Read Online Black Thursday by Linda Joffe Hull - Free Book Online

while his partner and Alan started for the yellow-taped southeast corner of the store. “We’re off shift when he gets back.”
    â€œHelluva night for a rookie,” Frank said.
    â€œTell me about it,” Griff said, looking as exhilarated as I’d ever seen him. “My partner says I’ll probably never see anything like this again in my career.”
    â€œLet’s hope not,” I said.
    â€œGlad I got the call, though,” he said, looking away quickly, as if searching for L’Raine. She’d apparently phoned in the 911 to his personal cell phone. “But I’ll be glad to call it a night soon too.”
    â€œHave they released the name of the victim?” I asked.
    â€œNot yet,” he said.
    â€œBut they’ve figured out what happened?”
    â€œI overheard one of the firemen saying they thought the pallet was up there at an odd angle,” Frank said. “The vibration from so many people lined up along the aisle and pushing against the shelf supports sent the thing off the edge.”
    â€œOfficially, I can neither confirm nor deny,” Griff said in true cop fashion. He looked around, ostensibly to check that his partner wasn’t back in hearing range. “But between us, that’s pretty much the general consensus.”

    14 . There is typically a lull between the “Thanksgiving dinner at noon and get in line” crowd and the “let’s just go see what’s out there” people who may wait until Friday morning, but shopping during the quiet hours after the hot-ticket electronic items may have sold out can still pay off with great deals.
    15 . Black Friday safety tip: Don’t leave purchases visible in your car windows. Lock them in the trunk or, if possible, take them directly home.

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    Awesome Alan, with his full face and rosy cheeks, ran past a group of plump chickens playing hopscotch in the aisle and a baby goat gnawing at a zebra-print couch. He paused to pet the enormous garden snake slithering out of an open washing machine, but stopped entirely in front of a group of women wearing camouflage skirts and combat boots.
    My Frugarmy.
    They waved for the camera.
    â€œThis can’t be happening!” Alan shouted in what sounded like Frank’s voice, pulling battered, dented toaster boxes from their matching camo shopping bags. “Not in my store. Not tonight!”
    The women opened their mouths like baby birds so Joyce, who’d appeared out of nowhere, could pour gray, lumpy, floury chunks down their throats from the gravy boat she held.
    â€œMmmm,” one of the women said. It was L’Raine, and she was looking at a police service revolver in her hand.
    â€œThe secret is the Red Hots,” echoed over the PA system, followed by, “Tragic accident cleanup, aisle one.”
    Eloise grabbed a mop and bucket, and we ran in slow motion—Frugarmy, animals, and Michaels family members alike—along a parade route lined with live-streaming flat screen TVs.
    â€œWe love you, Ms. Frugalicious!” someone yelled from the crowd.
    â€œShe’s Mrs. Frugalicious, not Miz!” someone else yelled.
    â€œNot if she divorces Frank!”
    I waved and tried to shout Black Friday shopping tips over the crowd, but the only thing that came out was, “I can’t confirm or deny!”
    â€œAccidents happen,” Barb said from what was left of aisle one, pointing to an almost-zipped body bag where a familiar pair of blood-soaked tennis shoes stuck out from the bottom. Barb turned to the counter beside her, loaded an entire loaf of bread into a giant multi-slotted toaster, and pressed the start button. “And then you’re toast.”
    As toast echoed over the PA system and the heady scent of warm cinnamon, bacon, and eggs seemed to flood the store, tears ran down my face and dropped onto what I realized were the very same blood-spattered shoes. On my feet.
    â€œNo!”