, with noticeable curves in all the right places.
“Don’t worry about the spill. Timmy won’t chase you away for making a mess.”
“Timmy?” she asked carefully.
“Timmy’s the owner. He took over the business since his father just retired. Meede’s has been here since the beginnings of the town in the late nineteenth century,” the chatterbox broadcasted with great enthusiasm.
“Are you an employee here?” All she wanted to do was buy her medicine and tampons and leave.
The annoyingly cheery woman laughed loudly and shook her head. “I haven’t worked here since high school. I’m a teacher at the elementary school.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Bridgette Woodberry.”
She didn’t take the hand offered to her and held the box to her chest. “Your last name is the same as the town’s.”
“Yes, it is. My family founded Woodberry Creek.”
“That’s nice. Anyway, I have to buy this.” She waved the box. When Bridgette took a step closer, Deborah backed away. “B-bye.” Ending the conversation, she hurried to the register.
What a freak! What type of person advises strange women on what type of tampons they should buy? Thankfully she didn’t have to stand in line, and as she paid, she expected the strange, bubbly woman to come up behind her and talk to her. She never did, and when Deborah took her purchases, she looked over her shoulder to see if she was followed.
Bridgette’s hands moved animatedly while she talked with a man behind the counter of the pharmacy. When the redhead shifted to the side and rested her hip on the counter, half facing the front of the store, Deborah bolted out the door, almost bumping a group of teenagers, and ran to her room.
Later she’d blame her reaction on her headache and cramping. And not because she’d been helped by a woman who had the sweetest smile and the kindest eyes she’d ever seen.
CHAPTER NINE
The interaction with the overly friendly redhead shook Deborah so much, she stayed in her room for the remainder of the day. She flipped through the phone book and ordered a pizza. It had been so long since she’d eaten pizza that when it finally came, she devoured more than half of it, vegging out on the bed and watching television, going as far as ordering a few movies until she fell asleep.
The next time she woke up, her cramps had lessened considerably and she wasn’t as anxious as the day before. She took another shower, trying her best to style her hair, wishing she bought styling gel when she’d gone to the drugstore. Maybe after she talked to a real estate agent, she’d go back to Meede’s.
But what if the redhead was there again?
Pushing her thoughts away from the strange woman with the soothing eyes and outgoing smile, she left her room to face the world.
It was another sunny day, and the street she walked down was busy with activity again. She tried to hide her discomfort and acted carefree, much like most of the people who greeted her. She was so used to people rushing by without a glance that the friendly residents in Woodberry Creek freaked her out.
When she found a café with a sign in the front window offering Internet access, she went in. She bought a large coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, purposely ignoring the yogurt and fruit plate on display, and sat in front of a computer where she bought a half hour of online time.
She brought up the Las Vegas Sun newspaper and went in the archives from the past week to see if she could locate any information about her death.
It took her most of the half hour to find anything. On the third page in the early-morning Sunday edition, there was a short article about a possible drowning in the river. A black Mercedes Coupe was found five miles down the river, and the unnamed woman driving the car hadn’t been found yet. The police believed the woman might have been unstable when she took off without her driver, who reported the woman and the car missing. Upon further investigation, a suicide note was left for the woman’s wife. The case was still open as authorities searched the river for a body. There was no mention of Genevieve anywhere in the article. But then again, Genevieve knew people in positions of power and could pay them off to keep her name out of the paper.