“Nice!”
I put on a practiced grin. “I’m a good sister.”
“Okay, if you’re talking deer, you’ll want a pretty big blade for gutting and skinning. Personally, I like the Silver Stag Cascade—”
“I’m looking for the Buck 119.”
Ashley’s eyebrows go up. “Lady knows her knives. We’ve sold four of those this week.” He beams at me, holding my gaze a lot longer than I’d like. I’ve dressed in neutral colors—a baggy beige sweater under my puffy coat. Faded jeans. I’ve combed my hair and put on just enough makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes. In short, I’ve dressed like I always do—so as not to be remembered. But not being remembered is easier said than done when you’re probably the only female a man has spoken to in weeks, maybe months. “Not many women are into hunting.” He says it like he’s been reading my thoughts.
“I’m not.” I avert my gaze. “I don’t know anything about knives, actually. We were talking about my brother’s birthday, and he not so casually mentioned the name. See?” I pull the piece of notebook paper out of my coat pocket and show it to him, clueless as can be. “I even had to write it down, so . . .”
The smile dissolves. “Oh. Okay.”
He opens the glass cabinet. Removes a large knife with a black handle and a curved silver blade that makes my knees weaken. “This is the Buck 119,” he says. “Nothing fancy, but a good, solid, versatile knife. Your brother’s got impressive taste.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You want it gift wrapped?”
“What?”
“Kidding. We don’t do gift wrapping. I’ll need to see some ID, though.”
I look at him.
“Well . . . you gotta be eighteen to purchase a hunting knife, young lady.”
I force out a laugh. “Oh . . . Ashley.”
He winks. “Got ya again.” He leans so far over the counter that I have to take a few steps back. “You . . . uh . . . live in this area?”
“Nope.”
“You here for a little while? I get off soon and I could show you around—”
“My husband was born here. So I’m familiar with it.”
“Ah.” He sighs. Back to business. “Okeydoke. Tax included, the knife costs $96.32.”
I give Ashley cash, as instructed by 0001. “Here you go.” I smile politely.
Ashley doesn’t. He opens the cash register, counts out my change on the counter, and slides it to me. “Not for nothing, but you should wear a wedding ring.” He says it in a huffy tone, as though I deliberately misled him.
“Tomorrow’s another day, Ashley.”
He glares at me, and I wince. I shouldn’t have said that—it wasn’t in the script. But come on. Who does this guy think he is, scolding me over jewelry choices? Or assuming that buying a murder weapon is the same thing as swiping right on a dating app?
Ashley starts to pack the knife into its box. I want to tell him that frankly I don’t give a damn about his stupidly hurt feelings, but instead I hold back. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
He doesn’t look up at me, but his expression softens. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he says. Then: “I really do need to see your driver’s license.”
I swallow hard. The instructions said this would happen. The instructions said not to worry.
He gives me a sleazy smile. “Protocol.”