She was on the verge of relating her experience with Cathy Long when Tim could no longer contain his desire to reveal the result of his day's investigation. He went on at great length, explaining detail after detail. Sandra tried to concentrate.
He paused in his narrative only long enough to go to the kitchen for a second helping of spaghetti. Finally, he came to the point as he helped her clear the table.
“The question now is, what do I do about it? I'm talking about a total of over two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Dr. Honneycutt owes most of it. She was in seven of the tapes I think."
“Are you asking my opinion?"
“Well, sure."
“You could write to each lady involved, or you could speak to each one in person. You are going to have to do one or the other. What you say to them is that you need to get with them to arrange repayment, or say you have decided to cancel the indebtedness and return their notes marked ‘Paid'."
Tim had not thought of canceling the debts. “Just write off all that money?"
“It's your money Tim, but if you are going to stay in Dot, it might be the best investment you could possibly make."
Tim liked the sound of that, but would have to think about it. “What do we do with the tapes? Destroy them?"
“That's what I would have said if I had not gone to the sheriff's office this afternoon."
“I don't understand."
Sandra washed the dishes and Tim dried. She told the story, but again left out the sexual element. She dreaded his reaction. Her past was horribly complicating his present and future. He folded her in his arms and stroked the back of her head affectionately.
“I am so proud of you."
Surprised, Sandra pulled her head back but retained the embrace. “Proud of me? Why?"
His voice was soft and low—reassuring. “Because you didn't run, or even think about running. You stood your ground. You fought back. You fought for your new life, for our new life together. And you won!"
“I'm not so sure I won, Tim. She probably has copies of those pictures.” She nestled her head back on his shoulder, hoping he would resume stroking her hair.
He did. “And we have the videos."
“She probably has Sheriff Dilson wrapped around her little finger too."
“And you have me, and together we have money. I don't have Dilson's authority, but money is power."
“And the tapes?” she asked.
“I'm going to lock the room back up, just like I found it. Now, get your pretty little bottom in the library. You have a book report to write."
“Sandy,” he called after her, “I love you."
She stopped, turned towards him slowly, and replied, “That's nice."
What a lousy thing that was to say to me, he thought, resolving never to say those three little words to her again.
What a lousy thing that was to say to him, she thought as she walked down the hallway.
“Why in the world would anyone in her right mind want to read one of these books?” I asked myself when I discovered that the only reading material in Uncle Pete Harlow's library were old classic novels. Since I was in the mood, and there were no other choices, I selected the slimmest volume and began to read Silas Marner. Within two pages I was hooked, and you will be too if you give yourself the chance.
Sandra studied her new opening. Pleased, she continued writing.
* * * *
On Tuesday morning, Diane Sizemore removed the double spaced three-page report from the manila envelope that she found on her desk when she arrived at the Courier office. She smiled as she began to read, and picked up her blue lead pencil. After finishing the report, she put the pencil down, unused, and made a telephone call to the Dot Pharmacy.
“I'm going to run a very nice book report in Thursday's edition on Silas Marner,” she said into the receiver. “It's written by Sandy Dollar, one of our wealthy newcomers. I thought you might want to stock a few paperback copies."
The pharmacist thanked her for the information, hung up the telephone, and forgot about it instantly.
She placed a similar call to the Discount House. The manager thanked her, touched the disconnect button on his telephone and immediately placed a call to the magazine supplier in Charlotte.
* * * *
Sandra sat at her computer, reviewing the three pages of character profiles she printed out. Bobby had cleaned the library while she was delivering her book review, and Tim had gone into town to talk with his hardware store employees. She knew she had the house to herself for several hours.
“Okay guys,” she said aloud. “I created you, like the magazine said. Now you're supposed to tell me your story so I can write it down."
“It was a dark and stormy night,” she typed. She read the line on the monitor, laughed, highlighted it and hit the delete key.
“Hank hung his butt over a tombstone, pants around his ankles, farted loudly, and began what he would later call a major dump.” Sandra stared at the line in disbelief. “Why are you taking a crap in a cemetery?” she asked aloud. “Why are you there? Where did you come from? Where are you going? Who is with you?"
Her fingers returned to the keyboard. “'Dumb Fuck shit on me two years ago. Now it's my turn,’ he laughed as he wiped his fanny with leaves stolen from a faded plastic plant.” She read the lines in amazement.
I don't believe this, she thought, then returned her hunting and pecking fingers to the keyboard to see what her villain would do next.
* * * *
Tim knew his lady employees were uncomfortable, but he was determined to review carefully the hardware store books before talking long-term plans with them. The little back office was cramped and hot, but the carefully made pencil entries in the journal were pleasant to read, bringing back memories of his dad's bookkeeping artistry.
After four hours of study, he took both Wanda Wallace and Lizzie Lane to lunch at Dot's Diner. They recommended the country style steak and they were right. It was delicious.
“I do not know how you two ladies can run that business by yourselves, but you obviously do it well. Lizzie, your bookkeeping is excellent. Everything is defined and the books balance. After thirty minutes, I quit checking documentation. You have accurately filed receipts for every expense and register tapes for every day's sales. I am very impressed. Your records would break an IRS agent's spirit."
