Black Friday

by Judy M. Kerr

  “The table is beautiful. You’ve outdone yourself.” MC caught Barb on her way back to the kitchen and pulled her in for a kiss. “Happy Thanksgiving. I’m very thankful for you.”

  “And I’m thankful for you. Would you light the candles for me? I’ll bring the food in before it gets cold.”

  They plowed through turkey, gravy, and all the usual Thanksgiving accoutrements. Barb enjoyed a couple glasses of wine. Then they quickly cleared the table and stowed the leftovers.

  After loading the dishwasher MC carried the pie into the dining room. Barb followed with plates and forks.

  MC served up two generous slices and settled back into her chair. “Wait. Whipped cream.” She launched herself from her chair and hustled to the kitchen for the whipped topping.

  “You’re zippy.” Barb held a forkful of pie. “I swear you were out of your chair and back in before I blinked.”

  “Smart aleck. Whipped cream?” She wiggled the red and white spray can over Barb’s plate.

  “Yes, please.” Barb leaned back.

  MC pushed the spray top and white globules splayed across the table down the front of Barb’s shirt and one tiny dot clung to Barb’s chin. “Oops. Sorry. I’ll get it.” She wiped a finger across Barb’s chin and scooped the blob of cream into Barb’s mouth.

  “I should know better than to let you operate the spray can.” Barb wiped the table and her shirt. “Give me the can before you cover the whole room.” She snatched it away, deftly covered their slices of pie, and set the can out of MC’s reach.

  MC scrunched her nose and pretended to pout. “One teeny tiny squirt?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Here.” Barb placed the can next to MC’s plate. “Please confine the mess to your side of the table.”

  MC proceeded to make a snow-white mountain on top of her pumpkin pie. “Now this is what I call dessert.” She plunged her fork in and dug out a great scoop of creamy-coated pie and shoveled it into her mouth. “Yum. Perfection.”

  Later MC made coffee and Barb queued up It’s a Wonderful Life. MC brought them each a cup of decaf. She joined Barb on the couch.

  Night had fallen. Inky darkness was broken only by the sodium vapor streetlamp on the boulevard outside their house. Wind bent the arthritic branches of the trees and howled a woeful song. MC said, “Perfect night to be inside with hot coffee and a hot woman.”

  “Indeed.” Barb snuggled into MC’s side and pulled the afghan from the back of the couch to cover their legs. “Ready for the movie?”

  “Roll it.”

  Barb fell asleep halfway through and stirred next to MC at the tinkling of bells and ZuZu Bailey saying, “Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”

  “Rise and shine.” MC kissed the tip of Barb’s nose. “You didn’t even drink your coffee before you zonked out.”

  Barb stretched. “Sorry. Guess I was tired. I’m getting a fresh cup. Want one?”

  “Sure. Are you still up for Christmas Vacation? I know it’s getting late, almost ten already. Maybe cousin Eddie will keep you from falling asleep.”

  “He’s so disgusting.”

  “He is disgusting, but also freakin’ hilarious,” MC said. “But if you’d rather not—”

  “I think I can make it through, but then I’ve got to get to bed because I need to be up at three so I can be at Macy’s by four and hopefully back home around seven.”

  “Sounds so enticing. Not.” MC hit the play button to start the movie.

  No sooner had the relatives started piling into the Griswold’s house than MC’s cellphone rang. “Damn. It’s work.”

  Barb hit the pause button and eyed MC and then the clock on the wall. “It’s after ten.”

  MC nodded. “McCall. Hey, Jamie.” MC got up and rummaged around in her messenger bag on the floor. Notebook and pen in hand she sat in the Stickley Eastman chair, the worn tan leather cushion sinking comfortably in all the right places. “Yep. Got it. I’ll meet him at the facility ASAP.”

  Barb’s eyebrows rose at the last words.

  MC held a finger up, pen in hand. “Yes, we’ll keep you informed. Bye.” MC scribbled a few more notes and set the pen down.

  “You’ve got to leave, right?” Disappointment colored Barb’s tone.

