My Lost and Found Life by Melodie Bowsher

prune with yellow teeth was so rude that I slammed the door in her face.
    While a few bargain-hunters hovered on the sidewalk, we pulled, pushed, and dragged stuff onto the driveway and lawn. To set the right businesslike tone, I wore a pair of baggy painter’s jeans with lots of big pockets, a blue T-shirt that said Fashionista , and running shoes.
    We were busy from the minute I signaled that the sale was open. I was glad, because it kept me from noticing who took what and how quickly my possessions were disappearing.
    What surprised me most was the number of tightwads who tried to bargain with us. This is California, after all, not Tijuana.
    I had anticipated that some of my nosy neighbors wouldstop by, and they did. So I wasn’t surprised when Cindy showed up, although I thought it was in poor taste. Nicole handled her mother for me. I didn’t want to know which of our things ended up in Cindy’s clutches.
    Around noon, Officer Strobel stopped by to survey the scene and give everything his badass cop stare. He paused long enough to tell me that a woman fitting my mother’s description had been arrested in New Mexico as an accessory to some con scheme.
    Hope flared up in me for a moment, only to disappear as I realized how ridiculous his statement was.
    “What do you mean by ‘fitting my mother’s description’?” I jeered. “White, brunette, and over forty? You’re going to be very busy if you investigate everyone fitting that description. Diane isn’t some con artist or an accessory to some criminal gang.”
    “We have to follow up every lead,” he said defensively.
    “If you’re looking for leads, why don’t you find her car? Did it ever occur to you that she may be the victim of a crime? Maybe my mother’s been kidnapped.”
    “We’re looking for her and her car. But we have no reason to think she’s the victim of a crime. Do you?”
    I walked away without answering. The police weren’t interested in what I thought. They had already made up their minds that my mother was guilty.
    • • •
    For most of the day we were busy. By three o’clock there were only a handful of shoppers still pawing through my stuff, and my pockets were bulging with cash. Exhausted, I flopped down onto an unsold chair while Nicole went to the kitchen in search ofa snack and bottled water. That’s when I noticed a silver Porsche Boxster pulling up to the curb on the other side of the street.
    A handsome, tanned older man stepped out of the Porsche and crossed the street toward my house. From the tips of his tasseled Italian loafers to his expensively styled silver-tipped hair, this man exuded confidence and money. In fact, he looked more like someone who would have a personal shopper than someone who frequented garage sales.
    He walked past everything for sale and stopped in front of my chair.
    “Hello, Ashley.”
    “Do I know you?” I raised my eyebrows.
    “No,” he said, giving me a brilliant smile. “Your mother kept a photo of you on her desk. You’re as pretty as your picture.”
    I stared at him. “You worked with my mother?”
    “I’m Curtis Davidson. I’m sure she’s mentioned me. We need to talk.”
    I groaned. “Listen, Curtis Davidson. I don’t have the money, and I don’t know where it is. We don’t have anything to talk about. You’re wasting your time trying to bully me.”
    “I don’t want to bully you, and I don’t want to talk about the money. I’ve been eager to have a conversation with you for some time. There are some things we need to discuss.”
    Our eyes locked. “What?” I said. “What things?”
    Before he could answer, a hefty woman with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest stopped next to him and waved an espresso maker in my face.
    “How much do you want for this?” she asked.
    “The price is marked,” I snarled, moving it out of my faceand pointing to the sticker on the bottom. Then I flashed Davidson a challenging look. “Maybe this gentleman needs an espresso