Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shopping sucked.

Moira wound her empty cart through the jungle of racks, her eyes bouncing from display to display, wondering what the hell she was going to do. How was she supposed to pick out anything? She was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. The one piece of feminine clothing she’d owned back in college had been a little black dress, because that’s what TV and magazines had said was appropriate for going out. It had worked at the time, but certainly wouldn’t help, now. That “must-have” addition for a woman’s closet wouldn’t be right for the venue Cisco had described tonight. The place sounded far more casual.

Should she buy jeans? A T-shirt?

Maybe. But…

Her eyes went longingly to the sweat-clothes racks, wanting nothing more than to grab a handful of the familiar material and run.

She sighed, finding herself not wanting to disappoint Welker, and wasn’t that a kick in the shins. He shouldn’t even be in the equation. She was her own person, dammit, and her choices should have nothing to do with impressing him.

Defiantly, she grabbed two sweatshirts and two matching, string-waisted pairs of pants, dropping them into her cart. The action made her feel somewhat better.

Still… Welker or not, she needed to dress appropriately tonight. Which meant… Moira drew in a long-suffering breath and turned to the jeans. When was the last time she’d owned a pair, or even tried any on? Uh, maybe when she was ten?

She eyeballed the sizes, and having no clue what the numbers meant since her wardrobe revolved around small, medium, and large, she went with a range; picking the plainest, least decorated pairs she could find. No frou-frou stitching on the pockets, no bling on the behind, no pre-ripped knees. Just straight-ass denim pants that might or might not fit her ass.

The T-shirt section was a bit easier to maneuver. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked a fitted style—definitely outside her comfort zone—and dumped four different colors into her cart.

There. See ? She could be an adult.

Underwear was next, but as she walked toward that section, she stopped in her tracks, blindsided by an end-of-summer sale rack where a sundress poked out, catching her eye. The pretty material was a sunny yellow, and covered with a plethora of colorful birds.

Why did it have to be birds?

She was drawn in, despite herself, and before Moira could stop herself, her hands went to the hanger and she drew the dress out, holding it up against her body. She spread it out across her hips…

It was so lovely, and she’d never owned anything like it before.

Walking as if in a trance to the nearest mirror, Moira dared have a look. String ties at the shoulders were obviously what held the square-cut bodice up, while the skirt that flowed down from the high waist wasn’t so full it would disguise her figure, yet it was loose enough that it would swirl delicately around her legs. Moira made a couple of tentative hip-swings, and liked the way the material moved.

But…

Of course it wouldn’t do. What was she thinking? She’d probably look ridiculous in it. Moira spun to put the dress back on the rack when a voice from her left interrupted the motion.

“Oh no, dear. Don’t put it back.”

Moira turned to see who had spoken, and spied a tiny little woman, no more than five feet tall, who looked to be ancient, staring her down. Her blue-permed hair curled around her cheerful but wrinkled face, and the bright red lipstick she’d obviously applied much earlier had smudged onto her white teeth when she smiled widely.

“Don’t…?” Moira repeated.

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “The dress, dear. It’s perfect for you.”

“It is?” Moira didn’t know whether she should be listening to or taking advice from a stranger; an old one at that. But despite the woman’s age, she was dressed-up pretty darned sharply.

“Oh, my, yes,” the lady emoted with unbridled enthusiasm. “You need to try it on so you can see what I mean.”

Moira hadn’t been headed to the dressing rooms. She’d already decided to put the item back, and buy everything she’d picked before. She’d try the stuff on at Welker’s house, then return the things that didn’t fit.

“I do?” Moira swallowed dryly.

“Of course,” the woman said. “And to tell you the truth,” she fanned herself, “I could use a sit-down.”

Moira had seen the woman’s mental, manipulative wheels spinning, and knew it for a calculated excuse.

The lady continued. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a chair right outside the fitting rooms so you can show it to me once you have it on,” she urged adroitly.

“Uh, okay.” Moira gave an internal chuckle. She didn’t know exactly why she was agreeing, but indulging the older lady wouldn’t kill her. She bit back a grin, put the dress in her cart, and nodded.

The woman strode off, walking more briskly than seemed possible for anyone her age—especially one who had said she needed to sit down—and it made Moira snort amusedly, until she thought of something important.

“Wait,” she called out to her new companion before they got too far from the department.

“Yes dear?” The woman turned and smiled again.

“Uh… What do I…put underneath it.” Moira eyeballed the top, where bra-straps of any kind would certainly show.

