July 9, Tuesday

I WALKED into Coleman's Grocery with a basket of eggs, feeling self-conscious. The busy little grocery looked shabby around the edges, but the floors were shiny clean, and the produce was better than anything I could buy in Manhattan, and at much lower prices.

An older man sweeping the floor noticed me. "Can I help you?"

I pointed to my basket. "I was told the grocery buys local eggs?"

He smiled. "I sure do. I'm Coleman. Are you new in town?"

"I'm staying at the Whisper House for a few months."

His expression changed for a few seconds, then he recovered. "Okay. Let's see what you got."

I followed him to an office the size of a closet and watched while he examined the eggs with his big fingers.

"How many?"

"Three dozen, and six are double yolks."

He nodded and seemed impressed with my YouTube-garnered knowledge. "Okay. How does three dollars a dozen sound?"

I smiled. "Sounds fine." It occurred to me I hadn't been this happy about making nine dollars since I was a teenager.

"Cash or credit?"

"Credit, please. I need to pick up a few things while I'm here."

He pulled out a receipt book and wrote me a credit slip for the amount, then tore it out.

"How are things out at the Whisper House?"

"Okay, I suppose." I angled my head. "Did you know the family?"

He gave me a flat smile. "Everyone around here knew the Whisper family."

"Have they been gone long?"

He hesitated a split-second, then handed me the credit slip. "You be careful in that house, you hear?" Then he shepherded me out and resumed sweeping.

I bit into my lip. Obviously, I needed to do some more Googling.