Chapter 14

Well, if the case is closed, what are we doing here?

Timothy asked, as he pushed his way through the racks of spring jackets at sell-off prices.

They were in yet another thrift store, this one in the St. James Center, which the grandmotherly woman had given a

checkmark on Timothy's route maps, which had been carefully planned and quickly abandoned.

The store was bright and clean and nice, but the two investigators didn't seem to have a reason

for being there, as far as Timothy could see.

"'I told you,' Abigail said.

"'We're looking for a red jacket that's too small for my brother.' "'Okay,' Timothy said, nodding.

"'You're describing about ten percent of the things in this store?'

"'Don't exaggerate,' Abigail said.. I'll know it when I see it.

All right, Timothy said, not wanting to point out that he would not know it when he sawed,

which made him fairly useless at this activity. He pulled a jacket on a hanger off a rack and held it up.

Is it this? he asked.

No, Abigail said. That's too long.

What about this? he asked, pulling out another.

That's brown, Abigail said frowning.

Well, Timothy said, it's a kind of red.

No, Abigail said. It's brown.

It's sort of reddish brown, Timothy offered weakly.

Timothy, Abigail asked, exactly how colorblind are you?

Timothy shrugged and put the jacket back on the rack.

...