Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye by Sandra Byrd Read Free Book Online Page B

twinkled merrily as I stepped in.
    “Hullo, there. How can I help you, then?” a stylish young woman asked.
    “My name is Savannah Smith,” I said, holding out my hand in the most professional, grown-up manner I could. “I’m a reporter for the Wexburg Academy Times . I saw your ad in last week’s paper, and I was hoping to do a little write-up on your store for the May Day Ball.”
    “Ah, that.” She looked a bit sad. “Haven’t had much business for the ball, I’m sorry to say. I suspect most girls are keen to take the Tube into London and shop at Miss Selfridge, Topshop, and Harrods. Can’t say as I blame them. I know it’s not as glamorous to shop in town.”
    She draped a tape measure around her neck, a centimetered boa, and set a box of pumps on the glass counter. “I’m Becky, by the way, the store owner. Come on back and I’ll show you the room we use for the ministry.”
    I was right! This was a Christian charity. She used the word ministry.
    “Back here are the clothes we buy with a percentage of the profits; these go to single mums. Normally they have a hard time making ends meet, right? So it’s difficult for them to find enough money to set aside for business clothes and such. But they need them to successfully interview for jobs.”
    I scribbled furiously, trying to get everything down.
    “My idea was to take a bit of the money we make from women and girls who do have money for fun clothes, ball gowns, extra fashionable wardrobes, and such, and supply these struggling women with good work clothes.”
    “How many people have you been able to help?” I asked.
    “So far, ten,” she said. I could hear the pride in her voice. “We could help dozens more if we had the funds.” The front door chimed, and she excused herself to go up front. I looked at the prim but stylish business skirts, slimly elegant and encased in dry cleaner’s plastic. Becky had partnered each one with a little bag of accessories.
    It would be extremely cool if I could help somehow , I mentioned to the Lord in my head.
    “I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing.” The response was so clear I turned around to see if some guy had snuck in and actually spoken aloud to me. But I was alone still, in the back room.
    “Well, then,” Becky said as she returned. “Let me show you the rest of the store and talk about the event we’re holding in the beginning of July.” As we wandered through the forest of mannequins and wheels of clothing, she shared her heart about building up as many funds as possible and then having a kickoff near Emmeline Pankhurst Day.
    “I’d like to help however I can,” I offered after jotting down Emmeline Pankhurst?? in my notebook. “I’m hoping that by putting this in the paper, I can drum up some support for this ministry. . . .” My voice trailed off as I came upon the most wonderful ball gown I’d ever seen. “Ohhhh . . .”
    Becky laughed. “I can see why you’d like that one. It’s called Faeries—it’s a new design by a young woman starting out in Kent. The tea green would look just right with your light coloring.”
    I reached out and gently touched the fabric. Becky held the dress up to me, and we walked together to the three-way mirror. It had a close-fitted halter top with thick straps—modest but lovely. The fabric shimmered under a lace overlay of the same color and finally cascaded into a close, conservative waterfall of froth that halted midcalf.
    “With tiny peridot green earrings,” I said to no one in particular. “And an updo.”
    “You’re a fashionista besides a journalist,” Becky said. She laughed and I reluctantly allowed her to hang the dress back up. “You’ve got style, anyway. Bought your dress yet?” she asked hopefully.
    I shook my head and tried to keep my voice peppy. “Not going—well, just going on assignment,