knew she hadn’t done anything wrong in setting up the
camera, she was sure Slack wouldn’t see it that way. “Why don’t we wait until
the paint rep can give us a new one,” she suggested, casting about desperately
for an escape. “Don’t you think the store will look bare without it?”
“No, I don’t,” said Slack impatiently. “Do
as I say, Franny. Give me the poster.”
For a moment, Franny froze, feeling exactly
like a truant caught out of school. Then she lifted the poster. The camera was
in plain view.
“What’s that?” demanded Slack, squinting
through his glasses.
“A video camera. I wanted to show you the
real thief. I set it up behind the poster,” she explained, showing him the hole
she had cut. “A lot of stores use them.”
“Never mind all that,” he said, brushing
aside her explanation. “Where did you get it?”
“I borrowed it from Lucy Stone,” she
explained, trying to remain calm. Her stomach was churning; she dreaded the old
man’s anger.
“You’re incorrigible, Franny,” he said in
his quivery voice. “Now you’re involving your friend. How foolish do you think
I am? I know what those cameras cost, my son, Fred, has one. And you want me to
believe that Lucy Stone lent you one.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“But she did, Mr. Slack. Just call and ask
her.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I know perfectly
well that Lucy Stone could not afford an expensive camera like that, any more
than you could, unless you’d been stealing from me.”
The light in the store suddenly dimmed, but
Franny could see two spots of color appearing in the old man’s cheeks. She
could even smell his stale breath as he leaned toward her.
“Mr. Slack, won’t you at least look at the
tape?” she pleaded, holding out the camera.
“For shame!” he thundered, snatching the
camera out of her hands. “You’re a thief and a liar, Franny!”
“Mr. Slack, Lucy needs the camera for her
daughters’ ballet,” said Franny, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Take your lies and get out. Now!” he
roared. Lowering his voice, he added, “Your services are no longer required.”
He pointed to the door with his long, flat finger. He was quivering, absolutely
shaking with rage. His color wasn’t good, Franny observed, and he was gasping
for breath.
She didn’t want to leave the camera with
him, but she decided she’d better go. Lucy could come back for it later. She
walked softly over to the counter and bent down to take her purse out from the
shelf beneath the register where she kept it. Trembling, fighting off nausea
and dizziness, she mustered every shred of dignity she possessed and walked
straight to the door, looking back only once as she braced herself to push it
open. Once she was outside, she couldn’t help giggling nervously. What a day.
What a horrible old man. As he stood there with his mouth gaping open,
struggling to catch his breath, Franny thought he looked just like a
glassy-eyed codfish flapping on the pier. Oh, well, there was a definite bright
side to all this, she thought as she walked to her car. Now she’d never have to
look at him, or smell him, or have anything at all to do with him ever again.
7
Put makeup on at
home.
Lucy spent Wednesday morning working in the
garden, pulling out weeds and picking lettuce and sugar snap peas while Sara
played nearby, arranging her doll babies in a toy carriage and feeding them
dandelion soup. It soon grew too muggy and hot to work, so Lucy retreated to
the house. She drew a tall glass of water from the cooler of bottled spring
water that stood in a comer of the kitchen, sat down at the table and dialed
the police station.
“Lucy, how’s every little thing?” asked
Culpepper. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”
“Oh, no. Everything’s fine. I haven’t seen
you for a while and wondered if you might be coming out this way one of these
days.”
Lucy didn’t agree with the prevailing
opinion that a married woman
camera, she was sure Slack wouldn’t see it that way. “Why don’t we wait until
the paint rep can give us a new one,” she suggested, casting about desperately
for an escape. “Don’t you think the store will look bare without it?”
“No, I don’t,” said Slack impatiently. “Do
as I say, Franny. Give me the poster.”
For a moment, Franny froze, feeling exactly
like a truant caught out of school. Then she lifted the poster. The camera was
in plain view.
“What’s that?” demanded Slack, squinting
through his glasses.
“A video camera. I wanted to show you the
real thief. I set it up behind the poster,” she explained, showing him the hole
she had cut. “A lot of stores use them.”
“Never mind all that,” he said, brushing
aside her explanation. “Where did you get it?”
“I borrowed it from Lucy Stone,” she
explained, trying to remain calm. Her stomach was churning; she dreaded the old
man’s anger.
“You’re incorrigible, Franny,” he said in
his quivery voice. “Now you’re involving your friend. How foolish do you think
I am? I know what those cameras cost, my son, Fred, has one. And you want me to
believe that Lucy Stone lent you one.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“But she did, Mr. Slack. Just call and ask
her.”
“I’ll do no such thing. I know perfectly
well that Lucy Stone could not afford an expensive camera like that, any more
than you could, unless you’d been stealing from me.”
The light in the store suddenly dimmed, but
Franny could see two spots of color appearing in the old man’s cheeks. She
could even smell his stale breath as he leaned toward her.
“Mr. Slack, won’t you at least look at the
tape?” she pleaded, holding out the camera.
“For shame!” he thundered, snatching the
camera out of her hands. “You’re a thief and a liar, Franny!”
“Mr. Slack, Lucy needs the camera for her
daughters’ ballet,” said Franny, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Take your lies and get out. Now!” he
roared. Lowering his voice, he added, “Your services are no longer required.”
He pointed to the door with his long, flat finger. He was quivering, absolutely
shaking with rage. His color wasn’t good, Franny observed, and he was gasping
for breath.
She didn’t want to leave the camera with
him, but she decided she’d better go. Lucy could come back for it later. She
walked softly over to the counter and bent down to take her purse out from the
shelf beneath the register where she kept it. Trembling, fighting off nausea
and dizziness, she mustered every shred of dignity she possessed and walked
straight to the door, looking back only once as she braced herself to push it
open. Once she was outside, she couldn’t help giggling nervously. What a day.
What a horrible old man. As he stood there with his mouth gaping open,
struggling to catch his breath, Franny thought he looked just like a
glassy-eyed codfish flapping on the pier. Oh, well, there was a definite bright
side to all this, she thought as she walked to her car. Now she’d never have to
look at him, or smell him, or have anything at all to do with him ever again.
7
Put makeup on at
home.
Lucy spent Wednesday morning working in the
garden, pulling out weeds and picking lettuce and sugar snap peas while Sara
played nearby, arranging her doll babies in a toy carriage and feeding them
dandelion soup. It soon grew too muggy and hot to work, so Lucy retreated to
the house. She drew a tall glass of water from the cooler of bottled spring
water that stood in a comer of the kitchen, sat down at the table and dialed
the police station.
“Lucy, how’s every little thing?” asked
Culpepper. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”
“Oh, no. Everything’s fine. I haven’t seen
you for a while and wondered if you might be coming out this way one of these
days.”
Lucy didn’t agree with the prevailing
opinion that a married woman
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