Free The Detective and the Woman by Amy Thomas Page A

‘Otherwise, I’m inclined toward irritation.’ Holmes caught a mischievous glint in her eye.
    Watson might be easier to handle, but he was hardly given to mischievous glances.

Chapter 7: Irene
    I found, after breakfast, that I looked forward to the day. The sense of impending danger was not entirely absent from my mind, but my unfamiliar clothing and the paint on my face gave me a measure of freedom I had not enjoyed while still in my own guise. I would have to be more vigilant, I realised, not to allow myself to strike at Holmes for being the only available representative of the non-female species. The detective hardly deserved that, and any debt he owed me from our previous skirmish he had more than paid by taking the case.
    We returned to the shop shoulder-to-shoulder, and Holmes briefed me on the objectives of the day. For the first time, we were to separate. He intended to visit the site of Sanchez’s citrus grove, while I tended the store and learned what I could from anyone I met. Rather than being a cause for apprehension, the idea of being on my own invigorated me.
    The idea of it invigorated me, that is. I was less thrilled when no one had come into the store after two hours and I had checked the sign for the third time. I decided to do some reconnaissance on the rest of the street, keeping an eye on the unprepossessing space where Holmes and I plied our temporary wares. My object was the store we had visited the previous day to purchase our ragged clothing, a well-kept secondhand shop with a matriarchal owner who considered herself far above her clientele. On our first visit, I’d been dressed as a boy, and I hadn’t spoken. As a result, I hoped and expected that she wouldn’t recognise me in my current incarnation.
    A doorbell announced my entrance, and I was surprised to find a young man behind the counter instead of an elderly woman. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ he said, his voice thick with the slow drawl of the American Deep South, and I acknowledged his greeting with a nod. I moved quickly through the main room, which held glass cases that cradled expensive items such as silver spoons and brooches of dubious origin, and passed through to a cluttered side room that held clothing racks, piles of dilapidated shoes, and hats stacked high on top of one another. For several minutes, I was the only patron in the store, but my waiting was finally rewarded by the entrance of a woman. I watched her surreptitiously, ostensibly holding up a threadbare coat to test its suitability. She held a baby in one arm, nearly a newborn by the look of it, and her face was worn, though I thought she was no older than I was, if as old.
    I listened casually as she began to address the youthful shopkeeper. ‘Tommy, you better be glad you ain’t out today. Bill’s gone crazy cause Sanchez is in some kind of hurry to get it all in before the end of the month.’ At the name Sanchez, I stopped moving and listened intently.
    ‘What for?’ asked the boy in a conspiratorial tone.
    ‘Dunno,’ was the disappointing answer, ‘but my Jim says Bill’s in a temper and screaming at everybody.’ I took note. Even if this was the only thing I learned all day, at least I had something to tell Holmes. After the woman had left, I bought a pair of shoes with worn-out soles and departed with a word to the young man about the store I’d just opened with my husband. I walked back toward Sloane’s General Store, not overly concerned at the prospect that someone might have stolen some of our cheap wares. On my way, I watched the sun’s glare in shop windows and discerned nothing important or significant to the case.
    Fortunately, the woman from the secondhand store stepped into the store right after me, balancing her tiny baby on her hip and holding a bag of purchases in her other hand. She stared at the cheap cookware, used furnishings, and non-perishable foods that lined the shelves almost haphazardly, picking up a jar of crushed sage.