Bentley Little - The Store

And now The Store had come to Juniper.

Bill stopped reading, rubbing his tired eyes. The articles were mostly from financial publications, focusing on the nuts-and-bolts of the business, so the emphasis was not on muckraking or human interest and there was nothing overtly negative about Newman King or The Store. But there was still enough between the lines to put him on guard.

Bribes, threats, and intimidation? A cult? If those aspects were even mentioned in articles focusing on the financial world, it meant that they were more than merely idle speculation or isolated charges. And combined with his own thoughts, feelings, and observations, they painted a rather frightening picture.

The phone rang and Bill picked it up. "Hello?"

It was Ben.

"Richardson's burned down," the editor said.

"What?"

"I just came back from taking pictures. The fire guys're still there. The rain's helping, but the lumber was covered and it went up like a tinderbox."

"Is --"

"Richardson's dead. He was trapped in the blaze."

"Jesus."

"By the time they got to him and pulled him out, he was gone."

"What caused it?" Bill asked. "Do they know?"

Ben didn't answer.

"Lightning?" he asked hopefully, though he'd neither heard thunder nor seen lightning all afternoon.

There was a pause. "No," Ben said finally, and there was a note in his voice that Bill recognized and didn't like. "Arson."

"It's taking over," Bill said, pacing up and down in front of the bed.

Ginny looked up from her magazine. "What is?"

"You know damn well what. The Store. Its competitors are disappearing. Or their businesses are burning down." He looked at her. "You don't think that might be just a wee bit on the suspicious side?"

"Don't yell at me."

"I'm not yelling!"

But he was, he knew. He was taking it out on her, although he wasn't mad at her at all. He was frightened. He'd been concerned before, angry, uneasy, but it was the physical presence of that blackened, still-smoking building that made him realize the death and destruction that The Store could cause.

The Store?

He was thinking of The Store as a single organism, a monolithic monster, but it wasn't that, was it? It was a corporation, a series of retail outlets scattered throughout the country and staffed by ordinary local people.

No, it was a structured organization created to follow the whims and carry out the wishes of Newman King.

That was how he thought of it.

But why? What was the point of it all? What was the purpose?

Those were questions he couldn't even hope to answer.

He thought for a moment, then opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. "Samantha!"

Ginny hurried after him. "What are you doing?"

"Samantha!" He pushed open the door to his daughter's bedroom, walked in.

She'd obviously been sleeping, and she sat up groggily. "What?"

"You can't work at The Store anymore."

That woke her up.

"I can't --"

"-- work at The Store," he finished for her.

"Well, I am."

"I'm afraid you're not."

"I'm eighteen," she said. "You can't tell me what to do."

"As long as you live in my house I can."

"Then I won't live in your house!"

Ginny stepped between them. "Come on," she said. "Let's not give any ultimatums or paint ourselves into any corners. Let's all calm down."

"You cannot work at The Store," Bill repeated.

"I like working there."

"You want to read what I read about The Store? You want to hear what I've heard?"

Sam shrugged in a way that was meant to be infuriating and was. "Not particularly."

He wanted to hit her, wanted to tell her to get the hell out of the house, then, and not come back. He was filled with an almost blinding rage, and it was his recognition of that emotion, his realization that he was overreacting in a way that was totally inappropriate, that brought him back down to earth.

He looked at Sam, who was staring at him, holding the covers under her chin. What was wrong with him? What was he thinking? He had never hit either of the girls. Ever. And he had never even been tempted to do so until now.

This was something he couldn't blame on The Store.

Could he?

Shannon poked her head in the door. "What's happening?" she said. "What's all the craziness?"

"Go back to bed," Ginny told her.

"I just want to know."

"It's none of your business. Back to bed."

Embarrassed, Bill faced Samantha. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You should be."

"But I still don't want you to work there."

"It's my decision. I need the money, and I like my job."

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Ginny said. She ushered him out the door. "It's my decision," Sam repeated.

"Like your mom said, we'll talk about it in the morning." Bill closed the door behind him and followed Ginny back to the bedroom.

2

Shannon walked into her sister's room after breakfast. Sam was still not up, but she was awake, and Shannon knew that she simply hadn't wanted to face their dad.

"So what was all that about last night?"

Samantha looked at her. "His brain snapped."

"But what was it about?"

"None of your business."

"Come on," Shannon said. "Don't you give me that, too."

"He doesn't want me to work."

"Why not?"

Sam shrugged. "Who knows?"

"It has to be something."

"Does it?" Sam looked at her. "Why am I even talking to you? Get out of my room."

"I was thinking of getting a job there, too, this summer."

"Yeah, right."

"I was."

"Didn't I tell you to get out of my room?"

"I thought you might want to talk --"

"With you?"

"Sorry. I forgot what a bitch you are. My fault." Shannon turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

FOURTEEN

1

It had been a long time. Cash had died fifteen years ago this coming July, and she had not had a man since. She wasn't complaining. She had never wanted anyone else. Cash had been her husband, and as far as she was concerned, it would be unfaithful of her to make love with another man.

Still, sometimes she missed it.

Flo glanced up and down the store aisle to make sure no one was watching, then looked at the selection of massagers and vibrators on the shelf in front of her. There was one that strapped on to the user's hand, another that looked like a rubber ball on a wand, but she found herself focusing on the vibrator on the right, the one that looked like a man's penis.

"Excuse me, ma'am. May I help you?"

She jumped at the sound of the voice, turning in embarrassment to face a young man wearing a green Store uniform. She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"These are nice models here," the young man said. He gestured toward the vibrators. "Top-of-the-line products. Discount prices."

"I -- I wasn't looking at those," Flo said.

"Yes, you were." The young man smiled, but there was nothing snide or smirking or hurtful in his smile. Nothing lascivious.

Lascivious?

She was old enough to be his grandmother.

"I --" she began.

"You're looking for a vibrator." He picked up the middle model, the wand.

"This one is probably the best if you're going to be massaging your back muscles and those hard-to-reach places. On the other hand, if you're looking to sexually pleasure yourself --"

"I am not!" She was almost shouting, and she felt the heat of embarrassment flush her face. She quickly glanced around, but they were still alone in the aisle.

"It's none of our business if you are. And it's nothing to be ashamed of, ma'am. We're here to provide you with the products you need, not to pass judgment on your lifestyle. Our policy is to make sure that everyone finds what they want and that none of our customers are ashamed or embarrassed. If I've made you feel that way, I am truly sorry."