hundred and three and nine-tenths,” Ethel said, throwing the oxygen mask at Ted Macri. “Too old for Vegas. Too old to be alive, but that’s an oxymoron.”
“And too old to run away from home,” I added. “Everybody calm down.”
People who came in because they were curious about the excitement noticed my Sale signs and gravitated toward my stock, while they took in the latest gossip.
Paisley chafed Ethel’s hands, the sweet thing. “I hope this isn’t because Dolly thinks I look like her.”
Behind her, I saw Dante miming, “There you go. See? I told you so,” spreading his arms and doing his “I was right” dance with attitude.
Werner had a set of questions to go with Paisley’s resemblance to Dolly, and when he got to the bottom of the innocent comment, I had to credit him with not laughingat what would be a poor reason to “run away from home.”
“Detective,” I asked, aware it was too soon, and not yet twenty-four hours, “can you put out a missing per-sons bulletin on Dolly? She can’t be hard to find at her age.”
“How long has Dolly been missing?” he asked Ethel.
“Twenty-four hours,” I lied in a be-my-friend way.
Werner shook his head, like he was embarrassed to be such a soft touch. “I’ll check your basement, Mrs. Sweet, then I’ll call it in.”
Ethel kissed his hand. I was tempted to do the same, an inclination that did not go unnoticed by the detective, who once described a kiss of ours as thermonuclear.
No surprise, my customers were on their phones to friends, who started to arrive while the police were still there. Better than taking out an ad: Get a bargain and witness the latest; spread the gossip firsthand. Primary sources were always so treasured in these cases.
Werner left, Ethel got up off the gurney under her own steam, slapping Ted Macri’s hand when he tried to help her, and she insisted that if she didn’t work today, she’d go balmy. She barely stopped to rest as the day progressed rapidly and nonstop. Not sure if I made more sales or answered more questions, but I counted the day a success and put up the Closed sign three minutes early, shut the door, and turned the lock.
“Whew!” I leaned against the door and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, the world had not disappeared. Nick, Ethel, Paisley, Eve, and Eve’s mother all stared at me. “Thanks, everyone, for staying to help. Who knew I’d have such a great sale just because Dolly took a jaunt?”
Oops, probably shouldn’t have brought it up. “Ethel, how are you feeling? Listen, she’ll be back before bedtime, or she’ll be waiting with lemon squares when you get up tomorrow. Just watch.”
The shop phone rang and Nick got it. “Are you sure?” he asked. “International? Which terminal?” He hung up, kind of dumbstruck, as if he’d taken a bullet, but couldn’t keel over or figure out why.
I helped Ethel to a chair, maybe too fast for her peace of mind, and I widened my eyes at Nick. “Well?” I snapped.
“Someone matching Dolly’s description—not necessarily Dolly herself—was seen at John F. Kennedy Airport today.”
“New York?” I fell back against the door. “Which terminal?”
Nick looked at my phone’s receiver, still in his hand, as if to confirm what he’d heard. “Air France.”
Ethel’s wail made me wonder if I should call the medics again.
Ten
The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.
—CARL JUNG
“France? Why? This is bad,” Nick said.
“Don’t be gentle on my account.” Ethel looked like he’d poked her in the eye.
“It’s bad in a lot of ways,” I amended. “So, Nick, in what particular way are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking if I don’t get the New York Feds to Kennedy ten minutes ago,” he said, hitting speed dial, “that as soon as that plane hits international waters, we’ve lost our jurisdiction, and finding Dolly will be up to the French
“And too old to run away from home,” I added. “Everybody calm down.”
People who came in because they were curious about the excitement noticed my Sale signs and gravitated toward my stock, while they took in the latest gossip.
Paisley chafed Ethel’s hands, the sweet thing. “I hope this isn’t because Dolly thinks I look like her.”
Behind her, I saw Dante miming, “There you go. See? I told you so,” spreading his arms and doing his “I was right” dance with attitude.
Werner had a set of questions to go with Paisley’s resemblance to Dolly, and when he got to the bottom of the innocent comment, I had to credit him with not laughingat what would be a poor reason to “run away from home.”
“Detective,” I asked, aware it was too soon, and not yet twenty-four hours, “can you put out a missing per-sons bulletin on Dolly? She can’t be hard to find at her age.”
“How long has Dolly been missing?” he asked Ethel.
“Twenty-four hours,” I lied in a be-my-friend way.
Werner shook his head, like he was embarrassed to be such a soft touch. “I’ll check your basement, Mrs. Sweet, then I’ll call it in.”
Ethel kissed his hand. I was tempted to do the same, an inclination that did not go unnoticed by the detective, who once described a kiss of ours as thermonuclear.
No surprise, my customers were on their phones to friends, who started to arrive while the police were still there. Better than taking out an ad: Get a bargain and witness the latest; spread the gossip firsthand. Primary sources were always so treasured in these cases.
Werner left, Ethel got up off the gurney under her own steam, slapping Ted Macri’s hand when he tried to help her, and she insisted that if she didn’t work today, she’d go balmy. She barely stopped to rest as the day progressed rapidly and nonstop. Not sure if I made more sales or answered more questions, but I counted the day a success and put up the Closed sign three minutes early, shut the door, and turned the lock.
“Whew!” I leaned against the door and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, the world had not disappeared. Nick, Ethel, Paisley, Eve, and Eve’s mother all stared at me. “Thanks, everyone, for staying to help. Who knew I’d have such a great sale just because Dolly took a jaunt?”
Oops, probably shouldn’t have brought it up. “Ethel, how are you feeling? Listen, she’ll be back before bedtime, or she’ll be waiting with lemon squares when you get up tomorrow. Just watch.”
The shop phone rang and Nick got it. “Are you sure?” he asked. “International? Which terminal?” He hung up, kind of dumbstruck, as if he’d taken a bullet, but couldn’t keel over or figure out why.
I helped Ethel to a chair, maybe too fast for her peace of mind, and I widened my eyes at Nick. “Well?” I snapped.
“Someone matching Dolly’s description—not necessarily Dolly herself—was seen at John F. Kennedy Airport today.”
“New York?” I fell back against the door. “Which terminal?”
Nick looked at my phone’s receiver, still in his hand, as if to confirm what he’d heard. “Air France.”
Ethel’s wail made me wonder if I should call the medics again.
Ten
The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.
—CARL JUNG
“France? Why? This is bad,” Nick said.
“Don’t be gentle on my account.” Ethel looked like he’d poked her in the eye.
“It’s bad in a lot of ways,” I amended. “So, Nick, in what particular way are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking if I don’t get the New York Feds to Kennedy ten minutes ago,” he said, hitting speed dial, “that as soon as that plane hits international waters, we’ve lost our jurisdiction, and finding Dolly will be up to the French
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