Bone Dance

by Joan Boswell

  “If there’s no one in the store, you can open a new bag and sort it into the correct bins. If the doorbell chimes, you leave the storeroom and come back onto the floor. You always stay on the floor when there are customers.”

  “Why?”

  “Shoplifters.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Sasha’s little pierced nose wrinkled.

  “What, you don’t think people would tuck a torn windbreaker under their shirt, or jam some used undies up their sleeve? They would, and they do. So keep your eyes peeled. I’m sure you’ll recognize the signs.”

  “Okay.”

  “See that woman at the door? That’s Rayette. She always tries to get in early. Don’t open the door until ten o’clock sharp.” This morning, Rayette wore a pink satin kimono over biking shorts and a tube top.

  Rayette tapped on the glass and held up her wrist, showing her watch.

  Zen pointed to the back room and held up one finger.

  Rayette grinned and nodded.

  “Come on, we have to go to the back room now and open a bag so we have some new things to put in the bins before we open the door. Rayette likes that. Makes her feel special.”

  Sasha blinked. “Special?”

  “Yes. If you do something nice for a customer, she keeps coming back.”

  Zen led the way to the mountain of green bags.

  “Wow, there sure are a lot.”

  “It’s spring. Lots of people cleaning out the closets. Mrs. Witherspoon died this winter, and now her family is clearing out the stuff so they can sell the house. We’ll get a lot of bags and boxes in the next few weeks. So it’s important you learn this next step. What we don’t want in the store this week are more snowsuits. What we do want is summer clothing. So before you open the bags, you feel them.”

  Sasha stuck out tentative fingers and prodded the closest bag.

  “What do you feel?”

  “Boots. Big ones.”

  “Good, and where there’s boots, there’ll be mittens and scarves, so we don’t want that bag. Toss it over against the far wall. Pick another.”

  “Cool. This is like a game.” Sasha smiled for the first time since she had begun serving her sentence. She poked a couple more bags, and in a moment her fingers were tickling the bags like Jelly Roll Morton tickled the ivories. “This one,” she said, “has dresses and skirts.”

  Sasha tore the twist tie off the bag. Dresses and skirts tumbled out.

  “Good call, Sasha,” Zen said with a grin. “You may have a latent talent.”

  Sasha did a little dance like a football player who has just scored a touchdown. Together they carried the booty out to the store and tossed it in the appropriate bins.

  Zen nodded toward the door. “Let the games begin,” she said. Sasha crossed to the front of the store and unlocked the door.

  Rayette exploded through the door like a sprinter out of the blocks.

  “Helen? Helen, wake up, please wake up. We got trouble.”

  Helen rolled over and opened one eye. “Wha? Maude? What time it is?”

  “Five.”

  “Five in the morning? Are you crazy?”

  “Shift over. I gotta sit down. This is too awful.”

  “You’re not kidding. I need about two more hours sleep.”

  “Shut up and listen. We gotta get out of here. We got big trouble.”

  “What, you got yourself pregnant?”

  “No, silly. Worse than that.”

  “Your hokey failed to pokey?”

  “No, I met this man.”

  “Jeez, Maude, are you getting married? Do you need me as a witness?”

  “Will you stop jabbering and listen? I met this man. My age, about fifty, and handsome and rich.”

  “Your age or fifty? Which is it? You’re older than I am, and I’m sixty-one.”

  “Do you mind? I’m trying to tell you something important here. So he said he’d never met anyone quite like me, and he pulled out a diamond ring, honest he did, and I don’t want to hear any of your wisecracks. He says let’s get married tomorrow.”

  “And you fell for it.”

  “There was no falling, oh, I guess there was once we got to his hotel room. Didn’t I tell you this dress works every time?”

  “Yeah, the hokey gets pokeyed. Sometimes I wonder why I bother going on bus trips with you.”

  “Just listen, will you? So anyway, we get to his hotel room, and he wasn’t too bad, considering . . .”

  “Considering he had to leave his teeth in a glass?”

  “. . . but about an hour ago, I rolled over . . .”

  “And crushed him?”

  “. . . and he’s dead.”

