"Yes, I came from California, but I haven't met the Foreman's."
"Oh." The woman gave her a warm smile. "Now, what else would you like?"
Megan pulled the list from her pocket and started reading off the supplies. "Milk, eggs, bread, butter and some kind of lunch meat."
"Here." The woman held out her hand for the list. "I'll get it all for you."
Megan handed her the list. "Thank you."
The woman picked up a basket and started down an isle. "My name is Clarabelle Thompson," she spoke in a loud voice as she picked up a dozen eggs. "Most folks just call me Clara. Do you want sandwich bread?"
"That would be fine."
"We have a few kinds of prepackaged sandwich meats, but there's a better variety at the counter. I'll slice it for you as thick as you want."
Megan considered the selection and ordered a pound of lunchmeat sliced thick. The store looked and smelled clean, and she was hungry. It was past noon and she had skipped breakfast.
"What's on your menu?"
Clara was packing the supplies into a sack as she rang them up on an old register.
"Hamburgers, hot dogs, onion rings, French fries - you know, the usual fast food stuff."
"I'll take a hamburger and fries."
Megan took her supplies to the car while Clara cooked her food. She put the groceries in the back seat and sat the broom up cross ways on the floor. Closing the door she glanced around the town - what there was of it. A gas station that fixed flats, a few houses and the store - that was about it. At the gas station there were only two cars. One was parked beside the building with its hood up, and an old model blue mustang sat at the pump.
She didn't immediately notice the tall man watching her from the gas station. He was lounging against the building, far away from the pumps, smoking a cigarette. When she turned her attention to him, he dropped the cigarette on the ground and rubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. Then he leaned over and picked it up - something she had never seen anyone do before. Something about the way he moved was familiar. She stiffened. Was she imagining things, or was it the man from the airport? She couldn't see his face clearly enough to be sure. He didn't look as tall, but the man at the airport had been wearing a suit. This one wore a short sleeved shirt, jeans and white sneakers.
Surely it wasn't chance that found them both in this tiny town. Was he following her? She turned and headed back to the store. If he was looking for money, he was barking up the wrong tree. She rarely carried much cash and only one credit card. Of course, if ransom was his game... She stepped inside the door. No. It was far more likely that Dad had sent him. He'd get his report and leave.