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Her whole drive over, she passed two cars and a golf cart. Seriously. A man with a blue ball cap was hunched over the steering wheel, putt-putting his golf cart down the main stretch of the road. Grace nearly pulled over and made sure he was supposed to be doing that before shaking her head and continuing on her trip. Hamlet was weird. She was getting used to it.
Jefferson’s was the only market in town. Maria tried to explain that it wasn’t so much a grocery store as it was an everything store. If there was something you wanted that you couldn’t find at Jefferson’s, then you probably couldn’t get it in Hamlet.
The store was set on an empty patch of gravel. It was a little bit wider than Ophelia, with a narrow door sandwiched between two massive glass windows. A faded red plastic sign rose above the sloped roof. In block letters, it said Jefferson’s, and it spanned half the length of the squat building.
There was nowhere to park except for around back. Grace pulled up alongside a vintage Cadillac that was in mint condition. She held her breath as she opened her door. She didn’t want to ding the beauty and, alright, maybe she parked a scooch too close.
Shimmying out of her little grey car, Grace didn’t breathe again until she was crunching her way toward the front of the store. She passed a door built into the side, painted a darker red than the shade on the sign, and kept going. Probably an employee’s entrance. Definitely not for customers.
When she opened the glass door in the front, she wasn’t quite sure this was for customers, either. It led into a warehouse-style shop, with countless aisles and no way for her to make any sense of it.
Good thing she didn’t have to.
Once Maria gave in and accepted that Grace wanted to take the trip by herself, she gave her exact directions. First, how to find the place, then where to track down the copier. At the time, Grace thought she was being overly helpful. Because, honestly, how hard could it be to find a copier in a store?
The answer was very hard. Thank God for the help. Following what Maria told her to do, Grace cut through the sixth aisle from the left, crossed into a room that seemed more like a closet, then opened the second door. And there it was.
The copier was old and rickety, plus it took dimes to make copies. Luckily, Maria gave her a head’s up on that and she had a whole pocket full. It took about ten minutes and a couple of quick hits to the side to make sure it kept running, but Grace eventually had a stack of twenty-five copies.
It wasn’t until she was done, heading back toward the front door with her copies in her hand, that someone else appeared inside the store.
She was a middle-aged light-skinned black woman, her dark hair done in a row of braids that rested on her shoulders. She had on a loose blouse with flowy sleeves that kissed her wrist. With a flick, she knocked one back so that she could offer Grace a smile and a friendly wave.
“Well, hello there. Welcome to Jefferson’s.”
Grace returned her grin, a quick upwards quirk of her lips. She must work here, she decided. That made her feel better. Hamlet was small and maybe the locals knew each other well enough, but it seemed pretty risky to have a whole store of product and no one watching it.
Or maybe that was just months of paranoia and Tommy’s bad habits poking their nose in again.
The other woman continued to approach. “Anything I can help you find?”
She lifted up her stack of copies. “I’ve been doing okay so far, but thanks.” She paused, remembering Maria’s other suggestion. “Actually, I’m looking for Mr. Jefferson. Do you know him?”
“I sure hope so. By the way, I’m Dinah Jefferson. Jefferson’s my husband.”
Grace blinked. She couldn’t help it. The words blurted out on their own. “His name is Jefferson Jefferson?”
“Nope. Just Jefferson.” Her confusion must’ve been obvious from her expression because Dinah let out a soft laugh. “It’s what he answers to, even from me. Twenty-five years of marriage and he’s just Jefferson.”
“Okay. Um… is he here?”
She waved her hand absently. “He’s somewhere. He’ll mosey on it when he’s ready. I can help you, though. I guess you could say we’re both Jefferson.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you—”
Dinah’s dark eyes twinkled. “You didn’t. It’s fine. You’re an outsider.”
She was, wasn’t she? Grace was reminded of that every time she stepped outside of Ophelia. “I am. I’m staying over on Orchard Avenue—”
“At Maria De Angelis’s little hotel. I’ve heard. It’s nice to meet you at last.”
Dinah Jefferson might have a habit of interrupting her, but she did it while wearing a sincere, well-meaning grin, and Grace found she couldn’t get annoyed at that. Hearing her mention how casually people were talking about her? That bugged her.
It worried her, too. She came to Hamlet to lay low. Sure, Lucas warned her that staying anonymous would be tough, living in such a small town. She thought he was exaggerating. Her experience in Hamlet so far proved that, if anything, he undersold it.
“Thanks. You, too. She told me all about your store, how it’s the place to go if I need anything in town. I used your copier,” she added, holding up her stack of copies before plucking the one Maria made from the top. Since it was the one that was already cut at the bottom, she offered it out to Dinah. “I was wondering if there was somewhere I could put this up.”
Dinah took the flier, running her eyes over it. “You a dancer? Or a teacher?”
