Avery spreads her fingers and holds her palm up to the woman. The skin is pale and clean—there's not a single trace of makeup on her fingers. The woman snatches Avery's hand and holds it closer to her eyes, curling her lip with disgust—as if her hand is too filthy to touch.
"I don't believe you for a second," the woman says. "You're just scared because you know you can't pay for the repairs. Well, let me tell you, no one comes into my shop and ruins my dresses without paying. I'll call the police, and I swear I will."
Avery closes her eyes and presses her fingers against her temples. The woman is in a frenzy about her dress, but Avery has dealt with women like her before. She's wondering how to mention Andrew's name best when a flurry of whispering distracts her.