They all laughed and Lizzie timidly acknowledged the compliment.
“Wanda, I know you get some help on the floor from Lizzie, but its back-breaking labor sometimes. Don't you think you could use additional help?"
Wanda replied with an appreciative smile. “Mr. Harlow said to keep the prices competitive and the overhead low. You hire more people and the overhead goes up."
“That's certainly true, but as Lizzie must have told you, the store is making an excellent profit. We can afford more help. With just one more employee you wouldn't have to close the store to eat lunch."
“We don't usually do that. Business is not very good on Tuesdays, and if a customer does come, he'll look for us here at Dottie's."
“I'll give that some thought, but I still think you need help. What do you do if one or both of you are sick?"
Lizzie replied, “If just one is sick the other works twice as hard. If both are sick, we just don't open the store."
Tim interrupted. “And we lose business. The two of you start looking for two additional clerks immediately. I'll pay eight dollars an hour to start, and up to ten dollars if they are well qualified. Now, there are some other changes I think need to be made."
“Haven't you ever heard ‘if it ain't broke, don't fix it?'” Wanda laughed.
“Yes, but there's something to be said for preventive maintenance,” Tim replied. “The first change is not open for discussion. Effective immediately your wages are doubled. I was embarrassed to see how little Uncle Pete was paying you."
“I don't think she'll argue with you about that change,” Lizzie commented.
“The st
ore needs to be completely remodeled, new décor, new fixtures, new lighting, and especially air conditioning."
“Now Mr. Tim,” Wanda said leaning towards him while motioning to Dottie to bring more iced tea, “put in air, but don't do nothin’ else. Folks come here all the way from Charlotte ‘cause they like the old fashioned look of things."
While Dottie filled their glasses, Lizzie said, “I agree. We might need to add a light or two, but major changes would chase away some of our good customers."
“I'll let you win that one,” Tim grinned, “but here's one I'm afraid neither one of you will like. Lizzie, your bookkeeping is great, but we need to computerize it. And we need to have a computerized inventory control system."
Tim was prepared to give a long explanation, but Wanda interrupted. “Lawd, Mr. Tim. You've made Lizzie die and go to heaven."
“I'm not so sure about bookkeeping on a computer, but the inventory control system is especially needed. We try to do a physical inventory every three months, but it never seems to come out right,” Lizzie said.
Wanda excitedly added, “And we are forever running out of products ‘cause we don't always know when to reorder. Mr. Harlow wanted us to watch the inventory closely and not overstock, but that's easier said than done. A computer inventory control system would actually make more money for us."
“Do you think you can handle a computer system, Lizzie?"
“No,” she replied. “I could learn, but we know somebody you could get who can do it right off the bat, if you are going to hire new people anyway.” She winked at Wanda and Tim realized they had discussed the subject before.
“And who would that be?"
“Her name is Tracy Frank, Dottie's daughter-in-law.” Lizzie answered.
“Billy's wife? I didn't know he was married."
“They been married about two years,” Wanda volunteered. “She worked at a Kmart in Raleigh before she got married, and it was her job to look after their computers."
Tim thought that Tracy had probably just done data entry, but it was worth checking out. “Do you think Tracy would be interested in the job?"
“I know she would,” Lizzie replied. “She and Billy need the money. She couldn't find a job when they settled down here so she opened a little alterations shop in the back of the Discount House, but I don't think she does much business."
“There's just one thing,” Wanda said, “and it wouldn't be a problem. When the fire siren goes off, she has to drop what she's doin’ and go run the Super Save, ‘cause Billy's a volunteer fireman."
After Tim paid for the meals, the two women, who could out-perform any two men in Dot, headed back to the hardware store. Tim crossed the street and walked the two blocks to the Discount House.
What he both saw and smelled when he entered the Discount House appalled Tim. It was obvious that there had been little or no effort made to remodel the old tobacco auction warehouse when converting it into retail space. The unpainted walls were still covered with tattered advertisement posters for various brands of cigarettes, many of which were no longer manufactured. The whole place reeked of stale tobacco. Old-fashioned pot-bellied stoves, their smokestacks disappearing through the high tin roof that served as the ceiling, heated the building. Three fairly modern checkout counters, arranged horizontally to the front of the store, supported ancient registers. The uncovered original concrete floor was permanently stained. The Discount House occupied only the front half of the building and ancient, unmatched gondolas groaned in the aisles, along with a scattering of racks and tables on which merchandise seemed randomly scattered.
The old warehouse weigh-booth and scales remained on the left side of the building where thousands of baskets of flu-cured tobacco used to be weighed before being placed on the auction floor. Customers, he later discovered, liked to come in and weigh themselves on the highly accurate device.
Three other businesses filled the back half of the building. One portion served as the office and shop area for the young town plumber and electrician, who's name, Tim learned, was Robbie Thompson. Robbie introduced Tim to Rick Holston, a middle-aged giant whose shop, littered with televisions, radios, appliances and various samples of farm machinery in differing states of repair, indicated he was the town fix-it man. Rick proudly explained that his sole purpose for working was to earn enough to allow him to participate in the two loves of his life, amateur radio and racing at Bowman Gray Stadium in Winston-Salem.
