"I spilled things, broke a phone, and sprayed toner everywhere." I sneezed again.
"Those printers are tricky," Marnie said with a laugh. "On a more serious note, have you heard anything from Anke?"
"Not in a while. The last time I talked to her, she said it was a big misunderstanding, the bank had frozen her account because she was international, and that she would absolutely pay me back. That was several months ago. I keep emailing for updates but haven't heard squat. Have you?"
"No, and she still owes me three thousand dollars," Marnie said.
I sagged over the steering wheel. "I wish that's all she owed me."
"I think you should go to the FBI," Marnie urged. "What she did has to be some sort of federal crime."
"That's not what the credit card company said," I replied, feeling the clench of shame at being scammed by Anke. "They wouldn't accept the police report I filed. They said I stayed at the hotel and I have to pay. Now I'm going to lose my job." Behind me, sirens blared, and in the side mirror, I saw a police cruiser signal to me.
"Crap, I have to go."
It can always get worse. That's what I always forget.
"Miss," the officer greeted me. She was a dark-haired woman with high cheekbones, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. "Do you know why I'm pulling you over?"
I couldn't have been speeding. The house wouldn't go that fast. Maybe the lights weren't working?
"No," I answered.
"You can't use a phone while driving," the police woman clarified.
"I wasn't texting!" I protested.
"You aren't allowed to talk on a speaker or a headset while driving. It's dangerous and against the law. I'm writing you a ticket."
I started sobbing. "I can't pay a ticket. I didn't know! I'm not from here!"
"That's not an excuse. Don't use a phone and drive. It costs lives."
The police officer wrote me the ticket while I sniffled. I didn't even look at the sum when she handed it to me. Whatever it was, I couldn't pay it.
I pulled the house back into the parking lot of Ida's General Store. Wiping away the tears, I checked the candy jar in my purse. Empty. I needed a refill.
Ida's General Store was high-end. As soon as I walked in, I felt out of place, with my toner-stained clothes and generally bedraggled appearance.
A well-dressed woman looked at me in fear.
Her daughter pointed at me and said, "You look weird."
"This is going to be you in a decade," I told the kid.
The woman pulled her daughter away. I grabbed a basket and looked for the candy aisle. I found it near the front of the store. It was well stocked, and I felt my mood start to lift as I contemplated my options.
"Ooh, saltwater taffy. Now we're talking!"
An older woman with a shock of white hair and bright-purple lipstick walked up to me.
"Those are a good choice. They're locally made," she said.
"They look delicious." I read her name tag. "Are you Ida, from Ida's General Store?"
"That's me, sweetheart," she said proudly.
"This is a great candy selection," I said.
