UNINVITED

Chapter 8

When the bell over the boutique’s door jingled, Shelby knew quickly something wasn’t right. She didn’t expect to hear the bell ring at 6:00 AM. She’d arrived an hour earlier, which she always did and tidied up the place for the day. The mannequins wearing the elegant dresses and bags were tucked at the appropriate place, facing the glass panel for all to see. The cashmere coasts, the tracksuits, the evening wears, baby clothes—all were arranged artfully on their correct shelves.

     The usual lavender fragrance still hung in the large room. She was set to open and expecting customers soon, except that the tag outside the door still showed the boldened CLOSED sign. Any customer should have seen that and immediately turned away. The doorbell shouldn’t have jingled. If it had, then whoever was about to enter wasn’t a customer.

     A burglar? The city crawled with thieves, so it wasn’t a wild guess. A week or so ago, Mrs. Chu, the Chinese immigrant who owned a small shop across from the street was burgled. The old woman had only shared her sad story with her. A chilly night and two men in ski masks had sneaked up on the lady when she was preparing to close up. At gunpoint, they took away all her earnings for the day. When Shelby advised her to report the case, she didn’t and let it slide.

    But a burglary in broad daylight was too brave, and she thought she saw a patrol car outside. Besides, the burglar alarm hadn’t gone off yet. Not a burglary. But still, her adrenaline rush hadn’t waned. Her eyes were wide open staring at the door as she instinctively went for the pepper spray she bought a couple of days ago. Nothing lethal, but she could still blind whoever it was that was about to enter temporarily till she called the cops.

     Aim for the pump. Press hard on it and direct it to the eyes of the person, then spray.

     She went through the process one more time, readying her fingers. When the person entered, the muscles in her hands relaxed, and she sighed.

     Tom strutted toward the counter, took off his retro aviator sunglasses, and clipped them onto his shirt.

     Shelby dropped the pepper spray, offering a smile. “Good day, Mr. Grant. How are you?”

     Tom frowned. “Where’s my wife?”

     “I don’t know. She—”

      “Don’t lie to me!” he snapped.

      “I’m not lying. She called days ago and said she was going somewhere, but she didn’t tell me where.”

     He retorted, “I don’t believe you,” and stomped to the back of the boutique marked STAFF ONLY.

     “Elodie!” he shouted, “If you’re here, come out.”

     No response.

     “Elodie! Enough of this game of yours. I’m starting to lose the little patience I have.”

     Shelby trailed behind him. “I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Grant. Your wife isn’t here.”

     He turned around swiftly and stared daggers at her.

     Shelby stopped on the threshold to the office.

     “I know you’re covering up for her. How much did she pay you?”

     Shelby’s brows arched. What was going on? Why would her boss’ husband show up at the shop and start accusing her of lying? Then she remembered what Elodie had said to her a couple of months ago when she brought her coffee.

     “Ma’am Elodie,” she’d said, “you look down. What’s the matter?”

     She sighed and curled her fingers around the mug of coffee. “Call me Elodie. I insist.”

     She had been insisting she called her that for a very long time, but she didn’t know how to do it.

     “All right,” Shelby had said, but she knew she’d never get used to it.

     “Tom and I have been on the warpath. I think my marriage is failing, Shelby,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

     Elodie was one of the most kindest bosses she’d ever worked with. She didn’t shut her up like her previous bosses and when she suggested something, she listened and even asked her to try it. Above all, Elodie trusted her to tell her about her marital problems.

     Shelby felt her pain. She placed her hand on her shoulder and soothed it. “What can I do to help?”

     “Nothing. Just take good care of our shop. Will you?”

     Now she understood what Elodie had said, but she didn’t think it was very serious for her husband to barge into the boutique.

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir.”

     “Hell, you don’t.” He stormed into the office, walked over to the desk, and flung the papers on it.

     Shelby watched in silence, her mouth agape.

     Tom moved toward an array of clothes on a hanger, snatched them, and threw them across the room. Then with a grunt, he turned to Shelby, “I’m going to burn this place down. Mark my words.”

     He put on his sunglasses and stomped out of the room, slamming the door.

     Shelby pulled her brown hair backward, her eyes lingering over the clothes strewn on the floor.