Tracy Frank's alteration area stood out in sharp contrast. She had placed a colorful large rug on the floor. Her three sewing machines appeared new. Her worktable was clean and uncluttered. An attractive waist high fence, complete with a large swinging hinged gate, enclosed her area. Across the back was a wide unit with deep shelves that held bolts of cloth, various shades of thread and other tools of her trade. Tracy sat in a comfortable padded chair reading a paperback novel. It was obvious that business was not good.
Tim wandered back into the Discount House area of the building and found a vantagepoint where he could pretend to be looking at merchandise while actually studying Tracy. She was a lovely young lady with long, curly, somewhat kinky, dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a peach colored complexion. She was wearing neatly tailored blue slacks and a white, loose fitting golf shirt with every button securely fastened. Tim stood fascinated by the rise and fall of the pockets of her shirt as she breathed.
He decided to find a bathroom before talking with Tracy, partly because his bladder was full and partly because he needed a little time to get rid of an erection, which could prove embarrassing. Rick Holston directed him to the back of the store.
The men's room was absolutely filthy and smelled of urine. There was one commode, recently used but not flushed, a stopped up urinal, and a sink with only cold running water, no soap, and no towels. He did what he had to do and then knocked on the door to the ladies room. Hearing no response, he entered. It was cleaner, but that was about all.
He went directly to Robbie Thompson and arranged to have the plumbing problems corrected immediately. Rick, eavesdropping, volunteered to clean the rooms and stock them with soap and paper towels for a price, and Tim readily agreed to his terms. In exasperation, Tim observed that the only way he could see to make the building decent was to build a new, modern building in the adjoining parking lot and tear down the old warehouse. Because he expected their agreement, he failed to notice the expression of disapproval on the two men's faces.
Tracy put down her paperback as soon as Tim approached her swinging gate. “May I help you?"
Tim liked the timber of her voice and it's pleasant but businesslike tone. He especially liked her crooked smile and brilliant white teeth and the fact that her fingernails were neither long nor painted. “Yes, Tracy,” he responded. “I want to talk with you about a job."
“Sure, what do you need? Pants let out a little?"
Tim glanced down at his expanding midsection and decided to ignore the insult. “No, I want to talk with you about a job at the hardware store. Lizzie and Wanda tell me you would be perfect for the job I have in mind."
Tracy looked embarrassed. “I'm sorry. Am I supposed to know you?"
“I think I love you,” Tim laughed. “You are the only person I have met in Dot who didn't already know that I am Tim Dollar, Pete Harlow's nephew."
“Oh. Mr. Mustang.” Tracy was now laughing and her eyes, Tim noticed, were sparkling. “For two days after he met you all Billy could talk about was your red Mustang convertible."
“It's not for sale."
“We couldn't afford it if you offered it to us for a hundred dollars.” Tim noted she suddenly stopped smiling.
“Business not too good?"
“Believe it or not, I make more money with my little business than Billy does at the gas station. There's no profit in selling gas, and Billy practically gives away his mechanic work."
“In a way I'm sorry, but in a way I'm glad. Do you mind if I smoke?"
“I'd prefer
that you didn't,” she replied. “This place stinks badly enough as it is. You said something about a job offer?"
Tim forced the cigarette back into the pack, bending it in the process. “Yes. Among other things, I inherited the Dot Hardware Store. Do you know Lizzie and Wanda?"
“Sure. They're good customers of mine."
“Well, we have been making some plans for the store. We badly need to install a point-of-sale inventory system. They said you had some experience along these lines with Kmart."
“Yes and no. I did some maintenance work on the store system, upgraded software from time to time and did plenty of data entry. I loved it, but I would have no idea how to select or install a complete system from scratch."
“That's not a problem, Tracy. I met a young man in Charlotte recently who I think might be interested in moonlighting the installation, and I would trust his system selection implicitly. It would be your job to work with him to bring the system on line, keep it running, do the data entry, and pull off needed reports for Lizzie and Wanda."
“Sounds like fun. What would be the hours?"
“I imagine the hours would be pretty long at first, but would in time settle down to something like a forty hour week. I understand you have to run the Super Save when the fire siren sounds, and you could move your alterations business to the hardware store if you like."
“You've left out one small detail,” she said with an impish grin on her face.
“I don't know what a fair salary would be, and I am open for negotiation on that score."
“Kmart paid me ten dollars an hour, furnished health insurance, gave me normal holidays off, five days of sick leave and a week's vacation each year."
Tim noticed she ticked off these details as if she were reading from a script and correctly guessed she had spent much time regretting the loss of the good job her marriage caused. “I can afford to meet all the perks you mentioned. The salary I have in mind is twenty dollars an hour. Do you think that is too high?"
The impish grin returned. “You ask the question as if there's a snowball's chance in hell that I will insist on something less."
Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Page 16
