“Girl,” an elderly woman whispered from a booth. “Come here.”
Kris looked up. The woman was the same penny-color as her grandma. Marie Washington, Artist, the sign on her booth read.
Marie Washington, ArtistMarie nodded toward the entrance. “Hide.”
The man in a Hogs vest stood at the entrance, scanning the crowd.
Marie lifted the striped Mexican wool blanket draped over her table.
Kris dove under the blanket.
“Don’t move,” Marie said, covering her mouth so no one would see she was speaking.
The man trotted down an aisle two over.
Kris pulled her knees up to her chest as Marie dropped the blanket around her.
“Hello, ma’am.” Marie nodded at a customer.
“Do you paint these yourself?” a white woman asked.
“Yes.”
“Mmmm hmmm. You have the most beautiful eyes,” the white woman said. “
