Ramsey Rules Page 26

  “Exactly what I was going for.” She stooped, hooked the towel with a couple of fingers, and returned it to the bathroom. “I don’t think you ever wore these. They were still store-folded.”

  “My mother sent them to me my first Christmas Eve after I was married. It made me laugh. Diane didn’t think it was amusing. She didn’t get the tradition or the humor. Squeezed the fun out of it for me. I didn’t tell Mum I never wore them, that I never wore any of the ones she sent me while I was with Diane. She kept sending them; I kept putting them away. When Mum got sick, and I came back to help out, I wore some of them so she’d see. I guess I didn’t get around to that pair.”

  Ramsey was at the bedside by now. Without any indication of what she meant to do, she pulled the drawstring on the pajama bottoms, wriggled her hips and legs until the drawers pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, bent to pick them up, and tossed them at Sullivan. “Go on. Wear them now. You can have the top when I’m not in it, but that’s not tonight.”

  “Thanks. I think.” He unrolled the cuffs she’d made in the legs, and then pulled the bottoms under the covers and shifted back and forth until he was able to get them on. He tied the drawstring and patted his flat stomach. “Still a good fit.”

  Ramsey tugged on her striped top so the hem covered her hips and carefully climbed into bed. She turned out the bedside lamp and scooted over until she was a handbreadth away from Sullivan. When he slid down out of his sitting position, and invited her closer, she rolled in and tucked herself against him.

  She placed her hand on his chest, splayed her fingers. The room was quiet and she cleared her mind and allowed herself to appreciate the silence. In the event he had fallen asleep, or thought she had, she spoke on a mere thread of sound. “Thank you.”

  Sullivan laid his hand over hers and let that suffice as his acknowledgement.

  She turned her head and placed a kiss against shoulder. “You don’t know why, do you?”

  “Not a blessed clue,” he said sleepily.

  Ramsey yawned. “That’s all right. So many things.”

  “Tell me tomorrow?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She closed her eyes and didn’t remember when dreams pushed aside every other thought.

  34

  Ramsey drank the remainder of her cereal milk straight from the bowl and put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. She watched Sullivan spread orange marmalade on a triangle of toast. He took so much time getting marmalade to the edges of the triangle that she began tapping her foot.

  Sullivan took note of the foot tattoo and raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this eager to get to work?”

  “I have to go home first, change my clothes, and I was serious about not being late again. I don’t need you to walk me to my car.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m doing it.” He folded the toast triangle in half, finished it in two bites, and dusted off his hands. “All set.” He took his jacket off the back of one chair and then tossed hers over the counter. “Maybe I should follow you to your house.”

  “No. Let’s stick to what we agreed. I’ll call you if Jay’s there or if he shows up at the Ridge.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing to that, but I’ll go along for now. Reluctantly.”

  They used the front door to exit the house and the sidewalk to reach her car. He stood back while she climbed in, but when she was behind the wheel, he motioned to her to lower the window. He stepped up to the door. “License and registration.”

  “Will you accept a bribe, officer?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “This.” She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a deep, wet, lingering kiss, and it left them both a bit dazed. She blew out breath as she faced forward again. “Whoa.”

  “Uh-huh. Hell of a bribe. I should arrest you for assault.” But he was grinning stupidly as he retreated to the curb, tapped the roof of her SUV, and waved her on. Standing there, watching her go, he wondered when she might be ready to hear that he was in love with her.

  In deep, in love. Period.

  Jay’s car wasn’t anywhere around when she arrived home. She parked in the garage, hurried inside, and changed her clothes. Dressing for success, she put on a pair of black leggings and a dark green cable knit sweater dress that almost reached her knees. She slipped back into her ankle boots, gathered her hair in another loose topknot, secured it with a couple of tortoise shell picks, then added a chunky multi-strand wooden bead necklace. A little powder, a swipe of lip gloss, a touch of mascara, and she was bolting out the door, carrying her coat over her shoulder.

  Ramsey punched in with a minute and a half to spare. When she turned away from the time clock, Paul was standing right there. In spite of her annoyance, or maybe because of it, she greeted him brightly. “Good morning, Paul. What’s up?”

  “Keep an eye on jewelry. The reports indicate we’re losing inventory at a rate that’s going to get this store tagged as an outlier.”

  “Then it’s likely a team.”

  “Or someone working the inside.”

  “I’m not jumping that way. Not without evidence.”

  “Depending on you to find me some if that’s what’s going on.”

  Ramsey nodded once. “I’ll do my job, Paul. I’m getting a cup of coffee. You want anything?”

  “A Danish. Cheese.” He looked her over, didn’t see a purse or a wallet. “You need money?”

  “I have it.” The offer to get him something from the coffee shop was her way of losing him. She planned to find a loitering employee to take the Danish to him. A few minutes later, armed with a mocha latte and a bright blue shopping basket, Ramsey began her rounds. She started in produce, picked up a couple of Honeycrisp apples and a salad kit. She liked to have something in her basket, but nothing heavy to lug around. She wandered down the meat and seafood aisle and within ten minutes, she had her first suspicious shopper.

