Shadow of Doubt - Hailey Edwards Page 0,66
And lip balm? And eye cream? And, and, and.
Tourists and out-of-towners were the easy marks, and phew boy had I seen some spectacular takedowns in my time working this corner.
The four hours I warmed my stool earned me enough pocket change to purchase special edition DVDs no sane person would ever watch with me and allowed me to mingle with humans and supernaturals alike.
While I counted down my last thirty minutes, I reread the preliminary report on what the cleaners were calling the Perkerson Eight.
Thanks to Reece, I knew the saliva in the bite wounds matched those found on Shonda. So did the bite imprints. Not that it surprised me considering their middles had been scooped out like ice cream. Tying the cases together gave me a firmer grip on them, but I was still trying to catch smoke with my hands.
The timer on my phone beeped, and I shut my laptop before locking up my merchandise for the night. It wasn’t hard for me to sell the product. I didn’t have to lie or wheedle. I honestly liked the sheets. They were soft, almost fuzzy—like peaches. Tonight I couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to snag innocent shoppers and beat them over the head with our color of the month. I had too much else on my mind.
Thankfully, my stipend from the Office of the Potentate covered my bills. Otherwise, I would have had to hustle to make ends meet.
Even with the OPA covering my rent, I had utilities, groceries, and Swyft bills. Living downtown was expensive.
Then again, I had always lived with my folks. Maybe the cost of living wasn’t high so much as I just wasn’t used to paying it. Back home, I’d had a job at a Southern belle-themed ghost tour company and been a full-time student. The only expenses I’d had were clothes, fun, and gourmet chocolate.
Taking the path that promised the least amount of exposure to my fellow kioskers, who were a cannibalistic species willing to snatch a dollar from another entrepreneur as quickly as from a tourist, I sought out the bright station papered with intricate henna designs and other temporary tattoos.
“Hey.” I walked right up to the artist. “Saanvi, right?”
“And you’re Hadley.” She set aside the brush she was cleaning. “How can I help you?”
“I have a design I’d like you to look at, if you don’t mind.” I opened my laptop then showed her the cropped image of the foot bearing a henna tattoo. “Do you recognize this pattern?”
“No.” A frown gathered between her eyes. “This isn’t one of mine.”
The expected response, but it still sucked to hear it confirmed. “Does it hold any special significance?”
“Feet connect the mind, body, and spirit to the earth.” She pointed out a circular flowerlike design. “That’s a mandala. They signify success, courage, prosperity, and wealth.” She traced the border with a fingertip. “The rest is mostly paisley, for fertility.” She withdrew, as if the photo unsettled her but she couldn’t pinpoint why. “These are common patterns. You see them at weddings or stalls like mine.”
“Thanks.” I passed her a twenty for her time. “I appreciate your insight.”
On my way out, I hit one of the food court restaurants for dinner. Bourbon chicken, fried potatoes, and glazed noodles confused about their nationality were my go-to fave, but I was open to suggestions.
It wasn’t lost on me that several gwyllgi cut me looks out of the corners of their eyes once they caught scent of me. Bathing in perfume had worked about as well as Ford promised it would, but I still had to try.
“What do you want?”
Distracted by the tone, I glanced down from the overhead menu and blinked. “You?”
The pixie-haired Swyft driver stared back, spatula in hand. “Me.”
“You work here too?”
“Bills.” She rubbed her fingers together. “I got ’em.”
For her to be so money hungry, she must be paying for her car out of her own pocket.
That or she had an addiction costing her a small fortune and leaving her no time to indulge it.
“I’ll take the bourbon chicken, fried potatoes, and noodles.”
“Combo?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want to drink?” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, corpse-raiser. You had to know that was coming.”
“Sweet tea,” I blurted, reaching for my debit card. “Here.”
“Hey, look at that.” Since she hadn’t asked for it yet, she winked. “You’re learning.”
“How many jobs do you have?”
“A few.” The girl dished up food as fast as she drove. “You haven’t dialed me up all week.”
Thankfully, I didn’t have to lie. “I’m working