“Yeah. It’s him. He’s shouting something.” She held the phone so Marlena could listen.
“Retail terrorism!”
“Did you hear that?” asked Ramsey. “Retail terrorism. He’s unbuckling his jacket and pulling something…not a gun…it’s a scarf. He’s waving it around. Definitely his freak flag. Still yelling about retail terrorism. You think he’s off his meds?”
“No comment.”
“I hear sirens. Thanks Marlena. Looks like we’re all okay.” She returned her phone to her pocket after Marlena hung up and stayed right where she was at the end cap until Officer Butz asked her to accompany him to the interview room for her statement. Sullivan was among the officers at the scene, but after giving her a surreptitious looking over and deciding she was fine, he kept his distance.
“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked once she answered all of Butz’s questions.
“Mental hygiene hearing. Crisis stabilization. Charges will follow him around. It’s a shame. He’s a real good guy when he’s taking care of himself.”
“What was the scarf about? Do you know that?”
“You mean him waving it around?” When she nodded, he said, “Apparently he wanted to return it. Something about it being defective. Pattern was upside down or some such nonsense. Hard to say what he saw when he looked at it.”
“Who’s talking to my manager? Paul must have seen everything from his office. He’ll make a good witness.”
“Maybe. One of the employees said Shippensmith was in the breakroom when this happened, not in his office. Sully’s assigned to get his statement.”
Ramsey did not offer that the only reason Paul ever showed his face in the employee breakroom was when he was looking for someone. She wondered if she had been his prey. He didn’t yet know that she had scored big time in jewelry. She offered Butz her most winning smile as she dangled the plastic booty bag at the end of her fingertips. “Since you’re here, how about taking a look at some video with me? It’s not as wildly exciting as a motorcycle thundering into pharmacy, but it could be a felony, and it definitely qualifies as retail terrorism.”
35
Paul senther home after the police left. By that time, it was almost the end of her shift. Still, she credited him with kindness because she was, in fact, exhausted. Her nerves were still jangling as she left the store. It would have been easy, even understandable, to blame the Fred Mayhew motorcycle trespass for her edgy state, but it was the pair of children from her first bust that was at the root of what she felt. She’d never know what became of them. Protective services didn’t give up that kind of information, but it didn’t keep her from wondering about their situation, whether they’d be returned home to the mother who trafficked them, or whether they’d find safety—maybe—with kin or in a foster home. Their faces were now part of her mental photo album. If she saw them again, she wouldn’t hesitate to verify their relationship to the accompanying adults. Paul would have a fit, of course, for her violating the privacy of customers, but she’d feel better knowing the children were safe, and that counted for something with her conscience.
She was soaking in the tub with a glass of red wine and what she thought of as meditation music drifting in from the living room when her phone rang. It wasn’t “Ride of the Valkyries” but it may as well have been because it made her jump, splash water into her wine, spill wine into her water, and shattered her mood.
It was Briony. “Please let this be important,” Ramsey said. She set the wine glass on the edge of the tub and leaned forward to add hot water to her bath. “Please.”
“Well, hello to you too. Bad timing?”
Ramsey described her scene. “There are bath bomb bubbles in my wine, and don’t you dare start singing ‘Tiny Bubbles.’”
“Good thing I don’t know it, then, because you couldn’t stop me.”
Ramsey learned she still had the wherewithal to chuckle. “What can I do for you, Bri?”
“I’m just checking in. Maggie heard from Buddy about what happened out at the Ridge, and we thought one of us should hear it from you. Were you working?”
“I was.”
“You okay?”
“I am. Soak’s helping. You checking in is nice.”
“Of course. Are we still on for racquetball Saturday morning? Mags says she might tag along.”
“Absolutely.”
“Anything we can do for you? Send some takeout your way? I’d cook, but you know…I can’t.”
“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. Thenotcooking, I mean. I’m fine. I’m going to make grilled cheese and warm up some soup.”
“Wow. Real Top Chef material.”
“Hey. The cheese is Gruyère.” She removed the phone from her ear as Briony belly laughed. “We good now?”
