“My God, it’s Marcy’s!” The temperance union president stared rage into Sadie’s eyes.
The restaurant became silent. No clinking of cutlery, no chattering of women.
Sadie frowned and glanced up at Mrs. Stoddard. “Excuse me?”
“I said that’s my Marcy’s scarf. I gave it to her.” With one swift move, Mrs. Stoddard pulled the scarf from Sadie’s neck and examined the fabric. “See, right here.” She pointed to a tiny section of the material where, in faded ink, “M.S.” was printed.
Sadie squinted and folded her arms. “I found it, ma’am.”
“Where! Where did you find it? Where is Marcy? Tell me this instant. Someone find an officer!”
Sadie froze. “An officer? I don’t understand. You can keep it, if you’d like.”
Patrons murmured and buzzed like a Swarm of bees in a hive with no queen.
Sadie turned her frightened gaze away from Mrs. Stoddard. “Meta, I think we should head back.”
“You are going nowhere, young lady. Not until you answer some questions.” The woman’s lip quivered as she held the silk scarf against her cheek.
I searched the restaurant for support. Anyone. If only Sheriff Tobin were here. But the faces around the tables were unfriendly, their eyes condemning.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello