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So he hopped on his ten-speed and got to Whistler’s shortly before eleven, and was immediately put to work in the produce section, tidying up the romaine heads, which were supposed to be arranged neatly, but which several customers had moved all over the fucking place looking for just the right ones that didn’t have any hints of brown on the outer leaves.
That was when he first saw her.
She was choosing a bunch of bananas. Didn’t want any that were already ripe, but didn’t want a bunch that were really green. She found a bunch that was in between and put it in her cart.
It’s her, Tyler thought.
It was the woman whose face he had seen on that detective’s phone. Granted, that had not been the best shot, but then Tyler had done some online research and found photos of Brie Mason, and this very picky banana shopper sure as fuck looked like her.
Tyler finished his orderly stacking of the romaine lettuce and decided to try to get a better look at this woman. Sure, it might be her, but it probably wasn’t her. But he had to be sure. She moved on from the fruit section, disappeared around the end of an aisle. Tyler figured he would enter the aisle from the other end, get a better look at her face.
There she was, pushing her cart, checking out jams and spreads and peanut butter. Tyler walked halfway down the aisle, busied himself rearranging cans, moving things to the front edge of the shelf. He figured, in his Whistler uniform of white shirt and black pants, she wouldn’t pay any attention to him.
She was getting so close she was going to hit him with her cart if he didn’t move out of the way or she didn’t swing around him.
“Sorry,” he said, flashing her a smile and stepping back. “Right in the way, aren’t I?”
She returned the smile. “That’s okay. How are you today?”
“Oh, you know, another day livin’ the dream.”
That made her laugh. “I’ll just bet,” she said, and pushed her cart past him.
No point in stalking her any further. Tyler wasn’t going to get a better look at her than he already had. It sure could be her. But then again, it might not. What was he supposed to do? Come out and ask her: “Could I help you with your bags, and by the way, are you the lady who went missing six years ago that everyone thinks is dead?”
That definitely did not feel like the right way to go.
Should he call his sister? Call Jayne and tell her he was pretty sure he was looking at her boyfriend’s missing wife? Get her to run out of her office and drive over here in a panic, only to find out that it was a simple case of mistaken identity.
He’d need to know more before he did anything like that.
Tyler kept tabs on her from a distance, until she headed for the line of checkouts. Watched her unload her cart onto the conveyor belt. Francine grabbing each item and waving it over the scanner, hearing the distinctive beep, beep, beep.
When the woman had put her bagged purchases into her cart and was wheeling it toward the exit, Tyler approached Francine.
“Hey,” he said.
“What’s up, Ty?” she said.
“That lady, I think I know her from somewhere. Who is she?”
Francine shrugged. “She’s in here every once in a while.”
“Can you look at her credit card receipt or something and see what her name is?”
“She paid cash.”
“Shit,” Tyler said. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Then again, what good would a name be? He figured, if that really was Brie Mason, and she’d been hiding out for more than half a decade, she was hardly going to have a charge card in her own name.
Duh.
And in that moment, he had a theory:
Witness relocation.
Yeah, he thought. Andrew’s wife had testified against the mob and the FBI had to create a new identity for her! Andrew never knew his wife had had any connection to organized crime and didn’t even know the feds had created a new life for her!
