Jared looked at Mary. “Where’s Produce? I’ve never been in here before.”
“Over there, I think.” She pointed to the left.
He carried Molly on his back, stepping over Suitcoat, who was propped on one hand and rubbing his head with the other.
“The guy was crazy,” he said to Jared. “All that over some energy drinks.”
“I know.” Not stating the obvious, which was Suitcoat and Tie had been trying to escape with a shitload of same.
“Everyone is crazy. What do they think it is? A hurricane? A fucking snowstorm?” He glanced at Molly and said, “Excuse me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, my parents say that all the time,” Molly said. She clung to Jared even tighter.
Fish and Meat, running all along the back wall, was relatively calm, but Aisle 4—Vitamins, Health Supplements, and Pain Relievers—was a war zone. Battle had raged for the brown bottles of Genestra, Lumiday, Natrol, and half a dozen other over-the-counter brands. The middle shelves were completely stripped, and Jared guessed that was where the supplements designed to promote wakefulness had been.
An elderly lady in a blue patterned muumuu hustled up the aisle toward them, pursued by JT Wittstock, the coach of the football team and father of two of Jared’s mother’s deputies, Will and Rupe Wittstock. Jared didn’t know the coach to speak to, but at the department’s Labor Day party Will and Rupe had won the sack race and then nearly had a fistfight over who got to keep the five-dollar trophy. (Lila, ever diplomatic about her crew and their families, described them as “very young and very energetic.”)
The muumuu lady was slowed by her shopping basket, which was filled with bottles of something called Vita-Caff. Coach Wittstock grabbed her by the collar of her dress and hauled her backward. Her basket went flying and the bottles scattered, several rolling toward Jared, Mary, and Molly.
“No!” she shouted. “No, please! We can share! We can sh—”
“You scarfed up everything that was left,” Coach Wittstock snarled. “You call that sharing? I need some of these for my wife.”
The coach and the muumuu lady grubbed on the floor after the bottles. He shoved her into one of the shelves, sending down a cascade of aspirin cartons. “You bully!” she cried. “You big mean bully!”
Jared stepped forward without thinking about it, put his foot on top of Coach Wittstock’s balding head, and drove it sideways. Coach Wittstock went sprawling. The lady began to refill her basket. Coach crouched behind her for a moment: three-point stance, eyes shifting from side to side. The tread of Jared’s sneaker was faintly printed on his pate. Then he sprang forward and snatched the half-filled basket with the spry athleticism of a monkey stealing an orange. He sprinted past Jared (sparing him a stinkeye glare that said I’ll remember your face, bud), bumping his shoulder and sending him spinning down with Molly still on his back. They hit the floor and Molly wailed.
Mary started toward them. Jared shook his head. “We’re all right. Make sure she is.” Looking at the muumuu lady, who was gathering up the few bottles of Vita-Caff Coach Wittstock had missed.
Mary dropped to one knee. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
“I think so,” she said. “Just shaken up. Why would that man . . . I suppose he said he had a wife . . . maybe a daughter . . . but I also have a daughter.”
Her purse had ended up halfway down the littered aisle. It was ignored by the shoppers squabbling over the few remaining bottles of supplements. Jared helped Molly up and returned the purse to the lady. She put the Vita-Caff bottles inside.
“I shall pay for these another day,” she said. And, as Mary assisted her to her feet: “Thank you. I shop here all the time, and some of these people are my neighbors, but I don’t know any of them tonight.”
She limped away, holding her purse tight against her chest.
“I want to go back to Gram’s!” Molly cried.
“You get the stuff,” Mary said to Jared. “Her name is Norma, and she’s got a lot of frizzy blond hair. I’ll take Molly back to the car.”
“I know. Mrs. Ransom told me,” Jared said. “Be careful.”
She moved away, leading Molly by the hand, and then turned back. “If she’s reluctant to sell to you, tell her that Eric Blass sent you. That might help.”
She must have seen the hurt in his eyes, because she gave a little wince before half-running for the front of the store, bent protectively over the frightened girl.
6
A man was standing halfway down the long produce section, smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in white pants and a white smock top with PRODUCE MANAGER on the left breast in red thread. He wore an almost peaceful expression on his face as he watched the pandemonium that had engulfed his store.
He saw Jared approach, nodded at him, and spoke as if resuming a conversation they’d been having. “This shit will quiet down after all the women are asleep. They cause most of the trouble, you know. You’re looking at a man who knows. I’m a three-time loser in the marriage wars. Not just a loser, either. Routed I’ve been, each time. Like matrimony is Vicksburg, and I’m the Confederacy.”
“I’m looking for—”
“Norma, most likely,” the produce manager said.
“Is she here?”
“Nope. Left half an hour ago, after she sold the last of her product. Except for the stuff she kept for herself, I suppose. But I’ve got some fresh blueberries. Add em to your cereal, perks it right up.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” Jared said.
“There is a bright side,” the produce manager said. “My alimony payments will soon cease. The South rises again. We been kilt, but we ain’t whupped yet.”
“What?”
“Just kilt, not whupped. ‘I’ll bring you a piece of Lincoln’s tailcoat, colonel.’ It’s Faulkner. Don’t they teach you kids anything in school these days?”
Jared made his way toward the front of the store, avoiding the scrum at the checkout lanes. Several stations were unattended, and shoppers were hurrying through them with loaded baskets.
Outside, a man in a checkered shirt sat on the bus bench with a shopping basket on his lap. It was loaded with cans of Maxwell House. He caught Jared’s eye. “My wife is napping,” he declared, “but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.”
“Hope that works out for you,” Jared said, and broke into a run.
Mary was in the passenger seat of the Datsun with Molly on her lap. She gave the girl a shake as Jared got in behind the wheel, and spoke in a too-loud voice. “Here he is, here he is, it’s our pal Jared!”
“Hi, Jared,” Molly said in a hoarse, teary voice.
“Molly was getting all sleepy,” Mary said in that same too-loud, too-jolly voice. “But she’s awake now. Wiiiiide awake! We both are, aren’t we, Mols? Tell us some more about Olive, why don’t you?”
The little girl climbed out of Mary’s lap and into the backseat. “I don’t want to.”
“Did you get it?” Mary’s voice was low now. Low and strained. “Did you—”