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CHARLOTTE AND ENSAR were sitting in her apartment, sipping cups of coffee and trying to process the evening’s events, when Charlotte remembered the label she’d taken from Mr. Primate’s hand. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled it out. She unrolled it and smoothed it out on the coffee table in front of them.
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“I RECOGNIZE THIS LABEL. It’s what was in the boxes in that little room in the basement at work,” Charlotte told Ensar.
“It’s a nice-looking label?” said Ensar, questioning where Charlotte was going with this.
“It’s brand new,” said Charlotte. “Pretty strange, considering all the cans are from the 1970s.”
“Are you sure it’s new? Perhaps it’s old but still in good condition?”
“Well, I saw the boxes these were in and they looked new and bright, while everything else in the basement is old, musty, and dirty. And those were fresh pecans that Mr. Primate kept going after. I think this printing place must give customers some nuts with each order as some kind of marketing gimmick.”
“Strange,” said Ensar.
“And strange that these say oil paint. The only paint in the basement is lead-based paint,” said Charlotte.
“And why were they locked in that room? Nothing else down there is locked up,” said Ensar. “Also, that room wasn’t locked until recently.”
“And why get them printed in Seattle instead of here in Windy Pines at the local print shop? Even if Seattle’s cheaper, it’s not like anyone around here normally cares about saving money.”
“Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation,” said Ensar. “Maybe the O’Leerys are going to get into the paint business. After all, they have plenty of rollers and brushes, and space to store it all, once they get rid of everything that’s already there.”
“But if that was the case,” said Charlotte, “wouldn’t they want their names on the labels? They certainly want their names on all their snowboards.”
“I don’t know. This whole night feels like a bad dream,” Ensar said.
Charlotte rubbed her temples and got up to get some aspirin. Ensar paced the room, sighing and shaking his head. Then they sat back down, picked up their coffee mugs, took sips, and seconds later, simultaneously slammed the mugs back down on the coffee table. They grabbed each other’s hands, both understanding at the same moment what had happened.
“You ready to go back down to the police station?” Ensar asked Charlotte.
“And deal with the world’s most incompetent police force? I may need a couple more aspirin first,” said Charlotte.
“I think we’d better go back before they arrest the wrong people.”
“Like us,” said Charlotte.
“Exactly. Before we go, I owe you an apology,” he added.
“What for?” asked Charlotte.
“For saying America is boring. That was really out of line.”
“Apology accepted,” she said.