A Change in Altitude by Cindy Myers

retirement.”
    â€œThen I really want the job.”
    â€œAll right.” Lucille leaned back against the counter and tapped her chin with one finger. “Cassie appreciates flattery,” she said after a moment. “About herself, but also about her family. If I were you, I’d ask if she’s related to the Wynocks who founded Eureka. Tell her you’re interested in local history.”
    â€œI can do that.”
    â€œDress conservatively for your interview and don’t wear too much makeup. She’s suspicious of beautiful women.”
    Sharon had never thought of herself as beautiful, but she nodded. It wasn’t as if she had a closet full of wild clothes anyway. “Should I go over there now?”
    â€œShe’ll wonder how you heard about the job. Let me call over there and set something up.” She reached for the phone, but the sleigh bells on the door jangled.
    Both women turned toward the man who entered—the same grizzled miner Sharon had seen exiting the hardware store the day before. Come to think of it, he’d been in the saloon yesterday afternoon, too. “Hello, Bob,” Lucille said.
    â€œI came by to see if you had a package for me.” He scowled at Sharon. Or maybe that was just his normal expression; his face was a mass of crags and wrinkles, worn and roughened by weather.
    â€œUPS did drop off a box yesterday afternoon,” Lucille said. “Why did you have it sent here instead of your house?”
    â€œBecause I don’t necessarily want everybody and his cousin knowing where I live.” He leaned on the counter, gaze still fixed on Sharon.
    â€œSharon, this is Bob Prescott,” Lucille said. “Bob, this is Sharon Franklin.”
    â€œJameso’s sister.” Bob nodded. “I saw her at the Dirty Sally yesterday.” He turned to Lucille. “Did you know his name isn’t really Jameso Clark? Well, I guess it is now, but he was born Jay Clarkson? Ain’t that a kick?”
    â€œMy name was Lucille Peyton before I married,” Lucille said. “People change their names all the time.”
    â€œWomen, maybe. Men only do it if they’re hiding from something.”
    Sharon started to tell the old coot that her brother wasn’t hiding—but how did she know that? For all she knew, Jameso was wanted on warrants in three states, or had an ex-wife to whom he owed back child support, or he’d stolen drugs or money from the mob, or skipped out on a big debt—there could be any number of reasons a man would come to a small mountain town and take a new name. She and her brother hadn’t exactly kept in touch over the years; he really was a stranger to her.
    â€œSays the man who didn’t want a package shipped to his house,” Lucille said. She reached under the counter and hefted out a large box, about two square feet. “This weighs a ton. What’s in it?”
    â€œSurvival rations.”
    Sharon hadn’t even realized she’d spoken out loud until Bob and Lucille stared at her. Her cheeks grew hot. “Um, I . . . I recognized the name on the box,” she stammered. “My, um, my ex-husband used to order from them.”
    Lucille looked at Bob. “Survival rations? Are you expecting a disaster?”
    â€œNever hurts to be prepared. Or are you forgetting the blizzard last winter, when no supplies could get to us for four days?”
    â€œAre you planning to have more orders shipped to my shop?” Lucille asked.
    â€œI might.” He stuck his jaw out stubbornly. “I figure UPS is in and out of here all the time. What’s one more box?”
    â€œWatch it or I’ll charge you a handling fee.”
    â€œSpeaking of handling, we need to talk about how we’re going to handle Pershing.”
    â€œI’m going to try to set up a meeting with the town council and Reggie and Gerald on Friday morning,” Lucille said. “You