Donna Andrews - Chesapeake Crimes - This Job Is Murder!

“Of course, although some are stained. Fishing isn’t a clean hobby.”

“All you’ll really need are canvas pants and some attractive boots. We’ll supply a shirt with the ProTrout logo.”

The thought of wearing that damned leaping fish on my chest made me angry again, but I managed to smile.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity,” I said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

He barely looked at me, so he probably didn’t realize how I was seething at having to take such a low-paid, menial job at my age.

The next day I started work. The store was busiest at night and on weekends when men were off work looking to spend their paychecks, but I started out working days in ladies clothing, the slowest department. I knew women also fished, but they didn’t often shop at ProTrout, which reeked of testosterone and pandered to all of those erogenous male ego zones-the slickest reels, the largest boat, the most powerful engine, the most expensive hunting rifles, and all those electronic gadgets like fish finders-taking the sport out of any sport.

After two weeks and register training, I rotated to fishing tackle. It wasn’t a hard sales area, and I knew the merchandise. Most of the customers were replacing lost or worn out items in their tackle boxes. The tackle manager must have reported favorably on my performance, because Baldy switched me to the higher-traffic night shift and gave me a twenty-five-cent-an-hour raise. I didn’t like the hours, but I found they passed more quickly when the store was busier.

The weeks went by and daylight savings time changed to standard time. I fell into the routine of the store and took my dinner break just after sunset. Since the employee lounge was unappetizing, I ate in, or by, my car and then smoked a cigarette. I’d quit years ago, but the second after Joe died I’d lit up. Stress will kill you, they say. Down to two per day again, I enjoyed my smoke, hidden by the all-terrain vehicles showcased next to the parking lot.

Customer traffic slowed at the beginning of November. Management assured me this was the calm before the Christmas storm. One quiet night I noticed a thirty-something man over in the hunting section. Bored, I listened in on his conversation with the salesman.

“How’d you like the Arctic Cat ATV you bought?”

“Sweet. Goes anywhere. I went deer hunting last Saturday and bagged a stag.”

“Great! So what can I do for you this time?”

“One of the guys I hunt with used a crossbow. Said it was more sporting.”

“Well, it is more challenging. Maybe you should try it.” The salesman took out an expensive crossbow and demonstrated how easy it was to use. “Just attach the bow to this pulley. Reels in just like a fishing rod. Put in an arrow, aim, and release. This model uses twenty-inch arrows.”

“How much is it?”

“The bow’s $500. You can get the whole package for just $699.”

“Whew boy! My wife will kill me. The ATV set me back almost eight grand.”

“Up to you, but I don’t let my wife dictate,” the salesman said.

What a jerk! Maybe Baldy had said the same thing when he sold Joe the boat. I wondered if they shared their techniques. Coming from another guy, the remark about the wife hit home like high school peer pressure, and the male customers succumbed.

“Wrap it up,” the customer said. “If she complains, I’ll just tell her she bought my Christmas present early.”

“Great! I’ll have to tell the other guys that excuse when they come in to buy.” He made the customer’s comment sound as brilliant as Einstein’s equations.

Disgusted, I left a few minutes early for my dinner break. The weather was mild, so I pulled a beach chair from my trunk and swabbed my hands with the packaged bleach wipes I kept there. In my low chair on the edge of the ATV lot, I was practically invisible-always my preference especially when I’d heard something like tonight’s nauseating crossbow sale.

As I bit into my sandwich, I heard the customer and the salesman out back testing the new toy on our demonstration targets. The salesman fell all over himself praising his customer’s skill. Sickened by their banter, I stopped eating and lit up a cigarette. Eventually the salesman went inside, but I could still hear the thunk of the crossbow arrows hitting the target.

The headlights of a car whirled around the lot. I heard the driver pull into a spot and cut the engine. A few seconds later, the headlights blacked out, and a door slammed. The sound of high heels crossed the lot. A woman wearing a business suit emerged, walking near me. Just off work, I presumed. In the gathering dark, she didn’t spot me until she was almost on top of me. She hesitated.

Even though I was on break, out of habit, I asked, “Can I help you?”

“I doubt if anyone can help me.” Her voice sounded ragged and resigned.

“Why?”

“My lousy husband is addicted to this store. People talk about women spending money shopping, but compare women’s closets to the gear stuffed into men’s garages. They’re the shopaholics.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, honey,” I said. “My husband was a selfish bastard, too. You’d better head off yours before he spends more.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I’d bet the down payment on our house he’s here looking at new hunting equipment. We’re damn close to losing the house anyway.” She looked straight ahead at the store as if assessing a battlefield.

Just then, the crossbow customer strolled across the parking lot, holding his bagged purchase and admiring the ATVs along the edge of the lot, as if the one he had bought wasn’t enough. When the woman saw him, she took off, her heels clacking with speed and intensity as she approached him.

“Evan!”

“Jackie, what are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you, that’s what.”

“Who do you think you are, my mommy?” He turned to face her.

So the crossbow customer was her husband, I surmised. Poor woman.

“I can’t believe you came back here after buying the ATV.”

“Hey, you aren’t the boss. I’ll do what I want.”

“You selfish bastard.”

She’d used my own words, making me smile, and continued her tirade.

“After wiping out our savings on a stupid ATV, you’re in here buying something else?”

“Yeah, I am. It will save us money.” The customer opened his bag and pulled out his crossbow, fresh from the target range. The sales receipt fluttered to the ground, and the woman grabbed it.

She gasped and said, “$700. How will spending $700 save us money?”

“We can save on groceries when I bag more deer.”

“You idiot! The kids won’t even eat venison. How can you even try to justify spending money on yourself when we barely have money to buy Christmas presents for the kids?”

“You don’t have to buy me a gift now. Let me show you how it works.” He loaded an arrow and wound the pulley to ready the bow for firing, but his wife ignored his demonstration.

“Buy you a gift? Let me give you a reality check, Evan. I hadn’t planned to give you a gift. We just have enough to buy a few clothes for the kids. We’re behind on our mortgage payments. Give me that thing. I’m taking it back right now.”

“The hell you are!”

They struggled, and she succeeded in pulling the crossbow out of her husband’s hands. Unsteady from its weight, she turned it around to balance it. The arrow shot out of the crossbow and hit her husband in the chest. He immediately crumpled to the ground.

She reared back and blinked. I ran over and yanked the crossbow from her hands.

“Oh, my God, is he dead?” She stared at him, frozen.

I leaned over and checked his pulse. “Looks like the arrow went right through his heart. He’s not breathing.”