Pearl of Great Price Read Free Page B

‘a restless evil, full of deadly poison.’ If you can’t say anything nice—”
    “Don’t say anything at all. Sorry. Guess you and I are both a bit touchy today.”
    “Then best we both work on our attitudes and go about our business.” Grandpa gave me a five-second massage between my shoulder blades before continuing his sweeping, and I loved him even more.
    With a rasping sigh, I tracked down our customer as she exited LeRoy Tuttle’s booth carrying a pink “Cabbage Rose” Depression glass plate. “Need any help, ma’am?”
    “No, thank you.” She gave me the once-over before swiveling in the opposite direction.
    “Fine,” I mumbled, and strode to the front counter. So Grandpa wouldn’t pester me anymore, I got out the calculator and tried to look busy double-checking the weekend sales entries.
    I caught another glimpse of yellow, this time at the far end of the building. Now the lady carried one of Hazel Diffenbacher’s hand-crocheted tablecloths, but apparently she’d decided against the plate. Oh well, if she bought one of Hazel’s creations, at least we could almost declare it a profitable day.
    By now she’d worked her way down to Katy Harcourt’s Classic Shoes and Bags, where Grandpa plied his broom around a pile of dusty old cowboy boots. Grandpa gave me a pointed glare before smiling at the lady. “Anything we can help you with, you just holler, okay?”
    She lifted her nose in the air. “Really, I’m just browsing.” She’d probably take one look at Katy’s knockoff Louis Vuitton handbags, snort in disgust, and hightail it out of here. No sale.
    Sneezy sauntered over and draped himself across my ledger page as if to say, Get over it, Julie Pearl Stiles.
    “You’re right, Sneezy. I’m being ridiculous.” I stroked his broad head and gazed into eyes the same shade of lima-bean green as my own. “I’ve got a wonderful grandpa, good friends, a job I love, and a roof over my head.” Sneezy mewed and raised a whiskered brow. “And you, of course. What more could a girl want?”
    With a pleading glance heavenward, I tried once again to shake off my restlessness and stop stewing over things I couldn’t do anything about anyway.
    While Sneezy camped out across the ledger, I reached for the dog-eared 1982 copy of Good Housekeeping I’d been paging through yesterday between customers. And just when I’d come across a great “new” way to fix ground beef and macaroni, Ms. Moneybags laid the crocheted tablecloth on the counter.
    “Exquisite work,” she remarked. “Do you take checks?”
    “Sure do.” I pushed Sneezy, the ledger, and Good Housekeeping to the far end of the counter—didn’t think she’d appreciate complimentary yellow cat fur with her purchase. I copied the inventory number off Hazel’s tag into the register and totaled the sale.
    “Eighty-seven fourteen, including tax,” I quoted, and attempted a mental tally of our commission. Move the decimal over one, add half of that . . . Community college degree notwithstanding, math was not one of my better subjects. I came up with a ballpark figure of fourteen dollars. “Just curious, ma’am, what brought you to the Swap & Shop today?”
    Well, I had to ask, didn’t I?
    “I was supposed to meet my aunt here, but she got confused about the time.” The lady pulled a turquoise leather wallet from the depths of her tote and wrote out a check.
    “I wondered if you might be Mrs. Nelson’s niece.” Although she sure didn’t inherit her aunt’s pleasant nature.
    “Aunt Geneva was simply adamant that I drop in, and since I had business in Hot Springs this afternoon anyway . . .” She handed me her check along with her driver’s license for an ID.
    Dutifully I compared the name, address, and signature. “Renata Pearl Channing,” I read aloud. “We have the same middle name.”
    “Pearl is actually my maiden name.” She lifted her gaze to meet mine and spoke slowly, as if it were a test or something.