Chapter 4: The Thrift Run

Winifred had bought a thrift store on Tuesday so that we would have something to be poor in.

It stood on the corner of the town's main street, with a hand-painted sign and a bell on the door.

Inside, a woman from Manhattan in a headset was folding sweaters into a display.

"Everything here is pre-loved," Peter said, reading it off his clipboard. "Our task is to shop for a complete winter outfit for under ten dollars."

"Under ten?" Holly said. "I've never been so excited."

I picked up a silk scarf from a table by the door.

The tag read $1,900. A small paper ticket was stapled behind it, and it said, in typed letters, DRY CLEANED, NEVER WORN.

"Peter," I said. "This is a scarf somebody bought and put back."

"It's pre-loved."

"It says never worn."

"That's a loving label," Peter said, and he began to sweat visibly in the cold.

I turned the scarf over.

There was a store tag from a shop on Madison Avenue still pinned to the corner.

I held it up so Esther could see, and Esther wrote something down.

"Is that a deduction?" Peter asked her. "That's not a deduction."

"It's a finding," Esther said.

A saleswoman who was actually an actor said, nervously, "Welcome to the shop."

"How long has it been here?" I asked her.

"Since Tuesday," she said.

"Who ran it before Tuesday?" I asked.

"I'm not allowed to say," she said.

Across the street, a church-basement door stood propped open with a folding chair, and people were carrying coats out of it.

A hand-lettered sign taped to the glass said THRIFT SALE, SATURDAY, 10 TO 2, ALL PROCEEDS TO THE ROOF.

"Let's go see," I said.

"It's not on the program," Peter said.

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