Black Thursday (6 page)

seven

Following some admittedly impressive
walkie-talkie/cell phone/landline finagling between Frank, Griff, various emergency responders, and Assistant Manager Joe (left to negotiate after Alan expressed his fervent but seemingly futile wish to stay open, and then shut himself, the husband, and a police official into his office), a hasty but potentially promising plan to keep Bargain Barn operational actually did start to unfold.

The plan started with Channel Three taping while I, Mrs. Frugalicious, addressed all of Bargain Barn via the store PA system:

Attention shoppers. This is Maddie Michaels, also known as Mrs. Frugalicious. Thank you for your patience and calm in the face of this evening's unfortunate events. While a small portion of the store will, for obvious reasons, remain off limits, the staff of Bargain Barn is preparing to get the rest of the sales floor up and operational. If you have already made a purchase and still need to pick it up or arrange delivery, that line will be reforming at Merchandise Pickup. If you were previously in a specific doorbuster special line, please show your number to the employees and volunteers who will be standing by on the west side of the store to direct you to its new locations. If you are a member of my Frugarmy and were waiting in the line by Layaway, that particular line will now be relocated
…

Even as I spoke, shoppers seemed to be pouring into the store to sympathize, be part of the hubbub, meet me (per Frank), score abandoned electronic deals already sold out at some of the other stores (per me), and enjoy an extra 10% off their next purchase through December 24 (per Joe, the assistant manager).

As a result, the next hour was anything but a temporary lull
14
at Bargain Barn.

While emergency workers wrapped up their grim job in the yellow-taped southeast corner of the store, employees returned to their various tasks and posts, old and new, around the building.

The Michaels clan not only stuck around, but did so with an
in for a penny
spirit, starting with Frank. He trolled the aisles, reassuring shoppers everything was A-OK; non-answering questions about what had happened; and playing warm, comforting celebrity spouse. Barb and Eloise (who wanted to be as far away from the body as possible) joined the ranks of assistant to the assistant manager, helping to organize the newly formed lines. Craig volunteered to serve as a runner, fetching various small appliances for shoppers from the store employees on toaster-cleanup detail just inside the out-of-bounds area. Ditto that for Wendy Killian, from
Here's the Deal
magazine, who'd gotten her TV, locked it in the trunk of her car,
15
and joined in with the effort.

I didn't have the heart to tell Craig that his obvious ulterior motive—cozying up to L'Raine—was pointless since she'd volunteered for the same job to be close to the police activity.

Namely, Griff.

As I greeted shoppers at the front of the store and in range of the camera, Gerald and Joyce set up shop at the Customer Service desk as crisis counselors of sorts. Gerald offering soothing platitudes to still-rattled employees and needy shoppers alike:

This too shall pass.

Everything happens for a reason.

And Joyce took it upon herself to dole out “comfort snacks” from the cooler full of Thanksgiving leftovers she'd apparently stashed in Frank's car,
just in case.

Curiously, or maybe because of the proximity of the TV camera, people seemed to be eating up both the words of comfort along with most of the horrid leftovers.

I was getting almost hungry enough to brave a hockey puck roll when a woman came up to me with a cart full of merchandise and a smile on her face. “Hi, Mrs. Frugalicious. I'm a huge fan!”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, fighting a flashback of what had happened the last time someone had proclaimed themselves to be a big fan of mine.

“I just wanted to thank you for doing what you did to help keep the store open in the face of such difficult circumstances. My husband lost his job, but I think I'll be able to scrape together my Christmas list because of how much I'm saving tonight.”

“Well—” I said, feeling good that despite going through a sobering experience, the Frugarmy wouldn't go home empty-handed. I glanced over at Frank, who nodded approvingly from beside Anastasia as the cameraman filmed our friendly interchange. “It's been a group effort.”

“Could I please have your autograph?” she asked, reaching into her purse and pulling out a pen.

“Of course,” I said, obliging the woman by signing the top flap of a slow-cooker box she held out to me.

As I thanked her again and watched her blend safely back into the crowd, Frank ambled over and smiled his charming smile—the one that used to melt my heart. Even though things were touchy between us, I couldn't help but appreciate all the hard work he'd done tonight.

We never get more than we can handle
hung in the air, courtesy of Gerald, as our eyes met for the second time that evening.

“I told you people were coming in specifically to see you,” Frank said.

“Maybe so,” I said. “But it was your idea to—”

“If it weren't for you, your dedication to the people you care about, and your all-around resourcefulness …” He shook his head. “Amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched by Frank's compliment.

“I'm just so sorry.” He looked down at his worn designer sneakers. “If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had to start all this bargain shopping in the first place.”

“I really do love being Mrs. Frugalicious,” I said. “I just wish tonight had turned out a lot differently.”

