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brownstone building. The area didn ’t really seem all that bad—a little old and rundown, but not the ghetto, by any means. I bumped the shop’s door open with my butt, and as I stepped inside the warm interior, someone took the boxes from me.
    “ You must be Carrie’s friend.” The redhead set the boxes on the floor next to a glass case and gave me a grin.
    “ I am.” I extended my hand, feeling like an Amazon next to her. “Julianne Miles. Julie.”
    “ I’m Sarah Everett.” She shook firmly, her tiny hand engulfed in mine. “I recognized the car.” She nodded to the boxes. “Is this everything?”
    “ No, I’ve still got two more boxes and three garment bags in the car.”
    “ Good God, woman, did you bring everything you own?” Atlanta was evident in her accent, but she didn’t have a deep drawl, barely a hint of the old South.
    “ Seems like it, doesn’t it?” I couldn’t help grinning back; her smile was infectious. I was trying to make this gracious woman work with the tough broad I’d seen only moments before.
    My confusion must have shown on my face because Sarah threw back her head and laughed a rich delicious sound. “I’m not usually the hard ass you saw out on the street. But these butt-wipes come in here searching for their wives or girlfriends—the women they’ve been beating the crap out of—and they think I’m going to tell them where the poor chickies are? Fat chance of that.” She leaned over the counter. “Holly! I’m gonna go help with some boxes, get out here and man the register.”
    “ Is he gone?” A very large black girl came out between the louvered doors behind the counter, timidly peeking around.
    “ Of course he’s gone, sweetie, and he ain’t comin’ back, so unbunch your panties.” Sarah held her hand out, indicating for me to go through the door ahead of her, then followed me out to the Prius, talking animatedly as we walked. “That poor gal is scared shitless of any man that even passes by. I get it, we’ve all been there, but she needs to toughen up. She can’t be hidin’ in La Belle Femme the rest of her life.”
    “ Was that guy after her?” I asked, opening the trunk on the Prius and handing Sarah a carton.
    “ Nope, but she’s scared of anything with a pecker. She got worked over pretty good a couple months ago. Just got the wires taken out of her jaw last week.” Sarah looked askance at my shocked expression, but changed the subject as we each carried a box and the garment bags to the shop. “So what brings you here? Chicago in the dead of winter ain’t no vacation.”
    “ I’m taking a break for a while.” I wouldn’t meet her frank stare.
    “ Gettin’ away from all the memories of your dead husband?” Obviously Sarah Everett went for the blunt question.
    I had to appreciate that about her because I was once that way myself. I nodded briefly.
    “Sorry about that.” Sincere sympathy showed in her hazel eyes.
    “ Thanks.” I smiled, probably a little wanly. “I miss him every day.”
    “ Yeah? Well, nice you got one of the good ones.” Sarah shoved open the door and held it with her backside as I walked through it. “Too bad it couldn’t have my ex—he’s still roamin’ the streets.”
    “ Charlie was one of the good ones.” I put the box on the counter and hung the garment bags on a rack nearby. I let my gaze roam the charming shop. Racks of dresses, suits, and blouses filled the big high-ceilinged room painted a soft sage green. Shelves of shoes lined the wall opposite a huge display window that let in streams of bright January sun. A white wicker settee and chairs and a table were placed cozily in the center of the room on a big delicately designed oriental rug. I could see dressing rooms on the back wall, curtained off with chintz. Ferns hung from chains in the window and a spider plant overflowed on a stand near the wicker. The ambiance was feminine, elegant, and homey all at once. “This is lovely.”
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