No Footprints by Susan Dunlap Read Free Book Online Page B

to the trouble of writing down their phone number! Why else would she do that?
    The blond woman looked at me quizzically.
    â€ŸI’m taking that as a yes.”
    â€ŸOkay. A big honking yes. See that table, one woman gave us the whole lot.”
    I started toward it.

    â€ŸHey, what d’you think you’re doing?” She all but tackled me.
    â€ŸI’m not trying to take it. I just need to find her.”
    â€ŸYou can’t root through her stuff. There’s a reason women want to give us their clothes and it’s not because we let strangers go through their pockets. You ever give us anything? Would you if you thought someone off the street would be pawing through it to see if you’d forgotten a credit card receipt, a note from a lover who’s maybe not your husband, a—”
    â€ŸWhoa! I get your point. But look, I’m not nosing into her private life; I’m trying to find her.”
    â€ŸI don’t—”
    â€ŸIt could be a matter of life and death.”
    â€ŸCould be? Is it?”
    I hesitated. ‟I can’t take the chance of it not being.” For the first time she seemed unsure. I said, ‟Tell me her name.”
    Still, she didn’t commit.
    I unbuttoned my jacket.
    She grinned, put out a hand for it, and said, ‟Tessa.”
    â€ŸTessa what?”
    â€ŸWe don’t require last names here. She didn’t care about the tax receipt, so no need. Anyway, you’re not going to find her. She gave us the clothes because she was leaving town.”
    I eyed the pile. ‟Looks like her whole closet.”
    â€ŸThat’s what she said; said she had nothing but the clothes on her back.”
    â€ŸWhich were?”
    â€ŸI don’t know. Nothing that stood out.”
    â€ŸWhite T-shirt and black slacks?”
    â€ŸDon’t remember.”
    â€ŸRed jacket?”

    â€ŸNot a chance.”
    I slipped off my own jacket. ‟Tell whoever gets this that it may not look like much but it’s my good luck garment. I got my first job back in town wearing it.”
    The woman smiled. ‟You know, most people come in here with a bag or two. They’re concerned about a tax write-off or they’re not. They’re happy to help, or just glad to dump. But she looked at that brown dress over there, like she was dropping a puppy at the pound. She held on to it so long I said—and this isn’t like me—I said, ‛We’ll still be here next week. You’ve got time to think it over.’ She said no, she didn’t. But she was still holding it. Then she said, ‛I was wearing it at the happiest moment of my life.’”
    â€ŸSurely you asked . . . ”
    â€ŸI make it my business not to pry.”
    â€ŸBut this time?”
    â€ŸWell, yeah, okay. I could tell she wanted to tell me or I wouldn’t have pried, you understand.”
    Thank God! ‟And?”
    â€ŸWhat she said didn’t make sense. Except to her. I mean, that dress, it’s nothing special, right? It’s a wear-to-work-on-Wednesday kind of dress, right? But something happened that Wednesday—”
    â€ŸWhen?”
    â€ŸLast week, maybe the week before? Meaning, recently. Something happened in that dress. What she said was that up till the call she never really believed it would happen. Then she smiled the way you do walking down the aisle, put down the dress, and left.”
    â€ŸDo you have any idea—”
    â€ŸNone. Look, I hear so many hard stories, I’m just happy to have a moment like that. More power to her wherever she is.”
    â€ŸWhich is where?”

    â€ŸDunno.”
    â€ŸDidn’t she give you some clue? Mention the street she lived on? Her job? Something?”
    â€ŸNo. Like I said, I don’t pry. Don’t want to know.”
    â€ŸIt’s important. Life and death, really. She had your phone number in her pocket. Do you remember a call?”
    She shook