Chapter 23Angie’s hands are surprisingly steady on the wheel. No tapping fingers, no cigarette waving, just one hand at ten o’clock and the other at three. Today she’s wearing a man’s white button-down shirt over tight jeans, her hair held back with a red bandana, no make-up. She looks young, Emma thinks. Or at least younger. Not so hard around the mouth.
“The thing about Howard is you got to haggle with him for a good price,” Angie says as they drive out of town on Highway 15 toward Morgan’s Garden Supply near Pine City. “Like most folks around here, he’s got his snowbird prices and his year-rounder prices. Only the year-rounder prices ain’t listed.”
“You’ve got to give him the secret handshake first,” Emma says, and Angie nods.
“Something like that,” she says. “Now it’s a good thing I
