This Old Murder

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JOSIE PIGEON EXAMINED her reflection in the dressing room’s mirrors, a frown creasing her freckled face.

“It looks… You look… uh, lovely… dear.” The slim, young saleswoman seemed to be having a difficult time finding the right words.

Josie didn’t bother responding. She knew she didn’t look lovely. She never looked lovely. Slightly overweight, with frizzy red hair that she had given up trying to control, she was usually satisfied with perky and thrilled if anyone thought she was cute. “Maybe I should try a smaller size?”

“It’s not fashionable to wear them tight.”

“I’m not trying to be fashionable! I’m buying them to work in,” Josie explained. “They’re carpenter’s pants. I’m a carpenter.”

“A carpenter?”

“Yes, in fact, I own my own contracting company.” She was bragging, but after three years it still pleased her to say those words.

The saleswoman was not impressed. “I did think you were a bit old to be a student.”

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