  Zen stood in the back room doorway watching Sasha choose the bags. Constable Fray wandered in and hovered beside the fish tank in the front window. Zen joined him.

  “Looking for an aquarium, Jeremy? Something to help focus your thoughts so you can come up with more brilliant ideas?”

  “How’s my protégée doing?” he asked, tapping on the aquarium glass.

  “Dumber than toothpaste, thanks a bunch.”

  “Hey, no, she has to be smarter than that. She’s a Dempster. They’ve been off welfare for four or five months now.”

  “Okay, smartie. Try asking her about the merchandise.”

  Zen called Sasha out of the back room. She came carrying a heap of clothes. “Sasha, come here. Tell Constable Fray what you’re going to do with those.”

  “Put them in the bins?”

  “Which bins?”

  “The empty bins?”

  “What’s the top thing on the pile?”

  “Man’s shirt?”

  “So where will you put it?”

  “Maternity wear? My mom always wears Dad’s shirts when she’s pregnant. For a long time afterwards, too.”

  “Let’s put it in men’s shirts today. What’s next?”

  “Bag of gravel. I know, I pour it on the doorstep so people won’t slip on the ice.”

  “Sasha, it’s summer.”

  “Oh.”

  Fray smiled and picked up the bag of gravel from her armload. “This is aquarium gravel. You could pour it in this fish tank, maybe find a little castle and a miniature diver. Give this fish tank curb appeal. I might want to buy it. How much is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a sticker on it, says $5.”

  “Oh.”

  Fray smiled at Zen.

  “So how much is the fish tank, Sasha?” Zen asked.

  “I don’t know. But if I put the gravel in, it will make you feel special so you’ll come back tomorrow.” She dropped her armload in the closest bin and tore open the bag. Gravel spewed all over the floor.

  Fray shook his head as he inched toward to door. “Sorry, Zen, I didn’t know. I guess I owe you one. I’ll, um, shop here more often.”

  “I’ll say this, she has a gift for opening the right bags. Two days and not a single snowsuit. She might have a calling.”

  Fray slunk away with a shrug.

  Half an hour later, the door jingled and two men came in. Tourists, had to be. No one in a black silk suit shopped in a used clothing store. The men were identical in height and had the body build of body builders. Both wore sunglasses. She could only tell them apart by their hair. One had soft black hair slicked back and styled, and a tiny goatee. The other had coarser hair shellacked into an unruly helmet threatening to turn woolly if the wind changed.

  They stopped at the cash register. Zen wished she had a silent alarm.

  “I am Sharif,” the goatee one said. “This is my associate, Rafael. We are looking for a woman named Maude Crombie. We were directed to this establishment by the esteemed owner of the fanciful café.”

  “Sorry, Maude isn’t in today. She went on holiday.”

  “Yes. To New York. She is home now.”

  “No, she won’t be home for another three days.”

  “I would beg to differ. She is home. Please te
ll her we are seeking her to discuss a delicate matter. Shall we say, tomorrow, then, here, at eleven of the morning?”

  Zen pushed the empty pizza box to the far end of the kitchen table. “You’re not telling me the whole story.”

  Aunt Maude looked nervous with her protective pizza wall removed. “Sure I am. Helen wasn’t feeling well, so we came home early.”

  “That is not true. I can tell by the way your fingers are twitching that paper napkin into a swan. What happened? Is there a red, white and blue sequined dress involved?”

  “Well, yes, I did go out on the town. But nothing happened. When I got home, Helen wasn’t feeling well, so we decided to pack it in.”

  “Really? Guess it’s time for that dress to be delivered to my store. Some kid will love it to dress up in.”

  “No, you can’t take my lucky dress. It never fails, my hokey pokey dress. Not one failure in thirty years.”

  “You just said nothing happened to you in your lucky dress in New York. So you must be lying.”

  “Well, okay, the dress worked. But when I came home, Helen—”

  “—wasn’t feeling well, yada yada yada. There’s something else. You’re wearing a new ring.”

  Aunt Maude flashed her left hand. “Diamond and ruby. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “See how happy you are with it when your finger turns green.”

