“I heard. Not exactly the most important element of the story.” She patted one of his forearms lightly. “It’s all right. You can reveal the particulars at your leisure, Scheherazade.”
“And save my life?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but it’ll get you more dates.”
“Oh, goodie.”
14
At work a week later,Ramsey haunted the aisles, looking for nefarious goings on, or at least for something interesting to happen. There was the harried mother with three little ones who didn’t notice that the two who were not in the buggy seat were pulling items off the shelves in her wake. Ramsey did some clean up and politely suggested the child care center for the rascals. Mom did not appreciate the suggestion and let her know it. Ah, Ramsey thought, it was going to be that kind of day.
She wandered into the light bulb aisle and looked around, but after a few minutes she gave up trying to work out what fascinated Sullivan about the place. Maybe she’d ask him. Maybe not. It was early days yet, and she figured a little mystery was a good thing. Sure, she had yet to learn the specifics of the Grab and Go robbery, but the mystery of why the Constantinides family wouldn’t take his money was essentially solved. He hadn’t asked for anything from her in return, not then, and not later when he dropped her off at home. She told herself she should be grateful; what she was was suspicious.
Ramsey stopped a couple of ’tween boys from trying to lift bargain DVDs and saved herself doing paperwork by warning them off before they had their spoils secured in the kangaroo pouches of their hoodies. She loitered outside the Starbucks, sipping a latte and watching the self-checkout registers. Every shopper was scrupulously honest today, which was good, but boring.
She tossed the latte cup and worked her way over to hardware. Nothing much ever went on over there so she was surprised when she saw a cluster of young men, twenties and thirties, gathered in the home improvement aisle examining paint samples and looking over the cans. Mason Calabash was standing at the stirrer waiting for someone to select something so he could shake it up and make a blend.
Ramsey sidled over to him. “What’s the appeal?” she asked, thrusting her chin in the direction of the men.
Calabash, a former construction worker and master carpenter, shrugged narrow shoulders. He scratched behind one ear and shook his head. He had thick iron gray hair that had a tendency to stand perpendicular to any part of his scalp that wasn’t covered by his yellow ball cap. The cap was slightly askew so that the Southridge logo was tipped at a non-regulation angle.
“They’ve been looking around for nigh on twenty minutes now, trying to make a selection,” he told her. “I made myself available, but to a man, they said they didn’t need me.”
“Huh.” She counted five customers milling about. Another young man came around the end cap and joined them. They didn’t say much to one another, and when she could catch a snippet of conversation, it wasn’t about paint. It was about football. For once it wasn’t the NFL that occupied their minds; it was local high school football, which was now in conditioning mode. “Is Paul running an unadvertised sale?”
“He never said a word to me. Then again, he accepted delivery of all those pallets of Caribbean Coast that were delivered here by mistake. He’s got to hawk them.” He shrugged again. “I suppose I’ll know if there’s a sale when I scan their purchases—if one of them ever makes a selection.”
“Caribbean Coast? I heard it was bisque.”
“It is bisque. Just the name is fancied up. Sold quite a few cans yesterday on my shift. I’m thinking there’s a beautification movement in the works to paint the town bisque.”
Ramsey held up her hands, splaying her fingers to show him her polished nails. “Know what they call this varnish?”
“Clear?”
She chuckled. “Once upon a time, maybe. This is Shine on Harvest Moonshine. Never underestimate the appeal of a clever name. Even a cynic like me couldn’t resist.” Ramsey pushed away from the counter. “Nice chatting with you, Mason. Oh, looks like you finally got one.” She lingered long enough to hear the customer tell Mason in James Bond tones that he wanted his Caribbean Coast shaken, not stirred. Smiling to herself, she headed to lawn and garden.
The indoor/outdoor nature of the lawn and garden made It a challenge to observe. It wasn’t unusual for a shoplifter to try to leave by this route after spending time feigning interest in the annuals and perennials in the spring, the pool toys in the summer, the giant potted mums and Halloween décor in the fall, and the poinsettias, lights, and fake firs at Christmas. Some shoppers simply made a mad dash to the parking lot, but the savvy ones took their time and strolled out just as if they’d paid for every item in their cart.
The middle-aged woman with a collection of birdhouses in her buggy interested Ramsey. She kept a casual eye on her. The customer rearranged her cart to add seed and a birdbath and then proceeded to the checkout where she paid for everything she unloaded from the cart and nothing at all for the trinkets she had been slipping into her coat pockets.
Curious that this customer paid for the relatively expensive items yet wanted to lift the magnets, ceramic pot huggers, and votive candles, Ramsey stopped her at the exit and asked to see her receipt and then empty her pockets. There was a fuss, of course. There always was, but Ramsey remained calm and deescalated the customer’s rolling tide of anxiety and outrage until it was worry and embarrassment that troubled her. Ramsey led the woman to the office on the far side of the store, invited her to sit down, and offered her something to drink.
“I’m not going to charge you,” said Ramsey, sitting opposite the woman. “I don’t even want to know your name. You’re Jane Doe as far as I’m concerned. Does that work for you?”
Jane Doe nodded. She sat up a bit straighter, pulled back slumping shoulders. She brushed at fly-away strands of highlighted hair that had slipped from their clips. “Thank you,” she whispered. When Ramsey did not speak, she asked, “Why am I here, then? What do you want?”
“A better understanding,” said Ramsey. “I’m thinking you didn’t need the magnets, the pot huggers, or those tea lights. Maybe you didn’t even want them. Not really. You were obviously able to pay for the other items. So what was it that prompted you to lift the other things?”
Jane Doe’s dark brown eyes widened slightly. She blinked once and then stared at Ramsey, her forehead laddered with horizontal creases. “My therapist can tell you. Me? I don’t have the insight yet. She despairs that I ever will.”
“Really? You have a therapist?”
“I do.”
“Specific to your stealing habit?”
“Started out that way. But we’ve uncovered other issues.”