  “I’m sorry. An employee attacked a supervisor at the Saint Paul processing center. Cam and I are both on-call, so Jamie is sending us both. I’ll probably be gone all night by the sounds of it.” MC rose from the chair and reached for Barb. “Cheer up. Now you can hit the hay earlier because we don’t have to watch the movie.”

  She shot a thumb over her shoulder at the frozen screen showing a whale-eyed Chevy Chase, mouth hanging open.

  “I guess there’s a silver lining in every dark cloud.” Barb worked at, but didn’t quite achieve, a smile. “Be careful. Please.” She placed a hand on MC’s cheek.

  MC covered Barb’s hand with her own and planted a soft kiss in the palm. “I’m always careful. And so is Cam. You be careful tomorrow. I don’t want you getting trampled by the herd of shoppers hoarding all the deals. We can swap war stories over leftovers tomorrow night and maybe watch this here movie.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Barb followed MC into the hallway.

  “I’ve got to change.” MC ran up the stairs and quickly dressed in navy tactical pants and layered a T-shirt under her navy sweatshirt with the Inspection Service badge on the left front and US Postal Inspector Police on the back, exactly like her jacket. She stuffed her feet into a pair of black tactical boots.

  Back down in the front hallway she squatted in the closet to retrieve her handgun and shoulder holster. She ejected the magazine and checked it and pulled two extra fifteen round magazines from the safe and jammed them into the double magazine pouches on the other side of the harness. She draped the contraption over her shoulders and secured it into place.

  She yanked her jacket off a hanger and stuck her arms through the sleeves. Messenger bag over one shoulder, she met Barb in the kitchen.

  Barb had switched on the iPod in the kitchen. She held the keys to MC’s car in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other. “Be safe and come home to me.” She leaned in for a kiss.

  Lucinda Williams crooned “Blue” from the iHome speaker as MC palmed the keys and swooped Barb into a one-armed hug for another kiss. “You’re the best.” Insulated mug in hand, she moved toward the door. “Love you. Lock the door behind me.”

  The air smelled fresh and clear. Tiny crystals, not quite fully matured snowflakes, spilled lightly from the leaden belly of the sky. Within the evening silence, MC heard the sharp tap of the granules hitting the pavement.

  The icy wind numbed her ears. She never wore a hat in winter, except for running, a bone of contention between her and Barb. But MC had never been much of a hat wearer. Even as a kid, she hated the confined feel around her head, not to mention hat hair.

  MC’s mind veered to the earlier missed opportunity to surprise Barb with a marriage proposal. Even though Barb understood about MC’s hesitation, MC knew how much Barb wanted to get married and share the event with family and friends. She couldn’t bite the bullet.

  MC’s stomach clenched at the thought of inviting Barb’s whole family and however many of their friends. She opened the gate and latched it closed behind her. Her head throbbed and she broke out in a sweat despite the raw air.

  The ice pellets had evolved into light fluffy snow floating down as she backed the car from the garage. She hit the remote to close the rolling door and leaned over to wave at Barb who was watching out the back door. Barb blew her a kiss, which MC made a huge production over catching before she drove down the alley.

  Cam and MC met outside the processing center in Eagan. They entered the building through the loading dock doors.

  They met a supervisor who had taken control of the situation and separated the parties involved.

  Cam left to interview the wounded supervisor in an office before EMTs took him to have the
wound stitched up.

  MC interviewed the mail handler and reminded him of the zero-tolerance policy regarding violence in the workplace. A couple of patrol officers from St. Paul PD arrived and transported the employee to the Ramsey County Jail. The county prosecutor would decide on state charges to file.

  MC and Cam split up and took statements from another five or six employees who’d witnessed the altercation. They all confirmed that the mail handler had totally lost his shit and cut the supervisor.

  They notified the other supervisor that the inspection service would issue an investigative summary report to postal management regarding the incident.

  A long night of interviews and bad coffee at the postal facility was followed by a slog of early morning paperwork and building a case file back at their office.