  Aunt Maude’s face crumpled. “You don’t think it’s real?”

  “I’d need to take a closer look.”

  Aunt Maude handed the ring over. Zen held it up to the light. The diamond blazed a rainbow at her. She looked inside the band. 14k. A designer’s signature. She passed it back. “It came out of a Cracker Jack box. But it’s pretty. Don’t wear it in the shower, or there’ll be nothing left by the time you’re dry.”

  Aunt Maude looked disappointed. She slipped the ring back on and went to watch Jeopardy.

  Zen crushed the pizza box and tossed it in the recycle bin. Aunt Maude had come home early from New York wearing an expensive diamond ring, and two goons from New York were looking for her. She’d better call Jeremy.

  His machine said all our constables are busy, but if she’d leave her name and number, one would get right back to her.

  “So I put the gravel in the fish tank, and those two little people, and the little house. I couldn’t find a diver.” Sasha smiled again. “And I found this in the Christmas section. Can I put it in too?” She held up a gold plastic snowflake. “It’s pretty.”

  Zen stared down at the little tableau. Well, it was unlikely anyone would ever want to put salt and pepper in them anyway. “That’s good work, Sasha. You’re getting the hang of things.”

  “And I made some new signs for the bins.”

  Zen studied the notebook pages taped to the bins. They were drawings to indicate the contents. No words. That explained a lot. “I like the signs. We’ll get some coloured markers and decent paper, and you can make big signs. And if you ever find a Gap shirt in the bags, you can have it.”

  Sasha’s eyes danced, and she fled to the backroom.

  The doorbell jingled. Rayette, in a fifties housedress from the Witherspoon collection, glanced up from the bins to see if it was competition.

  “Feeling better, Helen?”

  “Better?”

  “After your touch of Fibster flu.”

  “Oh, yes, better, thanks.”

  “You wouldn’t know anything about a diamond and ruby ring?”

  “She didn’t tell you what happened, did she? All right, I will. I’m sick of covering up for her indiscretions.”

  Helen came behind the cash counter and lowered her voice. “You know what she does in that wretched dress, don’t you? Goes to a bar in search of some hokey pokey. So she got lucky, and by morning the guy was dead. Heart attack, by the way she described it. I can’t stand this any more, Zen. I missed Hair because of her. Either you talk sense into her, or I’m going to take that dress and burn it.”

  The doorbell jingled. The two well-groomed men in silk suits entered, keeping their arms close at their sides so they wouldn’t touch anything that might contaminate them. Zen glanced at the clock. Rif and Raf, right on time, as promised.

  Helen backed away to the children’s games bin.

  “We arranged to meet with Maude Crombie here today,” Sharif said. His eyes swung over to Helen. “Please produce Maude.”

  “Maude is sick today. Old ladies, you know. Can’t take the excitement of a big trip. I am her representative. What can I do for you?”

  Sharif and Rafael exchanged glances and nods. “Our employer had occasion to meet Maude in New York,” Sharif said. “He had something of value. We believe Maude is now in possession of this valuable commodity. We request its return.” He showed her a glimmer of white teeth, but she wouldn’t have called it a smile.

  “I understand. Your employer, is he well?”

  Sharif shrugged. “Old people.”

  “Maude, you are giving that ring back right now. I saw those men. They were scary. Zen stood up to them fine, but she won’t last long when they start breaking her fingers.”

  “No way. It must be worth something if two guys drive up from New York in a Crown Victoria to get it back.”

  “How do you know what they drive?”

  “I saw it cruising the neighbourhood. Are they after me?”

  “You bet.”

  “I gotta get out of here. Let’s go to Niagara on the Lake and catch a couple of plays. Go home and pack. I’ll be ready in an hour.” Maude hurried to the bathroom.

  Helen heard the shower. Every year, the same fiasco. If she didn’t do something right now, it would be the same next year. That damned dress.

  Zen looked up from the rows of shoes she was straightening. Helen was sneaking in through the back entrance, through the storeroom. She sidled up to Zen and furtively passed her a crunched up plastic bag.