“Oh. Most girls these days would wear nothing, but,” she eyed Moira thoughtfully, “you’ve got a little more on top than most, so I recommend a bandeau bra.” She practically pranced toward the lingerie section, and once there, expertly selected a scrap of material in yellow that matched the dress’s background. “This one should be perfect.”

She perused Moira again. “Panties?”

“I’ll, uh, need those, too,” Moira answered.

“I think something shear. In flesh-tone.”

Moira had to laugh out loud, now. She couldn’t help herself. “Are you a professional shopper?” she asked. “I’m right. Aren’t I? You work for the store, and earn commissions if you get people to buy things.”

The woman lit up as she handed the pair of tiny panties to Moira. “I don’t, but I think it’s a stellar idea.”

Moira gazed, wide eyed at what she’d just been given. She wasn’t a granny-panty kind of girl, but cotton briefs were her go- to, and these babies were tinier than anything she’d ever worn to cover her lady-parts. She eyed them speculatively.

“Don’t you think?—?”

“You could put in a good word for me on the way out,” the oldster interrupted, ignoring Moira’s discomfort. “Maybe they’ll hire me.”

The woman looked excited, and Moira immediately got the feeling she didn’t have much of a home life. She probed. “Are you here with family? Friends?”

The wrinkles on the lady’s face became more pronounced. “No. I’m old, you know. I’ll be ninety-six on my next birthday.” She shook her head sadly. “All my friends are gone now, and what’s left of my family…” The woman didn’t complete her sentence, but instead, shrugged while making a moue of distaste.

Moira got it.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything to do with my relatives, either,” Moira comforted, then she had a sad thought. Was this how she’d end up if she kept eschewing friendships? Walking through box-stores helping strangers? Fuck that . And this woman flying solo? Not on Moira’s watch.

“What’s your name?” Moira asked.

“Margaret,” the woman told her. “And you?”

“Moira.”

“What a pretty name.” She got an impish look on her face. “And who’s the boy you want to impress?”

“Welker,” Moira let slip, before she could check herself.

Damn. Had she really admitted that? And was she trying to impress him? Then she laughed internally at the “boy” designation. There was nothing at all boyish about the large, ripped man she was beginning to lust over. “Wait. How did you know there was someone?”

“Just the bloom on your cheeks,” Margaret told her with a chortle. “Now, let’s make sure your Welker’s eyeballs pop right out of his head when he sees you.” Margaret continued, tapping her upper lip. “Hmm. Some strappy sandals will help.” She made an immediate ninety-degree turn, leading them to the shoe department where she honed in on the summer sales. “Size” she asked.

“Uh, eight,” Moira answered, a little surprised with herself that the woman could extract information from her so easily. Normally, she was reticent with any details regarding herself; personal or otherwise.

Margaret bent over and plucked a pair of straw-heeled sandals out of a box. They’d been dyed a light, summer blue.

“These are lovely, and will pick up the color of the grossbeaks in your dress,” she stated assuredly.

Moira was impressed. Not only with her bird-knowledge, but with the shade. Margaret was spot on. She had quite the eye.

“We used to call these espadrilles, you know, back in the day,” Margaret gushed. “But I’m not sure anyone your age still uses that term. Here.” She handed the wedges to Moira. “Try them on.”

Moira had only worn heels during those times when she’d snuck out in college, and that had been twelve years ago. Would she even be able to walk in these shoes?

Toeing off her boots, she wiggled her now bare toes. Crap. It was a no-no to try things on barefoot. She looked around, made a face, then snagged a pair of those awful stretchy things from a box, one-handedly slipping them on. She followed up by sticking her feet into the unfamiliar shoes.

Moira teetered for a moment, then found her center, looking to her new mentor for comment.

Margaret clapped her hands. “They look wonderful, dear. How do they feel?”

Moira took a few tentative steps back and forth, and surprisingly…

“They actually feel good,” she answered, a bit shocked. Her pink-painted toenails looked perfect against the pale blue.

“Just so,” Margaret stated with a nod. “Now let’s pick out a matching purse.” Her eyes went to an overhead shelf where she stood on tiptoe and swiftly snagged a small bag that looked appropriate enough to Moira.

Margaret raised her brows for approval, and Moira nodded.

“Great, then. Let’s head to the dressing room.”

Some amount of time later, after modeling not only the bird-dress—which had hugged her curves to perfection—but also the jeans and t-shirts that fit, Moira was absolutely amazed that her new friend had not only talked her into taking everything, but had convinced her that a sweet, sterling silver bird necklace she’d procured while Moira had been changing, completed the dressy outfit perfectly.

But did she really need to go that far overboard?

“I—”

Moira’s phone buzzed.

I’m at the checkout. Almost finished?

