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Willow met Gertrude at the door. “You’re late.”
“No, I’m not,” Gertrude said, taking off her coat.
Willow pointed at the clock. “It’s past nine.”
Gertrude looked at the clock. “Oh bosh. It’s two minutes past nine. Anyway, I have a good reason for being a few seconds late.” Gertrude waited for Willow to ask, but she didn’t. So Gertrude told her anyway. “I had to booby-trap my trailer before I left this morning. Then my cats sprung half the traps, and I had to start all over.”
Willow wisely avoided this topic of conversation. “Whatever. Come on, someone practically destroyed the plus-sized section. We’ve got to go organize.”
Willow wasn’t kidding. Someone had definitely made a mess of the full-figured items. “What in tarnation?” Gertrude asked.
“I know. I wonder the same thing. I guess people think that because the stuff is used, they can treat it like it has no value?” She bent over to pick up a zebra-striped cami and put it back on a hanger.
Gertrude followed her lead and began to pick up the many items that had fallen off or been knocked off the rack. She tired of this after the third time she bent over, so she let Willow do the heavy lifting and she began to simply neaten up the hanging blouses. As she did this, she noticed a flurry of activity in the row of large blouses. “What’s she up to?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Oh, we kind of just let Azalea do what she wants to do. She is currently organizing blouses by color. It’s annoying, but it makes her happy. I’ll have to go through later and make sure she didn’t screw up the sizing while she was making her rainbow.”
Gertrude scowled. “What do you have against rainbows? I happen to like rainbows.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Gertrude was wondering what she’d meant by that when she noticed two uniforms enter the store. She groaned.
“What?” Willow asked, looking up.
“The cops are here.”
“So?”
“So, I really don’t like Hale.”
“Who’s Hale?”
“The handsome one.”
Willow giggled, and Gertrude looked at her, shocked.
“What?” Willow asked.
“I didn’t know you knew how to laugh. Or smile, come to think of it.”
“Oh, shut up,” Willow snapped, her giggle long gone.
Gertrude watched the two deputies speak to Sherri up front by the registers. Then Sherri led them toward the back. Gertrude’s eyes followed them all the way through the swinging doors. When she could no longer see them, her feet decided to give chase. Slowly.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Willow asked.
“I’m going to go see what they’re up to. They’re probably finally looking for the murder weapon. I’ve got to tell them where I’ve already searched. Don’t want them to waste their time.”
“Get back here!” Willow commanded, but Gertrude was already gone.
She pushed through the swinging doors just in time to see the police escorting Roderick out through the back. In handcuffs. Sherri watched him go, and then turned around and saw Gertrude gawking. “Back to work,” she said, firmly, but not unkindly.
“Why’d they arrest Roderick?” Gertrude asked.
“It’s not our business, Gertrude. Now get back to work, please.”
“But was it for the murder? Or something else?”
“The murder,” Sherri answered reluctantly. “Now, please?”
Gertrude finally left the back room to rejoin Willow in the now-much-neater plus-sized section. “They just arrested Roderick for the murder,” Gertrude exclaimed.
“Humph. Not surprised. That guy’s a weirdo.”
“Yeah, but, do you really think he would kill someone? I mean, he’s certainly shifty, but he’s no murderer,” Gertrude said.
“How do you know? I think we’re done here. At least I’m done. You haven’t really done much of anything. Go dust off the glassware.”
“Why? Where are you going?” Gertrude asked, excited about the idea of being left alone.
“I’m going to go ask Sherri if she wants me to cover the back. I guess Roderick won’t be accepting donations today.”
As Gertrude headed toward the glassware aisle, she heard whimpering in the Christmas section. She headed that way, and found Azalea standing in front of a plastic Christmas tree, crying. Wondering how she could have already learned of Roderick’s arrest, Gertrude said, “There, there, Azalea. It doesn’t mean he did it. The police are still investigating. They’ll figure out that he’s innocent. They’re just slow is all.”
Azalea looked up, confused. “What? Who is innocent?”
Gertrude was baffled. “Why are you crying?”
Azalea sniffed and then wiped her nose on her sleeve. Gertrude reached into her walker pouch and pulled out a Burger King napkin. She stepped forward to hand it to Azalea, and then stepped back to remain a safe distance from Azalea’s emotions. Azalea took the napkin and made an obvious effort to catch her breath. “This Christmas tree has a thirty-dollar price tag on it.”
Gertrude looked at the plastic tree and then back at Azalea. “So?”
“So!” Azalea cried. “This tree doesn’t cost thirty dollars! It only cost two dollars! Yesterday, it only cost two dollars!”
Gertrude scowled at her. “Why are you crying?” she repeated.
Azalea looked at her, wide-eyed. “Someone switched the tags!” she cried. “Someone bought something that was supposed to cost thirty dollars! And they only paid two dollars!”
“Oh,” Gertrude said. She looked at the tree. Then she looked at Azalea again. “So?”
Azalea was overcome with a whole new round of hysterics. “Oh, never mind! You don’t understand! Nobody ever understands!” she cried, and ran for the bathroom.
Gertrude didn’t exactly care about Azalea’s weird emotional breakdown, but she also didn’t want to dust wine goblets, so she headed toward the front to look for Sherri. She soon found her.
“Sherri, something is wrong with Azalea,” Gertrude said, trying to display a concerned expression.
“What happened?” Sherri asked, her eyes scanning the store.
“She was crying in the Christmas aisle,” Gertrude said. “Something about switched price tags.”
“Oh,” Sherri said, as if that explained everything. “Where did she go?”
“Bathroom,” Gertrude said, and Sherri headed that way. “What, does Christmas make everyone bonkers around here?” she asked the back of Sherri’s head.
“This is nothing. You should see Halloween,” Sherri said without turning around.
Gertrude still didn’t want to dust the glass aisle, so she headed to the back. Willow was standing with her head out the donation door, smoking. When she saw Gertrude, she hurriedly stomped out her cigarette and tried to look casual.
“I just found Azalea sobbing over a switched price tag. Is that normal?” Gertrude asked.
Willow smirked. “Yeah. Normal for her. I’m telling you, she lives and breathes this place. She takes it personally if someone shoplifts. Once, someone wrote a naughty word on the bathroom door, and she was inconsolable for a week.”
Gertrude stared at her, thinking about Azalea.
“What?” Willow asked self-consciously.
“Nothing,” Gertrude said. “So, any new donations of interest?”
“Nope. Most stuff comes in on the weekends.”
“So you just stand here all day doing nothing?”
Willow gave her a dirty look. “No, I sort and price while I’m back here. We don’t really need to stand by the door. When someone drives up, an alarm sounds back here.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard that bell. I wondered what that was.”
“Yeah, well now you know. Did you dust the glassware?”
“Of course! Who was back here during the murder?”
“What?”
“Who was back here,” Gertrude repeated slowly, “when Tislene Breen was killed?”
“I was,” Willow snapped. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“And there was no one else? Nobody dropping things off? I mean, you would’ve heard them when they pulled up, right?”
Willow looked suspicious. “Yes. I suppose. But there wasn’t anyone. I was all alone. I didn’t even know something had happened until the cops came to talk to me.”