  “Here. I took it off the sink while she was in the shower. Give it back to them.” She slipped back the way she came. Zen went to the window and watched.

  A moment later, Helen scurried out of the alley and across the street, headed for the Wiggly Finger. The sign hanging outside the establishment said Marybeth’s Wieners & Fries, and below it hung a sheet metal hand pointing to the door, with the jointed finger wiggling in the breeze. Spy headquarters. Helen had something else to hide.

  In the store, Rayette, in a trench coat, was poking through the miscellaneous bin. Sasha emerged from the back room bearing another armload of ladies’ dresses, which she managed to deliver to the dresses-on-hangers section.

  The door opened, and Sharif and Rafael loomed in front of her again. “We have tired of being patient. This town is very small. You will deliver the commodity.”

  Zen hoped someone wasn’t hiding a pair of matching earrings. She unclenched the plastic bag. “I believe this is the commodity?” She tumbled the diamond and ruby ring onto her palm.

  Rafael picked it up, held it up to the light and muttered something in another language. He slipped the ring into his pocket.

  Sharif sneered. “This is not the commodity we seek. However, it is proof Maude is the correct person. Come with us.”

  Zen found herself clamped between two silk suits, nearly suspended by strong fingers around her upper arms. A moment later she was pushed into the back seat of the Crown Victoria with Rafael, while Sharif drove. They knew exactly where she lived. She considered her options. “Do as she was told” seemed to be the best one.

  Inside her living room, Sharif nodded to Rafael, who let go of her arm. “Very well. Where is this Maude’s bedroom?”

  Zen pointed at the door to the left of the bathroom. Rafael disappeared down the hall. Zen heard the sounds of drawers yanked open, shoes tossed against a wall. It sounded like Buck a Bag day at the store.

  Rafael stepped into the hall and glared at her. His hair was springing out of its gel prison in wiry tufts. He crossed the hall and entered her room. She heard the same sounds a
gain. Rafael reappeared in five minutes, shaking his head and muttered something to Sharif.

  “We will reconsider our options,” Sharif said. “We’ll be back.”

  They left the house, and the Crown Victoria steamed out of its berth.

  Zen surveyed the disaster formerly known as tidy bedrooms. Aunt Maude’s had been hit hardest, with nothing left hanging in her closet. If Rafael had taken anything, it would be difficult to itemize the loss. He appeared to have come out empty-handed. What would he have been hoping to find? Aunt Maude’s credit cards? She sat down on the edge of the mattress, stripped clean in the search. The aunts had gone to New York for some theatre and fun. Aunt Maude had been up to her usual tricks, which Helen routinely ignored, but this time they came home early with their tails between their legs and a diamond ring on Aunt Maude’s finger. Now a couple of guys from New York had tossed her home. How had they tracked Maude down? How many ladies on bus tours of the theatre district wander the bars in Seventies sequins?

  Zen took her own turn at tossing Aunt Maude’s room. The sequined dress was missing. Rafael had nothing lumpy up his sleeve when he left.

  Helen.

  Zen hurried back to the store. A Crown Victoria with New York plates was parked in the loading zone. Inside, Sasha stood by the window, looking like she was hoping a transporter would beam her up.

  “Honest, I couldn’t stop them,” she said, clinging to a set of matching china dogs. “I told them I was the only one who could open the bags. They didn’t listen.”

  “Who, Sasha?”

  “Those two fancy men. And Helen.”

  “Is there anyone else here?”

  “Someone called Maude. And Rayette.”

  “Where?”

  “Rayette’s trying on a dress. Maude is with Helen and the men in the back room. They were sure mad. Shook Helen until her false teeth fell out.”

  “Why Helen?”

  “She was the one who brought in the bag of clothes. They said Maude had something that belonged to them, and Helen had put it in the bag of clothes.”

  Zen sprinted to the back room and was rained on by snow boots and mittens. Sharif and Rafael were ripping bags apart, scattering the contents indiscriminately. Rafael flung a pile of white at her that could only be Mrs. Witherspoon’s flannel nightie collection. Helen and Aunt Maude clung to each other in the corner.