Page 64 of What She Saw
“Very. It requires watering and the right amount of sun.”
“So, if I ignore it for a week or two ...?”
She laughed. “It’ll die.”
I held up my thumbs. “They’re both brown.”
“We do have cactus plants, but they still need care.”
“Do they need water?”
“Sometimes. How about a dream catcher? We have several dozen to choose from.”
“Perfect.”
She came around the counter. “Let me show you.”
I followed her down a narrow path lined with lush, thick foliage. Amy had been an addict and covered in bruises when she’d attended the music festival with Billy. But she’d turned it around.
She stopped at a collection of circular dream catchers hanging from a vine-wrapped pergola. “They’re all made locally. I know the artist, and she has good energy.”
I grabbed the catcher closest to me. “I like this one.”
“We have more if you want to keep looking.”
“No. This one will do the trick.”
“Okay. That was easy. Let me ring you up.”
I followed Amy into the greenhouse and to the register. She rang up the purchase, and I dug my credit card out of my wallet. Fingers crossed it wasn’t maxed out. A bad credit card didn’t help build relationships. The transaction went through.
“Would you like a bag?” Amy asked.
“No. I’ll take it as is.”
“Great.”
When I approached a person cold, it was always tricky. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
I ran my finger along the thin rope wrapped around the dream catcher. “This one is about the Mountain Music Festival.”
Her shoulders pulled back. “That happened thirty-one years ago.”
“I know. It hasn’t gotten much attention in the last decade.”
“Why are you asking?”
“My mother was one of the women who vanished. Her name was Patty. She was selling hamburgers that night. Taggart found you wearing her Depot T-shirt.”
Amy was silent for a moment. “I remember her at the burger tent. I didn’t have enough money for a burger, and she gave me one anyway. She was a kind soul.”
“How did you end up with a Depot T-shirt?”
“I found it in the woods on a tree. I never saw her in the woods.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you asking about this now?”
“I’m a writer. I’m working on a piece about the festival. And I want to learn all I can about Patty and the other victims. I keep thinking their stories have the clues that’ll help me find their bodies.”
