“I don’t have them.”
“The pink dress.”
Her face went pale. “I bought that.”
“Show me the receipt.”
“I don’t keep receipts.”
“Online order confirmation?”
“I don’t have to prove where I buy clothes.”
“You’re right.”
I unlocked my phone. “Then we can let someone else sort it out.”
She stared at me.
Then she whispered, “Give me five minutes.”
She shut the door.
Ryan looked at me. “Five minutes?”
“Apparently.”
We waited.
Three minutes later, Denise opened the door carrying two shopping bags and one cardboard box.
She put them on the porch. My dress was folded on top.
Underneath were the sunglasses, scarf, phone case, one of my missing candles, and a sweater that had arrived weeks earlier, still unopened.
I picked up the sweater. “You took this too?”
She looked away. “I was going to put it back.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I tried it on.”
I just stared at her.
Ryan said, “You opened her package, took out her clothes, tried them on, then returned them?”
Denise snapped, “I don’t need both of you attacking me.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Attacking you?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve had a hard year.”
I stayed quiet.