  The woman, playing the harried mother role with two children underfoot who looked old enough to be in school, was actually directing the kids to put items in her cart. She’d look over a roast, pick it up, turn it, eyeball the price, return it to the refrigerated bin, and move on. The children would pick it up and place it in the miniature yellow shopping cart they took turns pushing around.

  Ramsey followed at a safe distance. The woman, who might have been the mother or a modern-day Fagin, chose cheaper items like snacks and soups to put in her own buggy. When they got over to the toys, she let the children choose something for themselves. She dropped the items into her cart, reconsidered after a few moments, and placed them in theirs.

  Wondering what the plan was, fairly sure there was one, Ramsey circled around to the self-checkout lanes and took up her favorite position. She didn’t have to wait long for mother and kids to come through. Mother scanned and paid for the items in her cart, and the children followed her, pretty as you please, pushing over two hundred dollars in groceries and merchandise in the direction of the exit.

  Ramsey picked up her phone, called Sharon in customer service, and asked her to call the police. Ramsey waited until the mother and children came abreast of the greeter. It never hurt to have an additional witness.

  The woman offered receipts that matched her scanned items when Ramsey asked for them and feigned shock when she saw what the children had in their cart. She offered to pay for everything, but Ramsey wasn’t having any of it. This was a well-orchestrated scam, one that undoubtedly had worked more often than not. The children were especially good in their roles, better even than the woman, at looking innocent and remaining quiet.

  Karl Longabach answered the call. It took him all of three minutes to determine that the children had no relation to the woman. That meant a call to Child Protective Services and a search for their mother, who turned out to be a known addict who had trafficked her children before for a score.

  It was almost noon when Ramsey got to scope out the jewelry counters. She was no longer carrying her basket. She turned it in
at customer service for restocking and paid for one of the Honeycrisps since she missed her lunch break.

  Taking her time, Ramsey looked over the earrings and was moving onto the necklaces when a male customer came to the counter and inquired about birthstones. He chatted up the clerk, talking about his wife and daughters as he hemmed and hawed about what would suit them best. Ramsey barely attended to him. She was more interested in the female customer who had sidled up to the counter and was taking earrings from the display carousels, holding them up to her ears for a looksee, and then pocketing one pair for every three or four she examined. She was quick too. Ramsey couldn’t be sure she caught every one of her sleight-of-hand moves.

  None of the earring pairs available on top of the counter were valued at more than eighty dollars, but at the rate she was pulling them off the carousels, Ramsey estimated that she had taken the Ridge for at least four hundred. The husband and father customer purchased a trinket and moved on. The clerk went to assist the female, but received the “I’m just looking” blow off. Ramsey had to make a choice at that point.

  The woman had the merchandise, but her gut told her to follow the man.

  It was a good decision. After wandering the aisles in household products, she observed him collecting the earrings the woman had apparently stashed on a shelf behind the paper towels. He removed his ball cap, turned it over, and slid the jewelry in. With a quick flip of his wrist, he returned the cap to his head and started to go toward the front of the store. Ramsey watched all of this from her position at the end of the aisle where she feigned inordinate interest in paper plates and bowls.

  She gave the thief credit for avoiding the main entrance/exits and heading to lawn and garden instead. Habitual shoplifters preferred the ease of leaving by the least manned area although some had told her automotive was a better route out of the store.

  Ramsey stopped him by asking to see the receipt for his purchase in jewelry, which he took smug pleasure in producing. When she dropped the slip of paper while examining it, he gallantly bent to pick it up for her. Ramsey collided with him as she stooped at the same time. They bumped heads. Hard. She apologized profusely while she rubbed hers and pointed out his cap was almost completely sideways now. He waved off her concern and gave her the receipt. She looked it over, returned it, and then pointed out that he had something hanging from under his cap just above his ear. He brushed off her comment, pocketed the receipt, and began to walk away. She made a bet with herself that second nature and habit would have him adjusting the ball cap within ten steps of leaving her. He did it in six, picking up the cap to reset it on his head.

  Earrings, still attached to their placards, cascaded to the floor. Ramsey smiled and touched her right shoulder. “You have one here.”

  He stared at her, at his shoulder, and then hastily brushed it off as if it were a spider. He bolted for the exit. The doors obligingly slid open and he sprinted into the parking lot.

  “It’s all right,” she called after him. “You’re on camera.” Ramsey watched him slow, then stop altogether when he couldn’t find his car. She saw his female accomplice before he did, standing beside a blue Chevy Malibu three rows to his right. She stopped short of pointing out the getaway car. There’d be a camera shot of that too. Ramsey stepped back from the vestibule and into the store. An associate was already picking up the earrings and bagging them. Ramsey thanked him and finished up, then she went to Paul’s office to watch the cameras, do inventory, and write her report.

  She was walking through pharmacy when all hell broke loose. The noise was deafening as a motorcycle and rider came roaring through the front entrance, knocking over center displays and scattering shoppers, and then did a partial slide into the pain relief aisle, gunning his engine.

