Annie's Rainbow - Fern Michaels [8]
Her eyelids drooping, Jane said, “Is our game plan the same? We get part-time jobs as waitresses while we look for a vacant shop to open our own business. In the meantime we send out resumes by the dozen in the hopes someone will snap us up to add to their payroll or are we going to forget about that for the time being?”
Annie crawled out of the booth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. Let’s use the Broad Street Bank for now. Later on we can change if we want to. For now it will fit our needs. All the other stuff we’ll just play by ear. I’m too tired to think.”
It was two-thirty when Annie parked the Impala next to Jane’s Mustang. “Here we are, one-thirty Logan Street. Apartment Seven. The key is under the flowerpot. I’m just carrying in my bedding. We can unpack the car later.”
“I’m with you,” Jane said, hauling the canvas laundry bag from the backseat of her car. “Be sure to lock the doors,” she called over her shoulder.
Annie drew in her breath when she opened the back door of the Impala. For one heart-stopping moment she wished the money bag would be gone. She felt faint when she saw it nestled next to one of her running shoes. Surely it was okay to cover it up now. No one had followed them, no one had seemed the least bit suspicious. Maybe she should just throw the bank bag into her laundry bag.
The moment you do that, you become a thief. A criminal. It’s premeditated something or other, she told herself.
I have to move it sometime. The sooner the better. I’m keeping it.
“What are you doing, Annie? I want us both to see our new home at the same moment. Did you lose something?”
“I’m looking for my other running shoe. I found it!” she called as she stuffed the bank bag down deep into her laundry bag. She swore it weighed a thousand pounds as she made her way up the walkway that led to Apartment 7. Guilt was always heavy.
“Okay, open the door, Jane.”
“It’s not bad,” Jane said, looking around. “Actually, it reminds me of the apartment in Boston. It’s clean, too. Kitchen is small. Bedrooms are a good size. We can live here comfortably, Annie. I can spruce it up once we get settled.”
“The rent is good, it’s a quiet little street. I like it that we’re close to King Street. That’s where all the shops are. We might even be able to get around on foot if our cars give out. Which bedroom do you want?”
“I’ll take the one without the wallpaper. Cabbage roses make me dizzy. I’m going to say good night, Annie.”
“There’s a grocery store on Rutledge. First one up buys the groceries. I expect we’ll sleep until tomorrow. Night, Jane.”
Annie closed the door. She felt a surge of panic when she saw there was no lock on it. Maybe that was good. The bank bag went under the bed in the blink of an eye. Sooner or later she was going to have to open it. “Later rather than sooner,” she mumbled as she whipped out sheets and a light summer blanket. Ten minutes later she was sound asleep.
Annie woke thirteen hours later to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. She realized she was ravenous. “Guess you got up first, huh?” she said, shuffling into the kitchen.
“Sure did. The shower leaves a lot to be desired, but the water was hot. I got everything at this neat little store. We need to find a real grocery store. That one was expensive.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s eleven o’clock. If you don’t dilly-dally, we can be out of here by one. By the way, the phone is hooked up. Do we have anyone to call?”
“Not a soul. This is so good, Jane. Why is it I eat three eggs every morning and you only eat one?”
“Because I am a one-egg person. Maybe someday I will eat three. There’s a first time for everything.”
Annie felt her heart thump in her chest. It was true, there was a first time for everything. Every criminal did something wrong for the first time. The word criminal drained the color from her face.
“You look kind of peaked, Annie. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Maybe I got too much sleep. You know, everything is so new and yet not new if you know what I mean. It was a great breakfast. Do you mind cleaning