Sophie Littlefield - A Bad Day for Sorry

She pointed to the counter, where packages of binding were piled up high. Her sister had her own pile. There were probably thirty packages between the two of them.

Stella took a deep breath and said, “Sorry, ladies, but I’m not running any specials. I think there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Chrissy stage-whispered in a singsongy voice.

“No misunderstanding I can figure,” Lila said. “I was in here at ten and I bought two packs of the inch and a half. Kelly green. And your girl here charged me for one. So I says, you charged me for one, deary, and she says no, that’s no mistake, that’s what you told her to do.”

“I said no such thing!” Chrissy said. “I said I was just doing what Miz Hardesty told me, and it wasn’t my fault the cash register wasn’t ringing up the numbers right.”

“Well, you took my money, didn’t you?” Lila said, the jut of her chin taking on an even more stubborn set. “Way I see it, that means you agreed on the two-for-one.”

Lila’s sister nodded along to everything her sister said, and Chrissy’s face was getting blotchy and red. “Now let’s just slow down a minute, ladies,” Stella said. “This is Chrissy’s first day on the job, and she’s still getting used to our… system. I don’t think—”

“I did drive up from Quail Valley,” Delores said primly. “Seein’ as you had the special.”

Stella tapped her foot on the floor. Did the math in her head. “Okay,” she said after a minute. “How’s this. Twenty-five percent off. That’s the best I can do.”

“Well… how about you throw in one of those serger books I know you ain’t sold in two years,” Lila sniffed. “And maybe you ought to consider getting some more qualified help.”

Chrissy went very still for a moment, and Stella was trying to figure out how to diffuse the old bitch’s comments, when she noticed something interesting.

A deep purple flush was creeping upward from Chrissy’s collarbones, and her eyes had narrowed to slits. She slowly drew herself up to her full height and drew in a breath, and then she made her hands into tight fists before extending her fingers out like a boxer getting taped for a fight.

“Excuse me, lady, what did you just say?” she demanded, her voice very soft.

Lila put her hands on her hips and glared back. “Just that seein’ as you’re not even able to run a simple cash register or add up a purchase, maybe Stella here ought to—”

Chrissy’s hand shot out so fast that Stella jumped. Chrissy made a crisscross motion in front of Lila’s face, snapping her fingers twice.

“Lookie here,” she said, voice full of menace. “I have had a very bad couple of days. I have sat back and took what assholes like you have been dishing out for way too long, and I’m about sick of it. I am not dumb. I am not helpless. And I’m not taking any more shit. I’m done, and I’m about to get very, very pissed off and I’m tellin’ you now I don’t think you want to be around when that happens, hear?”

Lila’s eyes went wide, and she gripped the handle of her handbag hard. Her sister shifted slightly so she was standing behind Lila.

“Um, now…,” Stella began, but realized she didn’t really feel like scolding Chrissy. This anger of hers might not be such a bad thing. In fact, it just might be something they could use.

She grabbed the book Lila wanted from the rack and slipped it into a plastic merchandise bag along with the binding tape. “You got a deal,” she said, and gently pushing Chrissy out of the way, rang up the sale and quickly counted out the ladies’ change.

Lila Snopes took the bag and the change without comment. She shoved the money in her purse, and the two old ladies scuttled out of the store without a backward glance.

When they were gone, there was a long silence. Chrissy stared at the shop door and took a few deep breaths. After a few moments she turned to Stella with a nearly placid expression and handed her a Post-it note.

“I took a message for you,” she said.

Stella squinted at the note. In curvy lettering was written: “Call me on my cell.”

“That’s great,” she said. “Thanks. Call who?”

Chrissy looked at her in surprise. “Well, the sheriff, of course.”

Stella’s heart did a little rollover, but she kept her expression neutral. “Oh. ’Cause see on the note, it just says…” She pointed to the Post-it. “Never mind. When did he call?”

“He didn’t call, he stopped by. After that lady was here the first time. Maybe an hour ago?”

“What did he say? I mean, besides to call.”

“Well, mostly he told me not to worry. But you know what, Stella? I’ve been thinking. I think y’all ought to stop trying to make me feel better. I mean, I’m Tucker’s mama . I need to know what all’s going on, so I can help find him.”

Stella hesitated. She admired the girl’s guts and was relieved to see Chrissy provoked out of her listless funk. But her instinct was to tell Chrissy to stay out of it. It wasn’t just that she’d always worked alone—there was also the promise she had made to herself after Lorelle Cavenaugh died: that she would never do anything to endanger a client again.

Chrissy was still a client.

Letting Chrissy anywhere near Benning and the rest of them—or letting her tag along on the hunt for Pitt Akers—was insanity.

“Anything else?” she asked carefully.

“Sheriff Jones asked where you were. Oh, you know, I guess I could have given him your cell phone number. I didn’t even think of that.”

“That’s okay. He’s got it,” Stella said. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“Where I was. You know, out at Benning’s.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t. ’Cause you remember, you said—”

“I remember. But when it’s the sheriff who’s asking—no, scratch that.” She had been about to tell Chrissy that, despite her earlier warning to keep Stella’s errand a secret, the sheriff was an exception. But that wasn’t really true. As much as Stella was sort of wishing she’d been back in time for his visit, she wasn’t ready yet to fill him in on her search.

She needed to find out a little more about Benning’s side dealings. After her visit, she was more inclined to worry about that angle: there was something about the way Arthur Junior had reacted when she mentioned Tucker. Earl Benning was shiftier and meaner-looking than she remembered, that was true; and yet when he kept insisting he didn’t know anything about Tucker, there was an element of something resembling fear in his eyes, a nervous quality to his voice.

Enough to make Stella think twice. Just because she couldn’t figure out why Roy Dean might have taken Tucker to the salvage yard didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Some men, she had learned, didn’t always need good reasons to do bad things.

Earlier, as she left Benning’s, Stella had taken a good look at his house. A recent-model silver Camaro was parked in front of a glossy black Ford F-450, and around the side a pair of Sea-Doos were loaded on a trailer. On the other side of the house, on a larger trailer, a sweet blue and white closed-hull Ski Nautique was pulled up under a carport. On the porch, a long-legged bleached-blond gal in a bikini top and a pair of cutoffs lounged in a deck chair.

Cars, boats, toys, and women… none of those came for free, at least not for a man like Benning.

Stella needed to find out where the money was coming from. That would lead her to the business Earl and his friends were conducting. And that information, with any luck, would lead her to Roy Dean.

And from there, just maybe, to Tucker.