Free Riversong by Tess Thompson

heating as the door closed behind her. The office was bare except for a desk with a computer and a bookshelf of tax manuals. A man between fifty and sixty, with a helmet of brown hair that Lee suspected was a toupee, sat at the desk playing a game of solitaire on his computer. When the door closed he sprung from his desk, knocking his stapler on the floor. “You need your taxes done?” He wore a short sleeved, wrinkled, button down shirt, and brown polyester pants with a yellow mustard stain on the left leg.
    Lee slung her bag over her shoulder. “No, I'm new to town and wondered if you needed any help?”
    He came around his desk, and Lee detected the sour smell of Ben Gay. “Gosh, I don't have enough business for a helper.” He held out his hand, introducing himself as Ray Zander. He stroked his chin, his pace of speech slow and drawn out. “Sure wish I did.” He scratched his arm and flakes of dry skin floated through the air, propelled by the blast of hot air from the heater vent. “Only folks making any money seem to be the crystal meth makers, and they don't pay taxes.”
    The back of Lee's throat ached, and she felt cruel from the anxiety that crept up the back of her spine. She forced politeness in her voice. “That's a shame.”
    “We got a couple of new wineries outside of town. I do their books but they're not hiring right now.”
    Lee moved her bag to the other shoulder. “What about the banks? Think they have any openings?”
    “Unlikely. Where'd you come from?”
    “Seattle. But I grew up here.”
    Ray arched his eyebrows. “That right? What's your name?”
    “Lee Tucker.” This was the first time she'd said her maiden name in five years and felt like an imposter.
    “What brings you back?”
    “My mother died last year and I'm fixing up her house.”
    “What kind of work you do?”
    “I was the president of a small high tech firm.”
    ‘Dot com? You go bust? I told my investment club, all those crazy ideas would flop. Everybody jumping on the whole ecommerce thing like a bunch of sheep!”
    She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear, all of the sudden hot in her sweater. Sweat beaded on the tip of her nose and she resisted the urge to wipe it with her fingers. “We started our business after the dot com bust.”
    “That right? What kind of product?”
    “A computer game - for extreme gamers.”
    He looked at her blankly and she turned towards the door, noticing rain drops on the sidewalk. “Thanks for your help.” She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped onto the sidewalk, already two steps down the street before she realized he was on her heels.
    Hands in his pockets, Ray strolled beside her, continuing the same slow pace of talking. “What happened to your company?”
    She stopped walking, and wondered how much she should reveal? It would be all over town in a matter of minutes so she needed a sustainable story, especially if she wanted anyone to hire her. “My husband died unexpectedly and I lost the company.”
    Ray's eyes softened and he patted her arm. “Sorry to hear that. I lost my wife last year to cancer.” He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and his tone shifted to lower in his chest. “Just brings it back for me every time I hear of someone else losing their spouse.” He studied her face and then looked up at the sky, snapping his fingers. “You know, there is one place to try. It wouldn't be the type of thing you'd want long term but it'd keep the wolf away, if that's what you need. Mike opened a little restaurant six months ago.” He pointed down the street. “You remember where the old grocery store was?”
    “Sure.” It was run by Steve Turner, reputed to give free groceries to needy customers and hire the down and out, before one of the big chains opened in the mid-80's and forced him out of business. Lee remembered him as a gentle soul, lids half closed, slipping her a piece of chocolate every now and then. “My mother worked there for