Fear ripples when truth is reflected.
"Something I can do for you?"
"The leather stripe broke on my pouch. Can you fix it?"
"I can. How did it break?"
"Slipped out of my blouse without me noticing. Snagged on a branch."
"Did anyone see your pouch?"
"I don't think so."
"You need to think harder. Did anyone see your pouch?"
"No. I don't remember anyone close by that could have seen it. What's the big deal? It's just a pouch."
The Curandera stopped stringing the neckless she was working on and turned a glare on Joanie. Her pupils glowed red with indignation.
"If that is what you think, why didn't you just fix it yourself?"
"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Give it to me."
Joanie placed the pouch in the old woman's withered palm. Her gnarled fingers curved around the pouch as she pulled it in to inspect it.
"Someone else handled your pouch. Are you sure it snagged on a branch?"
Joanie squirmed in the old wicker chair under the intense penetration of the Curandera's acumen eyes.
"Jason ripped it off my neck." She confessed, uncertain what the outcome will be.
"It is good you tell the truth. Pour me a cup of tea, dear and, I will fix your pouch."
"I don't know how he found out."
"I will fix that too."
Joanie peered into the tea she poured and saw herself telling Jason about the pouch. Fear rippled her body. The Curandera knows the truth.
Word count: 300