There was an empty boba tea next to her bag.
That's really all she remembered, she told the police.
A younger-looking detective took notes purposefully, as though the ink itself could discern the truth of her statement.
She'd last seen the younger woman as she sat along the edge of the indoor fountain at Seven Oaks Mall just outside of town. It was a nicer shopping center; there were three Starbucks within the premises.
She thought nothing of the fact that one minute the young woman in the yellow parka, green knee-high socks and tan suede shoes was sitting there, and the next she wasn't. Not until she herself, having finished her Cinnabon, was stopped by someone in a uniform and asked what she'd seen.
What an open-ended question, she remembered thinking first. This is prime people watching, and she had indeed been partaking. She had two hours to kill before her appointment, after all.
The younger woman had been on the run from an abusive ex, they thought. Maybe she forgot her bag and littered on her way out, she thought. Too many kids doing drugs these days. It was far easier to get now than when she was young, she mused, with half a rue.
The older detective sighed from his eyes, his gruff, blank face betraying no emotion, and deigned her free to pass.
She took her bags and rose to leave, then faltered, opened her phone. She still had another hour before her appointment. She remained standing at her table meant for sitting, feeling awkward.
"Ma'am, you're free to go," the younger detective dictated, with a vector of movement implied in his voice.
"Right, it's just that - I don't really have-"
"We've got more people to interview, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't be keeping you company."
She blinked, not connecting the dots between her sitting at the table she'd been at for nearly an hour and needing a police escort just because some kid left her bag thirty feet away.
"Ma'am," the detective prompted again.
She shook her head, half in confusion, half apologetic, as she walked off, feeling like she was being voted off of some game show. She didn't know this mall very well, so she slunked over to consult a standing directory. Boba did sound good, she thought.
I imagine this guy nodding, while taking notes so purposefully.
When I read this:
She thought nothing of the fact that one minute the young woman in the yellow parka, green knee-high socks and tan suede shoes
I assumed the runaway was attractive. Why can't a girl wearing this outfit not be unattractive? Idk, weird. Rules of my interpretation as a reader.
"We've got more people to interview, ma'am, I'm afraid we can't be keeping you company."
Funny.
Also good way to end. I'm gonna try the thing where the first thing is mentioned in the end. Great full circle technique for flash fiction.