Not that it wasn’t a fun place to visit for precisely those reasons.
Still, Stan was on to something. Bigfoot did have a light bulb fetish, and he was a bit of a klepto.
“Can we see the video?” Myra asked.
“Why sure!” He stood, but not before snagging three more squeegees out of the box. “I’ll just ring up your squeegees, and then we can take a look at it on the computer out front.”
There wasn’t a computer in the office. They probably only had one tablet or laptop that they kept at the counter with them.
He jiggled two squeegees at me, waiting for me to take them from him. I didn’t know if it was Stan’s idea to have him push the squeegees, or if it was Apocalypse Pablo’s idea. But it was an effective way to move stock.
I gave in and took the squeegees.
He lit up like we’d just executed the passing of the Olympic torch.
“Fantastic,” he said. “We are going to besoready for the end of the world.”
He handed Myra the other two, and she didn’t resist either.
“Follow me, Ms. Reed, and Ms. Reed.” He practically glided out of the room, humming some pretty little tune under his breath.
“You buy, I’ll check the tape.” I handed her my squeegees. Or was it squeegi? Squeeguses?
“Give me your card,” she said.
I pulled my cash card out of my wallet. “They’re on sale.”
“I’m not paying for them.”
“They are all the rage in apocalypse accessories. Useful. Like umbrella hats, apparently.”
“I don’t need a squeegee. I already have two.”
I threw a look over my shoulder as I walked out the door. “You hoard squeegees?”
“I have one for the car and one for the bathroom. It takes more than two of one thing to constitute hoarding.”
“Like six?”
From the crinkle of her nose and corners of her eyes, I knew she would have slapped me upside the head if we weren’t on duty. Being professional. Officers of the law.
“Two of these are yours, idiot.”
Apoca-blo was already behind the counter making himself busy at the register. Stan, who was leaning one hip on a tall stool near the lottery tickets, raised an eyebrow at the cleaning utensils in Myra’s hands.
Then he grinned. Yep. This had to be his idea.
She tipped her chin up and gave him the dare-you look I’d last seen on her face when she bought her first pack of tampons from Scott Holderman, the hunky senior running back who used to work the grocery store.
Stan, just like Scott, wisely averted his eyes and made no comment.
“We need to take a look at your video from the last couple days,” I said. “Can you queue that up for us?”
“Sure. No guarantee we’ll get a good shot. The rain has really been messing with my equipment.”
If Thor kept up his pity party, Ordinary was going to rust clear through by next spring and leave nothing but a sinkhole behind.
Myra declined paper or plastic and came over to stand next to me. Stan positioned the laptop so that all three of us could see the screen.