“I just wish I'd acted differently. We wouldn't have to sell the house.” His voice cracked. “Or liquidate our marriage …”

“I …” A swarm of what I thought of as my divorce butterflies, the ones I'd forced into hibernation, began to flit in my stomach and flutter toward my throat. “I don't exactly know what to say.”

“I don't know how I could have been so damned stupid,” he said, dabbing his eye with the back of his hand. “You're so incredible, and I'm such an incredible fool.”

The last thing I'd ever wanted was to be was divorced and facing the possibility not only of single motherhood, but of being single for the rest of forever. Still, the water under our bridge was something of a raging river and this conversation—which always started with his claim that he'd truly been stalked and was “the pursued” in his illicit romance—always ended the same. “Frank, we've already been through this.”

“I know. I know.” His voice cracked. “But after seeing how much happier the kids are with the family here for Thanksgiving and then seeing how it can all slip away forever in an instant tonight—”

“Frank, I—”

“I made the absolute worst mistake of my entire life,” he said.

As I nodded in agreement, my chest and back broke out in that familiar cold sweat.

“I'd do anything to erase all that happened and make things right for you again.” He glanced over at the Customer Service counter, where Eloise had joined her grandparents to stand smiling in our direction. “For the kids.”

“The kids …” I found myself repeating as the door to the executive offices opened.

And Alan emerged.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Frank whispered as we took off together in his direction.

As Alan surveyed the store, he looked that much more grim, numb, and even more shell-shocked than I suddenly felt.

A touch of pink colored his otherwise gray cheeks.

I couldn't imagine what I looked like.

“What the … ?” Alan asked.

“Maddie was worried about the collateral losses to Bargain Barn,” said Frank, whose eyes were still uncharacteristically misty. “So—”

“So Frank came up with a plan to help keep the store open,” I somehow heard myself saying like the admiring spouse I once was.

There was no missing the appreciation in his smile. “And people have been pouring in ever since.”

“I can't believe this,” Alan said, noting the lines, which were ten people deep at every register.

“It's pretty hard to fathom,” I said, as much to Frank as Alan.

“So many shoppers …”

“If I've learned anything all these years in the newsroom, it's that folks can't ever really get enough tragedy or celebrity,” Frank said. “Since we had Mrs. Frugalicious and Channel Three already on location, it just made sense to try and make the very best of an awful situation.”

Alan's eyes narrowed as he spotted Anastasia and the cameraman standing by in front of Customer Service. “It's just that—”

“Anastasia told me you'd asked her to steer clear of the accident site and that you don't like to be on live TV,” Frank said. “They won't be putting you on camera.”

“I don't even know what to say,” Alan finally did say.

Which made two of us.

“We're glad we could help with the store while you were trying to comfort the husband of the victim.” Frank pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his nose. “How is he doing?”

“Not great.” Alan shook his head. “We just sent him off in an ambulance of his own to the hospital. He's a wreck.”

“Such an unthinkable accident,” I said.

“Accident,” Alan repeated, shaking his head. “We maintain rigorous safety standards. I insist upon the highest—”

“Mr. Bader,” Griff's partner said, emerging from a nearby aisle. “They'd like to have a talk with you so they can get things wrapped up.”

Alan nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“I'll wait here,” Griff said, joining us while his partner and Alan started for the yellow-taped southeast corner of the store. “We're off shift when he gets back.”

“Helluva night for a rookie,” Frank said.

“Tell 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.”

“Let's hope not,” I said.

“Glad 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.”

“Have they released the name of the victim?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said.

“But they've figured out what happened?”

“I 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.”

“Officially, 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.”

eight

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.

“This 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.

“Mmmm,” one of the women said. It was L'Raine, and she was looking at a police service revolver in her hand.

“The 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.

“We love you, Ms. Frugalicious!” someone yelled from the crowd.

“She's Mrs. Frugalicious, not Miz!” someone else yelled.

“Not 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!”

“Accidents 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.

“No!” I tried to yell. “I'm not Kathy!” I tried to shout, but nothing came from my throat except the ping of an incoming text message.

_____

I opened my eyes in a cold sweat, still trying to scream. Sitting up, I reached over to the nightstand for my cell phone and took a deep breath of the comforting but disconcerting aroma of cinnamon and bacon wafting through the air.

_____

I tried not to process the surreal dream-meets-reality of sitting down to a post–Black Friday brunch
16
of bacon, eggs, and cinnamon French toast prepared by Joyce and accompanied by the other semi-early risers in the house: Barb, Gerald, Craig (who'd slept over on the family room couch after his ex picked up their kids early that morning), and Frank. Nowhere near ready to sort through my various feelings about Frank's midnight confession, I thought about hiding out in the bedroom all day. Since I'd eaten almost nothing in almost twenty-four hours, however, hunger had me quickly thinking otherwise. Instead, I decided to make my appearance in the midst of the hustle and bustle, figuring there'd be relative safety, at least conversationally, in numbers.

