Sarah and Annabelle finished their ahi tuna salads, sipped their iced teas, and asked for the check.
“Feel like browsing?” Annabelle asked.
Annabelle was always in the mood for browsing and Montana was their favorite street, with its charming high-end boutiques and excellent restaurants.
“Sure,” Sarah said.
Sarah didn’t want to shop, but it was a lovely day out and she couldn’t think of anything productive she needed to do. She just had to be firm and not let Annabelle talk her into buying something expensive she had no use for.
The two women meandered down the familiar street, past the expensive kitchen store, the clothing boutique for size zero, seventeen-year-olds, the garden accessories shop, and the jewelry store.
“What’s that?” Annabelle stopped suddenly, staring into a shop window. “I haven’t seen this one before. It must be new.”
Sarah glanced in the window, where a mannequin was wearing an elegant suit and appeared to be carrying a Chanel purse. The door was painted a cheery bright blue, stenciled with flowers, and a brass sign proclaimed “The Secondhand Store.”
“A second-hand store on Montana,” Sarah exclaimed. “I know the economy’s been bad, but this doesn’t seem like quite the location.”
“Maybe it’s one of those places where the rich and spoiled dump the designer clothes they’ve already worn once and wouldn’t be caught dead in. Could be a good place for a deal,” Annabelle suggested.
Annabelle had plenty of her own designer clothes, not to mention enough shoes to rival Imelda Marcos, but she could never resist a bargain.
“Do you want to go in?” Sarah asked.
Annabelle grinned, and Sarah figured they were in for an extended shopping session. She knew that look.
They were the only ones in the store. There was an elderly saleslady with permed gray hair, wearing a conservative knit suit. Annabelle gave the lady her most charming smile.
“Do look around,” she said, “and let me know if I can help you with anything.”
The racks appeared to be organized by size and Annabelle began to systematically go through all the size fours, holding up various items for Sarah’s inspection.
“Look, a Donna Karen and it still has its original tags. It’s only $400 and it’s never even been worn. Why would someone give away such a great suit? Weight gain, you think?”
Sarah shrugged. It was quite an impressive collection of clothes. She spotted a Georgio Armani, a Carolina Herrera, an Escada and a Dolce & Gabbana. She didn’t bother looking for herself. Women who could afford Georgio Armani were never larger than a size eight. You didn’t find designer outfits in size sixteen.
“Can I try these on?” Annabelle had collected a few items and the sales lady rushed to accommodate her. “I’m astonished that anyone would just give these away. I keep my designer stuff for years. It’s made so well, rarely wears out, or goes out of style if you select classic clothes.”
“Oh, these weren’t given away,” the saleslady said. “The owners have all passed on.” She waved at the size zero rack. “Those belonged to a model who died of anorexia nervosa. The size twos belonged to an actress who died of an overdose. We just got the size fours in. Breast cancer.”
Sarah shuddered. It seemed a little ghoulish to her, wearing the clothes of the recently dead.
The saleslady seemed to sense her reaction and gave her a bright smile.
“The families are happy to have us take the clothes and we donate the profits to charity,” she explained. “It’s a good deal for everyone. They get rid of painful memories and get a tax deduction. You get some fabulous clothes at a low price, and worthy charities get money. It’s a win-win.”
Annabelle glanced at Sarah. “Is it okay with you if I try these on? I promise I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Sarah said. She had spotted a small back room with some accessories and if she got bored looking at those, she had her Kindle in her purse and was in the middle of a good novel.
The back room was larger than it first appeared because it was cluttered and reminded Sarah much more of a classic old thrift store. There was a collection of old beaded bags, some newer purses with famous labels, although she thought some were knock-offs, a collection of silk scarves, picture frames, and a box of CDs. She flipped through them idly and suddenly her attention was caught.
The CD cover had a photo of a girl. She was wearing a gray turtleneck sweater and jeans, sitting cross-legged on a bed, holding a guitar. One hand was twisting a long brown ponytail. The girl was a dead ringer for Sarah’s daughter Joanie. Even the background reminded her of Joanie’s bedroom, with its blue and yellow striped bedspread and yellow flowered wallpaper. The girl seemed to stare straight into Sarah’s eyes, demanding she pay attention. Sarah turned the case over. The back side was blank except for a tiny sticker that said $2.00, and she could find no title on the cover or the edge. When she opened the case, she realized it contained a DVD, not a CD.
“I think I’m going to get this one. What do you think?”
Sarah turned. Annabelle wore an elegant black suit with a fitted jacket and a pencil skirt.
“You can wear it the next time you’re invited to a funeral,” Sarah said.
“I’ll brighten it up with a scarf,” Annabelle told her. “It’s Armani and only $300. What a deal.”
“Fits perfectly,” Sarah acknowledged.
Annabelle bought the suit, and Sarah bought the DVD. She’d watch it tonight, see what it contained, and maybe send it to Joanie at Stanford. Her daughter would probably get a kick out of seeing a photo of someone who could almost be her twin.
When Sarah got home she let Buster, their golden retriever, out, checked her email, and threw two chicken breasts into the oven for dinner. Although she and Ben always made it a point to have family meals at the table when Joanie was home, they’d backslid since she left for college. Frequently they’d take dinner into the den and watch TV while they ate. It was more comfortable sitting in the armchairs, their feet on the ottoman, and the dog considerately cleaning up any dropped food items. They’d been catching up on all the series they never had time to watch when Joanie was young and their evenings were occupied helping with homework. Now they could watch TV, read, and snuggle. The empty nest wasn’t such a bad thing.
Over a glass of wine, she told Ben about her afternoon with Annabelle and showed him the DVD.
“That’s eerie,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t have twins and forgot to tell me?”
“You were present,” she pointed out.
“True,” he said, putting the DVD into the player.
It started with music, Bach, and no titles, just the girl, sitting on the bed, guitar in hand and twisting her ponytail, like Joanie always did. The girl looked straight at them and started to sing a sad song about going away. Her voice was a soft soprano, just like Joanie’s. Finally, the song was over.
“Hi Mom and Dad. I’m glad you’re watching this. I was afraid you wouldn’t find the DVD, although they promised me that you would. They said parents always did, sooner or later. If either of you belonged to Facebook, I’d have posted a message there as well, but you were way too polite to embarrass me by trying to friend me, the way some other parents do to their kids. I always appreciated the way you respected my privacy. It’s just made it harder to find a way to give you this message. I’m imagining you, sitting in front of the TV with plates on your laps, and Buster begging. I’m hoping you played this before you get the news. I just wanted to tell you how much I love and appreciate you and what great parents you’ve been. I couldn’t have been born into a nicer family. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave so early, but it wasn’t my choice. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be OK and I’ll always love you.”
The picture faded, and then there was just static. Sarah and Ben sat stunned and simultaneously reached for the phone. Joanie’s cell went to voicemail. They were trying to call the RA for her dorm when the bell rang. It was a policewoman with the news that Joanie had died that morning, in a car accident, on her way up to San Francisco.
Annabelle wore the black suit to the funeral. The Secondhand Store disappeared the next day, and no one they knew could remember having seen it.
Paula Bernstein is a physician and scientist, and author of the medically themed mystery series The Hannah Kline Mysteries. Her short stories have been published in two Sisters in Crime anthologies, LAst Resort and Avenging Angelinos. Another has been accepted for publication in A New York State of Crime.