Black Thursday Page 5

  Oh God, is it her neck?

  How bloody is she?

  She doesn’t look nearly as bad as you might have expected …

  “Everything’s under control, folks,” Frank announced in his most dulcet newscaster voice. “If you’ll all just step back, we need to let the paramedics get this lady off to the hospital so she can be fixed up as quickly as possible.”

  Somehow he managed to maintain an air of gravitas and still seem living-room-familiar as conjecture about the accident and the nature of the injuries died down and the inevitable whispers about spotting local celebrity Frank Finance began to swirl around him.

  He’s better looking in person than I expected.

  Shorter though, huh?

  They usually are.

  Isn’t that the wife he … ?

  Mrs. Frugalicious!

  “This is horrifying,” Joyce said.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. “What are people going to say when they wheel out—”

  “They’re going to have to take her out a side entrance,” Barb said.

  “That, or close down the store,” Griff said.

  Craig appeared at the juncture of the middle aisle and the main corridor.

  “Honey!” Joyce threw her arms around him. “Thank God, you’re safe!”

  “Mom, I’m fine,” he said eyeballing L’Raine, who, with a healthy extra thirty pounds in a lot of the right places, struck me as definitely more his type than Griff’s.

  “Do you really think they’re going to close down Bargain Barn?” I finally asked, after Joyce decided she was satisfied by her visual scan of Craig.

  “How can they not?” Eloise said. “There’s a dead body totally lying over there.”

  We watched together in a kind of morbid silent agreement as the EMTs navigated Mrs. Piggledy’s stretcher out the door and into an ambulance. Still, I couldn’t help but think about Alan and the seemingly fatal collateral damage to his beloved family business.

  “Isn’t the accident scene pretty much contained now?” I finally asked, once Mrs. Piggledy was well on her way to the hospital.

  “Yes, or it will be soon,” Griff said.

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate or anything,” Craig said, “but if they do close, how am I going to get the TV or any of the other stuff I was hoping to buy tonight?”

  “Most people, at least in the Frugarmy line, didn’t get to make any of their purchases at all,” L’Raine added.

  Despite how close L’Raine stood to Griff—or, more accurately, to his holster—Craig flashed a smile that said concerned agreement but meant I like ’em blond and buxom.

  I watched as a group of women in telltale bargain shopping garb 13 rushed past us and disappeared into the crowd-free aisles on the west side of the store.

  “It is the biggest shopping night of the year, and people have been gearing up for it for months.” I glanced over at the register lines, where the cashiers looked downright confused about what to do next. “Not to mention the stores.”

  It wasn’t even officially Black Friday yet and not only had a member of my Frugarmy died at an event I’d encouraged her to attend, in a line made up entirely of devotees to Mrs. Frugalicious, but my best sponsor might well have suffered a fatal blow in the process. To top it off, the ripple effect was sure to cause financial mourning in the form of lost jobs throughout the community. Bargain Barn employed a lot of local people.

  “Do you think there’s any possible way to keep the store open?” L’Raine asked.

  “That will likely depend on how long they think it will take the coroner to assess the scene and how much manpower they need to keep things up and running while she does,” Griff said like the old pro he’d eventually be. “I suspect they’re mulling that over right now.”

  “I mean, if Bargain Barn dies, so do the jobs of a lot of innocent employees,” I said.

  “It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it,” Eloise said.

  Frank glanced at Anastasia and the Channel Three camera, now relocated just outside the main entrance door, and then over at a small cluster of women who happened to be pointing at me. “I’m not sure I agree.”

  History told me I had good reason to be both encouraged and concerned about the odd but enthusiastic twinkle in my soon-to-be-ex-husband’s baby blues.

  “We may not have manpower, but we definitely have media and Mrs. Frugalicious power,” he said.

  “Meaning what?” I asked.

  Frank turned to the Customer Service counter behind us and picked up the store phone. “Meaning I really think we may be able to help keep a terrible tragedy from turning into total disaster.”

  13. Shoppers in the know dress in layers instead of bulky winter jackets, wear sneakers, and have water bottles and snacks in tow so nothing distracts from the important business at hand.

  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:
<
br />   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 b
etween us, that’s pretty much the general consensus.”

  14. There is typically a lull between the “Thanksgiving dinner at noon and get in line” crowd and the “let’s just go see what’s out there” people who may wait until Friday morning, but shopping during the quiet hours after the hot-ticket electronic items may have sold out can still pay off with great deals.

  15. Black Friday safety tip: Don’t leave purchases visible in your car windows. Lock them in the trunk or, if possible, take them directly home.

  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.