“Mr. Piggledy left me a message that Mrs. Piggledy was released from the hospital and they're on their way home,” I said.

“That's a relief.” Joyce took a gravy boat full of maple syrup out of the microwave and placed it on the breakfast bar. “I've been worried about her.”

“Was her foot broken?” Barb asked.

“Mr. Piggledy said she left in a cast.”

“What about her head?” Barb asked.

“I assume everything else must have checked out.” My head, on the other hand, was still spinning. It was hardly surprising that a jumbled collage of last night's events featured prominently in my dreams, but had I really conjured up the syrup vessel I now held in my hand? “They've moved the commitment ceremony to the first-floor courtyard so Mrs. Piggledy won't have to negotiate an escalator, but it's still on and open to all tomorrow evening.”

“Between their monkey and that bird?” Frank asked, stabbing his fork into a piece of cantaloupe from the platter next to him.

“Too weird,” Craig said.

“But interesting,” Barb said. “How often do you get invited to an inter-species wedding?”

“I can't wait,” Joyce said, smiling lovingly at Gerald. “I think the whole thing is kind of romantic.

Gerald gave her a wink and speared a piece of bacon. “Love conquers all.”

Last night's craziness had clearly left me a marble short. Not only had I joined the breakfast fray, I'd practically invited the Michaels family to the wedding (or whatever it was). I also found myself wondering if last night's heart-to-heart meant Frank might actually possess a fraction of his parent's knack for marital magic after all. Then again, I was so starved from barely eating all day that even the Joyce-prepared bacon looked divine.

So delicious, I barely noticed the measuring cups, flour, eggshells, and dirty mixing bowls littering my normally tidy countertops.

I was sure I'd lost it when I took a syrup-soaked bite of what had to be the fluffiest, crunchiest, softest, most delicately battered treat I'd had in years.

Joyce winked. “Not too bad, huh?”

“Wow!” I said.

“Secret is stale bread,” she said. “I found some in the bread box.”

Instead of spitting it out, I stuffed another bite into my mouth. “Delicious. Thank you, Joyce.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “I was too keyed up to really sleep, so I figured I might as well make myself useful.”

One look at the dark half-moons under everyone but Joyce's eyes (no doubt thanks to a pre-dawn application of the makeup she never allowed anyone to see her without) and I had to appreciate just how incredibly useful the Michaels clan had been. “You've been so helpful, Joyce, and so has everyone else. I really can't imagine how things would have turned out had all of you not been at Bargain Barn, so willing to pitch in.”

“Actually, I had one of the more promising evenings I've had in a while,” Craig said through a mouthful of bread. “As far as attractive shoppers in need of comforting, anyway.”

“Atta boy,” Gerald patted his shoulder.

“Anyone in particular?” Joyce asked.

“Interesting you should ask. As a matter of fact—”

“The news is on,” Frank interrupted. He pointed the remote at the muted TV in the corner of the kitchen and upped the volume before Craig could utter L'Raine's name. Which meant I was not now forced to fill him in on his gun-toting competition.

Anastasia couldn't have gotten even an hour's rest, but somehow she managed to look crisp and beautiful from behind the news desk.
“While everything appears to be back to Black Friday business as usual, it was quite a different story last night at Bargain Barn …”

“Does that woman ever sleep?” Barb asked.

“Not when she's got both the hottest story in town and a holiday weekend anchor slot,” answered Frank.

The camera cut away from the live feed of Anastasia, and a pre-recorded close-up of my anguished face filled the screen. The camera angle widened to show Frank beside me as emergency workers circled the overturned pallet.

The food that was just starting to satisfy my intense hunger suddenly hardened to concrete in my stomach as I caught a glimpse of those pink sneakers.

I'd read the flurry of prayers and condolences that began to pop up almost immediately on my blog. I checked before I'd gone to sleep, and again first thing this morning after listening to Mr. Piggledy's message. Even though I knew the Frugarmy would still be sleeping off their shopping hangover, I'd hoped for something in the comments that had trickled in this morning about Kathy herself.

There was nothing of note.

“Authorities still haven't released specifics yet, but witnesses report that a double pallet of toasters slid from an upper storage shelf and, tragically, landed on a women waiting in line below.”
The camera zoomed in on Anastasia.
“Alan Bader, owner of Bargain Barn and a fixture in the Denver business community, has yet to make an official statement.”

“Have you talked to him since last night?” Joyce asked.