  Just before seven in the morning MC set the file prominently on the center of Jamie Sanchez’s desk. Because Jamie had been the Team Leader that called them out, he got to deal with the case file. She found Cam in his office, phone to his ear saying, “I think we’re about finished. I’ll be leaving soon. Within the next fifteen minutes or so.”

  He covered the mouthpiece and said to MC, “Talking to Jane.”

  “I put the file on Jamie’s desk. I’m calling it a day. I don’t know if Crapper’s coming in today, and I’d rather be gone before he gets here.”

  “Right on. No sense in making a long night even longer. Have a good weekend.”

  “Tell Jane I said hello and give those kids a hug from me when you get home. You guys have a good weekend, too.”

  “Will do. Tell Barb hello from us. We should make plans to have you guys over for dinner soon.”

  MC gave him a thumbs up and left. Back in her office she shut down her computer and checked her phone. Nothing from Barb. She thought about calling her and decided against it because she’d either be knee deep in battling other shoppers or lugging bags into the house and as long as she was heading home, she could wait.

  MC was stunned when she stepped outside. Suburbia mimicked a snow globe in the gray light of dawn. Every surface was buried in brilliant white and the sky still shed snow. When she inhaled through her mouth, the air shot daggers into her lungs. Stifling a yawn, she reminded herself she’d heard on NPR recently that if you breathed through your nose, by the time the air hit the back of your nose, it was fully humidified and much easier on the lungs.

  Breathing through her nose, she trudged across the unshoveled parking lot, let the car warm up, and checked her cell. Nothing from Barb. Seven a.m. and she decided a cup of French roast from Flannel would be the ticket to help propel her homeward. She put the car in gear and puttered through the parking lot out onto mostly deserted streets. She wound her way eastward, tires squelching over wet, sticky snow. Twenty minutes later she found a parking spot on the street in front of the coffee shop.

  Inside, Kate, the young college student Dara and Meg employed, bagged a blueberry scone for a woman and handed her a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, MC. You know Dara and Meg are still out of town, right?”

  “We actually talked to them yesterday. How was your Thanksgiving?”

  “Good. I have a pretty big family and we were all at my grandma’s. There were thirty of us. Enough for a couple of touch football teams.”

  “Sounds fun,” MC said. Sounds like a nightmare is what she thought, then chastised herself for being sardonic. Not everyone had adverse reactions to family gatherings.

  “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll take a cup of the dark roast with room and one of those blueberry scones. They look fabulous.”

  “For here?”

  “Please. Barb probably isn’t home yet. I’ll enjoy breakfast before I brave the elements again.”

  “Where’s Barb? Oh, wait, don’t tell me she’s one of those Black Friday shoppers.”

  “Yes, indeed. It’s like a religion. May I not be struck by lightning for such blasphemy.”

  Kate scooped a scone onto a plate and set it on the counter then she poured MC’s coffee. “I know Meg was upset about being up north and missing all the big sales today.”

  “I know. She and Barb had quite the discussion about it.” MC paid and dropped a couple bucks into the glass tip jar next to the register.

  Kate responded with a hearty thank you.

  MC pulled out a chair at the first table. “So, tell me, what are you doing to stay in shape during the winter so you’re ready for softball in the spring?”

  “I go in a couple times a week and lift weights and do cardio.” Kate came out to wipe down the table. She brushed crumbs off a couple chairs at the high-top counter along the front windows. “I’ve been thinking about doing a kickboxing class. Maybe work on my balance.”

  “Nice. I hadn’t thought about kickboxing.” MC ate half her scone and chased it with some coffee.

  “I can’t take credit for the idea. My cousin told me she took a class last year and it really helped her.”

  The door opened and two women entered followed by a cyclone of snow. “This weather is really something,” the first one said. Her hat was covered in snow, and glops of slush dropped from the bottom of her boots onto the industrial runner inside the door.

  MC finished eating, snagged her coffee, and put the plate in the plastic dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. She waved goodbye to Kate and leaned into the blustery squall.