Welker’s text floored Moira. He’d completed everything on his list? How long had she been at it? Looking at the time on her phone, Moira felt heat move up into her cheeks. Wow . She’d somehow, completely lost track of time.

Finishing up, now. Moira returned.

“Is that your young man?” Margaret asked with a knowing smile. “You have that glow about you again.”

Moira’s face warmed even more. “Yeah. He, um, took care of the grocery shopping and wants to know if I’m all set.”

“And are you?” Margaret asked astutely.

Moira looked in her cart and frowned. “I…”

It was odd. Now that she’d begun to find things that actually worked, she wasn’t sure she was ready to leave.

“What else do you need?” Margaret probed.

“More underwear,” Moira decided, “and maybe some pajamas?”

Margaret’s face grew impish. “Something shear and sexy in both departments?”

“Umm, we’ll see what they have.” Damn. She felt her blush return because…she was making herself open to possibilities.

Her fingers reengaged with her keyboard.

Picking up toiletries. Don’t wait. I’ll meet you at the car.

Take your time, came the immediate response. I’ll see you outside.

Why was Welker so freaking accommodating? Moira was still looking for the one thing about him that would be a dealbreaker, and he wasn’t cooperating.

Luckily, Margaret didn’t probe as to her change of expression, and they companionably shopped on.

The rest of her purchases didn’t take that long to acquire, but what did prove difficult was convincing Margaret to give over her contact information once they deemed each other “friends”. It seemed that buddying-up and trust were two different issues. But after enjoying the woman’s company immensely, Moira wanted, no, needed to stay in touch. Not just for the social aspects, but because she worried that Margaret was so alone.

Margaret continued to demur, and rightfully so Moira acknowledged, skeptical about giving out her personal information.

“It’s not you, dear,” the older woman told her, evading for a third time when Moira asked for her phone number. “It’s just that I’ve had some…less than above-board interactions in recent years, and I’ve learned my lesson.”

Moira didn’t like the sound of that. And all the more reason for her to have the info it took to keep an eye on the feisty, yet vulnerable woman. Moira upped her game, and pulled out her shield folder.

“I don’t tell this to just anybody,” Moira explained as she flipped open the leather and held her badge out for Margaret’s perusal. “But I’m Chief Deputy with the Penobscott County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Ahh,” Margaret answered with a smile and a knowing dip of her chin.

“What?” Moira asked.

“That explains why you’ve been reticent regarding your new purchases.” She shook her head. “Your job… It’s still a man’s world out there, isn’t it?”

There were no buttons missing on Margaret.

“Yes, it certainly is,” Moira agreed, grinning, but her credentials got her what she wanted.

Moira felt instantly better as numbers were exchanged. Sharp or not, Margaret could clearly use a friend. Moira wasn’t all that pleased to subsequently find out the woman lived alone in a small bungalow she’d owned for years and years, just outside of town with no neighbors closer than an eighth of a mile away. If something happened to her, who would know?

“Have you ever thought of moving into a place where you’d be…safer?” Moira asked gently.

Margaret scoffed. “You mean one of those assisted living facilities where they take all your money and feed you mediocre food? Where the staff treats you like a daft old lady, and they’re so disorganized they lose all your clothes when they take them away to launder. That, and the rest of your belongings are then passed around because you’re too old to need anything personal? No thank you.”

Moira knew that some of those places came with legitimate concerns, but most of what Margaret spewed seemed like rote excuses…

Margaret must have seen Moira’s skepticism, and her face softened. “Fine. It’s not only that, dear. I also have my dog, Lady Guinevere. The old girl is nearing sixteen now, and I just couldn’t possibly leave her. None of the places that seemed halfway decent when I looked into them were even remotely concerned that I’d have to leave my dog behind.”

That made more sense. Margaret was most certainly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“However,” Margaret continued brightly, after she entered Moira’s information into her phone. “No matter how nasty people can be, I follow the motto, Illegitimi non carborundum.”

Moira raised a brow.

“Don’t let the bastards get you down,” Margaret translated.

Moira laughed. “Clearly, you don’t. And I’ll second that sentiment. For both of us. You keep being you. And me? Even though a few people in my department would like nothing more than for me to take my female-self off to another job, I’m also a member of the local SWAT team, and I fit right in with those officers.”

The words came out of Moira’s mouth without thought, and she suddenly realized…

They were true.

She did fit in with her SWAT colleagues, no matter how much she’d tried to keep them at arms’ length. And she might feel even closer to the group if she dropped some of the walls she’d kept erected around herself.

Moira sighed.

Going out tonight, wearing a dress instead of her normal armor, smiling and engaging… That would all be a test of how well she could make that happen.