“That one’s two hundred and ninety dollars,” Sadie whispered, glancing back at me.

Darla walked straight past me.

She took hold of the paper tag, snapped the plastic loop that held it to the strap and dropped the tag into her heavy black handbag.

“Darla,” I murmured.

“Don’t you ‘Darla’ me,” she said.

She grabbed the tag off the next hanger, snapped it free and dropped it in her purse.

Chloe stood perfectly still beside a rack of veil samples, her hands folded over her apron.

“Grandma, what are you doing?” Sadie asked, stepping back quickly.