  In an effort to keep herself alert, she found the all Christmas FM radio station and cranked the volume up, driving home through the snow-clogged streets to the tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, “Here Comes Santa Claus,” and all the usual kitschy Christmas tunes.

  No sign of plows yet, which indicated the storm was not letting up any time soon. She turned onto Summit, deciding it would be easier to navigate than Grand. She estimated there must be a good three inches accumulated already and no sign of slowing down. She was thankful she wasn’t driving the other way, as traffic was much heavier going toward downtown. An added bonus, because she and Cam had pulled an all-nighter they were off until Monday morning. Barb would be happy. MC slid to a stop for a red light at Snelling, the anti-lock brakes shuddering and groaning. She took the opportunity to drink the last dregs of her coffee and think about all the bags and packages she’d find strewn across the kitchen, with Barb happily in the midst of the chaos. MC smiled at the image.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday, November 28

  The long wearisome night was catching up to MC. The weather showed no signs of improvement. Bloated white flakes floated downward like tiny parachutes. Grimy nuggets of ice hugged car wheels. Tree branches wept with frosty wet weight, like soldiers resigned to a long battle looming ahead.

  Black Friday morning, the shopaholic’s annual championship match. She hoped Barb was home safe and sound. All she could think about was a hot shower, fresh coffee, and a huge hug from Barb. The caffeine infusion from the stop at Flannel was fading and she was losing patience with idiot drivers. Cranky didn’t begin to describe how she felt. At this point, she was ready to give the Grinch a run for his money.

  MC dug a knuckle into her gritty eyes. She made the final turn onto Pinehurst, her street, and noticed a conglomeration of emergency vehicles a block ahead. She crept down the street, wondering what the commotion was all about.

  When she reached the corner, her eyes widened and she slammed on the brakes. The car skidded and the front tire slammed into the curb.

  A lightshow painted houses, trees, and snow in a dreadful carnival of red and blue.

  Squad cars were parked haphazardly directly in front of MC’s house. A paramedic unit sat idling in the mix. The falling snow slowed, revealing the hulking SPPD Forensic Services vehicle, an oversized white cargo van.

  MC abandoned her car and scrambled across the greasy road. A flame-haired Saint Paul police officer attempted to stop her. She tried an end run around him, but he grabbed her arm. “No one is allowed beyond this point.”

  Anothe
r officer tied yellow crime scene tape between the two pine trees in her front yard and up the walk toward her front door.

  MC was caught halfway between fury and terror. “That’s my freaking house! What’s going on?”

  The cop stood his ground, a human blockade on the snow-covered curb.

  MC yanked her cell phone from her coat pocket and turned away.

  She heard the cop talking behind her. “Sir, there’s a female out front wearing a jacket with US Postal Inspector on the back.”

  She frantically scrolled through her texts. Nothing from Barb. She called her. The phone connected and rang. And rang. And rang. After the fourth ring Barb’s voicemail kicked in. “Babe, please call me when you get this.” MC’s voice shook.

  A pear-shaped man of mature years wearing a trench coat stepped out of MC’s front door and bumbled down the walkway. He tilted his charcoal fedora back on his head, nodded at the red-haired officer, and fixed his pale blue gaze on her. “Good morning. I’m Detective Sergeant Sharpe.”

  “MC McCall, Inspector MC McCall, and that’s my house.” She thrust her finger at the tiny bungalow and vibrated with a mixture of anger, dread and the desperate need to know what the fuck was going on. She struggled to breathe, to control her wild imaginings. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is happening?”

  “I’ve got it from here, Red. Thanks.” Sharpe dismissed the young officer.

  “Thanks a bunch, Red,” MC said sarcastically. She glared at the young cop as Sharpe guided her onto the sidewalk, but on the public side of the yellow line.

  “Easy now, Ms. McCall. He’s only doing his job. May I see some identification?” Sharpe pulled a pair of leather gloves from his coat pocket and stuffed his hands in them. His words sent a ghostly plume into the morning air. They stood out in front of god and every neighbor on the street, as he patiently waited for proof she was who she claimed to be.