Free Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen by Glen Huser Page A

was midmorning. Where is Skinnybones? It’s important to get the letters mailed as soon as possible.
    Finally she’s here, rushing in a bit breathlessly, dropping her backpack.
    â€œSorry,” she says. “I was at the library using the computer. I had the letters done by two-thirty but I ran into some kids from school.”
    â€œYou surprise me, Tamara. I thought you avoided the madding crowd.” Obviously responsibility is not this one’s middle name. I gesture toward the walker. “Let’s go outside for a bit.”
    â€œJust Timmy and a couple of other kids who were in my lit circle,” she says defensively. “We had caramel lattes at the Second Cup.”
    â€œCaramel lattes? I thought you models had to watch your weight.”
    â€œBrad Silverstone says I need to put on a few pounds.”
    â€œWell, I guess he’s the expert. Grab my purse, will you? I’ve got stamped envelopes in there.”
    â€œJust a week and two days,” Skinnybones reminds me as she organizes her long arms and legs into a pose at the end of the picnic table. She’s wearing jeans that look like they’ve been retrieved from a rag bag and then dragged over a costume jewelry counter, snagging all kinds of odds and ends. Chains. A couple of brooches. My Lord, is that an earring hanging onto a thread by her ankle?
    â€œDid you get to Holt Renfrew yet?” I can feel the smoke from my first cigarillo of the afternoon seeping through me like the fog of the norns.
    She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I notice the flush of embarrassment reddening her cheeks.
    â€œYou didn’t go, did you?”
    She glares at me.
    â€œI went. Bunch of stuck-up...”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œOh. Some guy came running over when I was walking by the jewelry counter, like he was afraid I was going to walk off with half the stuff. I was just trying to find the dress department.”
    She’s suddenly become fixated on a bauble sewn onto her jeans.
    â€œYou didn’t give up.”
    â€œNo. He kept telling me where the other stores were. The Bay. Zeller’s. So I accidentally-on-purpose knocked over an earring display and he started yelling at me. I had to wait outside by the door for about an hour until he was over on the other side of the store with a customer and then I went back in and there was this guy selling ties and shirts and he took me over to where the dresses were and this lady with silver hair.”
    â€œPhoebe.”
    â€œYeah. Phoebe. She was friendly but you should’ve seen the look on her face when I told her I needed dresses for the opera. You know the way someone looks when they’re trying not to laugh?”
    â€œYou have a thinner skin than I thought, Tamara.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œNever mind. I do hope you managed to get something to wear.”
    â€œOne black dress; one green. Nile green, Phoebe called it. Black pumps. She picked them all out.”
    â€œPhoebe has a good eye.”
    Tamara gives me the letters and I fish a pen out of my purse. When I’m through signing them and she seals the envelopes, I review the things she needs to remember to do — post the letters, pack her suitcase and be ready to come over on the morning of the 2nd, take my CAA card and pick up the maps we’ll need.
    â€œWhen you’re at my place, I’ll get you to phone the Lodge and ask some little question — maybe something about my medications — just to get them properly lulled.”
    Two of the nurses who have been out for a smoke get up from a table across the patio and head back into the Triple S. In my purse is the flask of brandy Eddie got me. I slip it out along with one of the little paper cups from the washroom dispenser.
    â€œI feel like celebrating,” I say. “You don’t drink, do you, Tamara?”
    â€œI’ve given it up.” She gives me one of her chippy