With Griff's definitive
can't confirm or deny
and Alan still behind the yellow tape when we left, I figured any remaining questions were best answered in the light of day. “I planned to check in with him this morning after brunch,” I said, shaking my head. “I can't imagine he got much sleep.”

Gerald let out a dramatic whistle, pointing at the TV, now showing a view of the overturned toasters, boxes, and small appliances that had littered the affected aisles of the store. “Not with a mess like that on his hands.”

“As a television journalist, it's my job to present an unbiased report of the news vital to our community,”
Anastasia continued, the camera once again live in studio.
“But, as many of you may know, I happened to be at Bargain Barn doing a report on Black Friday with bargain-hunting consultant Maddie Michaels, better known as Mrs. Frugalicious, as the tragic events unfolded.”
The studied concern on her face couldn't quite mask the
big scoop
gleam that had been in her eyes since the crash shook the store.
“I feel I would be remiss if I didn't mention how proud I was of my fellow shoppers who rushed in to assist the injured, the lightning-quick response of the South Metro emergency workers, and the above-and-beyond efforts of Mrs. Frugalicious herself. In the midst of the chaos and confusion, she not only stepped in to calm shoppers, but helped to coordinate efforts to ensure that people could get the items they had waited in line for hours to purchase.”

I stole a glance at Frank. He needed the good press way more than I needed to feel good about making the best of an awful situation. Instead of any understandable disappointment at the omission, however, he smiled what seemed to be a genuine smile.

“A star is born,” he announced.

“On behalf of myself, Mrs. Frugalicious, and everyone who was at Bargain Barn last night,”
Anastasia continued,
“I would like to extend my condolences to the family of Mrs. Katherine Carter.”

With the surname Carter, I forgot all about anything else Anastasia was or wasn't saying.

Kathy
Carter.

A photo flashed on the screen. Despite the makeup, jewelry, off-the-shoulder top, and slightly blurred glamour shot effect, I was looking at the very same heart-shaped face of the woman I'd met last night.

The Frugarmy member who'd met her fate a few minutes later.

Underneath the photo, her name written out in cursive was not
Katherine Carter
or even
Kathy Carter
but
Catherine Carter.

The concrete in my stomach started to churn.

Catherine with a
C
.

CC.

_____

I scuttled across the house to my office and powered up my computer. It couldn't be anything more than sheer coincidence that Cathy Carter shared her initials with my cyber stalker. Cathy was an enthusiastic member of my Frugarmy who'd met her untimely end by coming to Bargain Barn to enjoy special bargains. CC, AKA Contrary Claire, had made a point of saying she wasn't coming to Bargain Barn last night. Her exact words were deleted from my website, but they would likely be stored on my brain's hard drive forever:

Thanks for offering me fifteen minutes of background fame, but I think I'll just stay home and cyber shop. Everyone knows the deals are way better online these days, anyway.

I took a breath of relief and glanced at the comments and condolences now starting to stream in from the Frugarmy:

Love and blessings to all involved. —Susan H.

I was there last night and just wanted to say that Mrs. Frugalicious and her family were so terrific in the face of very difficult circumstances. —Randi T.

I missed the accident (thankfully) but was able to score some terrific deals anyway. —Lisa C.

Rest in peace, Cathy. —Ann S.

Absent, so far, was an snarky
I told you so
, or anything else for that matter, from the
other
CC. Maybe Contrary Claire went to bed early and was still sleeping in, or maybe she'd taken a last-minute, post-Thanksgiving, off-the-grid getaway, but one thing was for sure—she'd definitely be weighing in with something.

Then again, maybe she'd already tried to fire off her negative diatribe but was blocked by whatever the boys had done to my website settings.

All three kids were still sleeping, but I was too curious to wait until teenage-wakeup time. Instead, I went upstairs, knocked on Trent's bedroom door, and let myself in. For a split second, I wished I'd picked FJ, the tidier of the boys, thereby avoiding the minefield of laundry and sports equipment littering his floor. Either way, there was no missing the general boy funk permeating the air.

I nudged him awake. “Trent!”

“Sleeping,” he finally mumbled.

“I have a question.”

“Later.”

“You blocked CC from posting, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, any comments she wants to post—”

“Have to be approved by you.”

“And how do I know if she tried?”

“You get an email alert.”

“That's it?” I said.

“Uh-huh,” he managed.

“Thanks,” I said. “And you need to clean your room when you wake up. It's a disaster.”

“K,” he grunted, rolled over, and was immediately back into his teenage sleep coma.

I headed back downstairs to my office to check my Mrs. Frugalicious email account. Other than a message from Wendy Killian from
Here's the Deal
commiserating about last night and wanting to know what happened after she finally left Bargain Barn, there was nothing of interest.