Remember When

people saw it happen, and there wasn't a thing she could've done. He just ran right out in front of her."
    "That's hard. I guess she knew him, too. Small town like this."
    "No, nobody did. He wasn't from here. I heard he was in Remember When-I work there part-time-right before. We sell antiques and collectibles and stuff. I guess maybe he was browsing on through. Awful. Just awful."
    "It sure is. You were there when it happened?"
    "Uh-uh. I wasn't working this morning." She paused, as if conducting a quick debate on whether she was glad or sorry to have missed it. "Don't know why anybody'd run out in the street that way. It was raining pretty bad. I guess he didn't see the car."
    "Bad luck."
    "I'll say."
    "Angie, you waiting for those drinks to serve themselves?"
    It was from the librarian and had Angie rolling her eyes. "I'm getting 'em." She winked at Max, then hefted her tray. "See you around?"
    "You bet."
    By the time Max walked back into his hotel room, he had a good handle on Willy's movements.
    He'd checked into his motel at around ten the night before, paid cash for a three-night stay. He wouldn't be getting a refund. He'd had a solo breakfast at the coffee shop the next morning, then drove in his rental car to Market Street and parked two blocks north of Remember When.
    Since, at this point, Max couldn't put him in any of the other shops or businesses in that section, the most logical reason for parking that distance from his assumed destination, in the rain, was caution. Or paranoia.
    Since he was dead, caution was the safer bet.
    So just what had Willy wanted with an antique shop in Angel's Gap that had him making tracks from New York-and doing everything he could to cover those tracks?
    A drop point? A contact?
    Once again, Max booted up his computer and brought up the town's home page. In a couple of clicks, he linked to Remember When. Antiques, estate jewelry, collectibles. Bought and sold.
    He scribbled the shop name on a pad and added Fence?, circling the question twice.
    He read the operating hours, phone and fax numbers, e-mail address, and the fact that they claimed to ship worldwide.
    Then he read the proprietor's name.
    Laine Tavish.
    It wasn't one on his list, but he checked anyway. No Laine, he verified, no Tavish. But there was Elaine O'Hara. Big Jack's only daughter.
    Lips pursed, Max leaned back in the desk chair. She'd be... twenty-eight, twenty-nine now.
    Wouldn't it be interesting if Big Jack O'Hara's little girl had followed in her daddy's larcenous footsteps, had changed her name and snuggled herself away in a pretty mountain town?
    It was, Max thought, a puzzle piece begging to fit.
    ***
    Four years of living in Angel's Gap meant Laine knew just what to expect when she opened Remember When in the morning.
    Jenny would arrive, just a hair late, with fresh doughnuts. At six months pregnant, Jenny rarely went twenty minutes without a craving for something that screamed sugar and fat. As a result, Laine was viewing her own bathroom scale with one eye closed.
    Jenny would complement the doughnuts with a thermos of the herbal tea she'd become addicted to since conception and demand to know all the details of yesterday's event. Being married to the chief of police wouldn't stop her from wanting Laine's version to add to already accumulated data.
    At ten sharp, the curious would start to wander in. Some, Laine thought as she filled the cash register with change, would pretend to be browsing, and others wouldn't bother to disguise the hunt for gossip.
    She'd have to go through it all again. Have to lie again, or at least evade with the pretense that she'd never before seen the man who called himself Jasper Peterson.
    It had been a long time since she'd had to put on a mask just to get through the day. And it depressed her how easy a fit it was.
    She was ready when Jenny rushed in five minutes late.
    Jenny had the face of a mischievous angel. It was round and soft, pink and white, and had clever hazel eyes that tilted up just a tad at the outside corners. Her hair was a curling black mass, often, as it was today, bundled any which way on top of her head. She wore an enormous red sweater that stretched over her pregnant belly, baggy jeans and ancient Doc Martens.
    She was everything Laine wasn't-disordered, impulsive, undisciplined, an emotional whirlwind.
    And exactly the sort of friend Laine had pined for throughout childhood.
    Laine considered it one of those golden gifts of fate that Jenny