Marcella hesitated as the figure veered away. So much for asking for directions. Then again, she did stick out like a sore thumb. Biting back a sigh, the Italian turned and wandered towards the shopping district. At least, she assumed it was. A couple of stores were open while the rest were nothing more than empty boarded up shells. Perhaps someone here knew a thing or two of the blossoming sick victims. Marcella walked into the nearest shop (a clock repair establishment? Hard to tell with the faded sign.) and reached into her purse for her notebook. "Sorry for the bother," she called, fumbling with her contents, "but my name is Dr. Biancardi and I'm here for some information..."