Page 19 of If Looks Could Kill
“Let’s walk by again,” Pearl said.
So we did, looping the block one more time and still seeing nothing.
“We probably need to come back later on,” I said. “But we have evening meetings.”
“We could go in,” suggested Pearl. “Look for her inside.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “They’ll see us.”
“So?” said Pearl. “We’re not in our uniforms.”
“Yes,” I said, “but we’re still in our faces. Yours is particularly hard to forget.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “You think they’ll remember talking to us?”
“Talking to you?Yesterday?” I said. “Absolutely. And what will we do? Buy a drink?”
“Ask questions?” ventured Pearl.
“We saw a girl upstairs,” I said, getting into the spirit of the thing. “Do you happen to have any girls here?”
“If you’re so smart,” said Pearl, “suggest a better idea.”
I sighed. “Walk by one more time?”
We walked by one more time, then stopped at the corner where we’d started.
“Maybe this is pointless,” I said. “Maybe we’ll never see that girl again.”
Pearl replied, “Jesus never said it was easy, leaving the ninety and nine to find the one.”
I nearly ground my teeth. “If actual sheep were lost in Manhattan,” I said, “they’d be a lot easier to find than this girl.”
That actually cracked something almost like a smile from Pearl.
“Are we being ridiculous?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
We both turned toward the new voice and saw a girl our age leaning against a building, her arms folded across her chest.
“Who are you?” demanded Pearl.
“Sorry to startle you.” The girl extended a hand. “Freyda Gorbady. Reporter.”
Tabitha—Nosy(Sunday, September 16, 1888)
“You are not,” said Pearl.
“Not what?”
“You’re no reporter,” my companion insisted. “You’re too young.”
“Got eyes and ears, haven’t I?” the girl replied. “A pencil, paper, and a decent brain.”
A girl my age, a reporter! It sounded thrilling. “What newspaper do you write for?”
She thrust out her chin. “Whatever paper recognizes the genius in what I send them.”
