CHAPTER 8The store was in the same condition as when I had left it, no quieter, no busier. At a cosmetics counter near the front door, I asked a dark girl, “You know Teresa Russo?”
“Teresa? Sure,” she said.
“What department does she work in?”
She turned and called to another girl farther along the counter.
“Hey, what department is Teresa Russo in?”
“Birdseed,” the girl said.
“Birdseed?” I said.
“The birds,” she said, pointing. “Over in the corner.” I went over there and they had canaries and lovebirds in cages, hanging from the ceiling, and a small inventory of pet supplies, mostly birdseed. A lushly figured young girl with a full, red mouth stood behind a counter, trying to find something to do.
“Miss Russo?” I said.
She put her hand to her thick black hair, looked away, then bac