  Ramsey stared, open-mouthed, and retreated to what she considered a safer distance behind the reading glasses endcap. She stuffed the bag with the earring booty between the fiber supplements and took out her phone. There was no possibility that she could be heard above the shouting and stampeding and the roaring of the engine. She dialed 9-1-1anyway. Dispatch knew her number and whoever answered would be able to at least surmise something was wrong and send a car. Better if it were two.

  If Paul was up in his office, he’d be able to look out and see the commotion. His call to 9-1-1would definitely bring help.

  The motorcyclist cut his engine, bringing momentary relief to Ramsey’s ears and an eerie, unnatural quiet to the store. Ramsey recognized Marlena Templeton’s voice as the dispatcher repeating familiar words.

  “What’s your emergency? Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” Then breaking protocol and asking just as it got quiet, “Ramsey? Is that you? I’m sending cars.”

  “There’s a man here in the Ridge pharmacy on an Indian,” Ramsey whispered into her phone. “I don’t see a weapon. He rode right in on the Indian.”

  “Say again.”

  “It’s a motorcycle, Marlena. An Indian motorcycle. Wait. He’s lifting his visor. Jesus. I know him. It’s that man from the commercials, the one that sells used cars with little to no money down. Fred something or other.”

  “Fred Mayhew.”

  “Yeah. It’s him. He’s shouting something.” She held the phone so Marlena could listen.

  “Retail terrorism!”

  “Did you hear that?” asked Ramsey. “Retail terrorism. He’s unbuckling his jacket and pulling something…not a gun…it’s a scarf. He’s waving it around. Definitely his freak flag. Still yelling about retail terrorism. You think he’s off his meds?”

  “No comment.”

  “I hear sirens. Thanks Marlena. Looks like we’re all okay.” She returned her phone to her pocket after Marlena hung up and stayed right where she was at the end cap until Officer Butz asked her to accompany him to the interview room for her statement. Sullivan was among the officers at the scene, but after giving her a surreptitious looking over and deciding she was fine, he kept his distance.

  “What’s going to happen to him?” she asked once she answered all of Butz’s questions.

  “Mental hygiene hearing. Crisis stabilization. Charges will follow him around. It’s a shame. He’s a real good guy when he’s taking care of himself.”

  “What was the scarf about? Do you know that?”

  “You mean him waving it around?” When she nodded, he said, “Apparently he wanted to return it. Something about it being defective. Pattern was upside down or some such nonsense. Hard to say what he saw when he looked at it.”

  “Who’s talking to my manager? Paul must have seen everything from his office. He’ll make a good witness.”

  “Maybe. One of the employees said Shippensmith was in the breakroom when this happened, not in his office. Sully’s assigned to get his statement.”

  Ramsey did not offer that the only reason Paul ever showed his face in the employee breakroom was when he was looking for someone. She wondered if she had been his prey. He didn’t yet know that she had scored big time in jewelry. She offered Butz her most winning smile as she dangled the plastic booty bag at the end of her fingertips. “Since you’re here, how about taking a look at some video with me? It’s not as wildly exciting as a motorcycle thundering into pharmacy, but it could be a felony, and it definitely qualifies as retail terrorism.”

  35

  Paul sent her home after the police left. By that time, it was almost the end of her shift. Still, she credited him with kindness because she was, in fact, exhausted. Her nerves were still jangling as she left the store. It would have been easy, even understandable, to blame the Fred Mayhew motorcycle trespass for her edgy state, but it was the pair of children from her first bust that was at the root of what she felt. She’d never know what became of them. Protective services didn’t give up that kind of information, but it didn’t keep her from wondering about their situation, whether they’d be returned home to the mother who trafficked them, or whether they’d find safety—maybe—with kin or in a foster home. Their faces were n
ow part of her mental photo album. If she saw them again, she wouldn’t hesitate to verify their relationship to the accompanying adults. Paul would have a fit, of course, for her violating the privacy of customers, but she’d feel better knowing the children were safe, and that counted for something with her conscience.

  She was soaking in the tub with a glass of red wine and what she thought of as meditation music drifting in from the living room when her phone rang. It wasn’t “Ride of the Valkyries” but it may as well have been because it made her jump, splash water into her wine, spill wine into her water, and shattered her mood.

  It was Briony. “Please let this be important,” Ramsey said. She set the wine glass on the edge of the tub and leaned forward to add hot water to her bath. “Please.”

  “Well, hello to you too. Bad timing?”

  Ramsey described her scene. “There are bath bomb bubbles in my wine, and don’t you dare start singing ‘Tiny Bubbles.’”

  “Good thing I don’t know it, then, because you couldn’t stop me.”

  Ramsey learned she still had the wherewithal to chuckle. “What can I do for you, Bri?”

  “I’m just checking in. Maggie heard from Buddy about what happened out at the Ridge, and we thought one of us should hear it from you. Were you working?”

  “I was.”

  “You okay?”

  “I am. Soak’s helping. You checking in is nice.”

  “Of course. Are we still on for racquetball Saturday morning? Mags says she might tag along.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Anything we can do for you? Send some takeout your way? I’d cook, but you know…I can’t.”

  “That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. The not cooking, I mean. I’m fine. I’m going to make grilled cheese and warm up some soup.”