A siren sounded several blocks away and faded into the traffic. Harris took out his phone and moved a few feet from the doorway, speaking quietly with dispatch. Miller remained with us, his attention fixed on the tablet.
I felt the fear return, but it was no longer the fear of being accused. It was the fear of discovering that the accusation had been prepared before I ever walked into the store.
“Marcus,” I said, “when did you request the footage?”
“After you sent the text.”
“That was after I left.”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you know to request it?”
He hesitated.
I turned toward him.
“Marcus.”
His jaw tightened.
“I called the property manager because your message bothered me. He told me Bellwether House had reported an incident to building security.”
“What kind of incident?”
“He did not know the details. He only said the store had asked whether anyone had seen a woman in a cream dress carrying a blue handbag.”
I stared at him.
“Before the police stopped me?”
“Before you reached the corner.”
“Then they had already decided what story they were telling.”
Marcus nodded.
“Probably.”
The word probably did nothing to calm me.
I looked at Elaine.
“Why did you describe me before I even left the block?”
She opened her mouth, but Grant stepped in front of her.
“This conversation is over.”
He reached for the door.
Officer Miller placed one hand against it.
“Not yet.”
Grant stared at his hand.
“You cannot enter my store without a warrant.”
“I’m not entering. I’m preventing you from closing the door while we document an active complaint.”
Harris returned from the patrol car.
“What’s happening?”
“Miller asked the store to preserve the point-of-sale records and camera system,” Grant said. “He is refusing to leave.”
“I’m not refusing to leave,” Miller replied. “I’m requesting that no one alter or remove evidence.”
Grant’s eyes went to the back office.
The movement lasted less than a second.
It was enough.
Marcus saw it too.
“Someone is in the office,” he said.
Grant turned to him.
“There is no one in the office.”
A soft metallic sound came from behind the store.
Not a voice. Not a footstep.
A drawer sliding shut.
Elaine went pale.
Officer Harris looked through the doorway.
“Who else is inside?”
Grant did not answer.
Harris stepped past the threshold.
“Police,” he called. “Come out where I can see you.”
No one moved.
Miller followed him inside. The crowd stayed outside, pressed against the windows and doorway. I remained beside Marcus, watching the back of the store through the narrow opening between two display cases.
A moment later, Harris returned holding a small white envelope.
He looked at Grant.
“Who does this belong to?”
Grant’s expression went blank.
Elaine whispered, “I don’t know.”
Harris handed the envelope to Miller.
There was no name on the front. Only a handwritten number.
1847.
My inventory code.
Miller opened it carefully.
Inside was a printed receipt.
Not a copy of mine.
A second receipt for the same Verona handbag, issued at 2:46 p.m., five minutes after my purchase.
The customer name had been blacked out with a thick black marker.
My stomach turned.
“That is my item number,” I said.
Miller examined the paper.
“The transaction number is different.”
“Who bought it?” Marcus asked.
Grant took one step forward.
“You have no right to ask.”
Miller looked at him.
“Actually, I do have a right to ask the store owner why the same inventory code appears on two sales records.”
Grant’s composure finally cracked.
“It was a clerical mistake.”
“A clerical mistake that led to a police report?”
“We believed the first customer had left with merchandise that had not been properly processed.”
“I paid,” I said. “Your register proves it.”
Grant looked at me with open irritation.
“You were not supposed to receive that bag.”
The words left him before he could stop them.
Elaine turned toward him.
“Grant.”
Every sound on the sidewalk seemed to disappear.
I felt Marcus’s hand close around my elbow.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Grant’s face tightened.
“I meant the transaction should have been reviewed.”
“No. You said I was not supposed to receive the bag.”
“You misunderstood.”
“I heard you.”
Harris looked from Grant to the receipt.
“Why was the transaction supposed to be reviewed?”
Grant said nothing.
Elaine looked at me through the open doorway. Her eyes were wet now, but I could not tell whether she was afraid or ashamed.
Then she said, “Because the bag was reserved.”
“For whom?”
She looked at Grant.
He shook his head once.
It was a silent command.
Elaine ignored him.
“For a private client,” she said.
“Which client?”
“We are not allowed to disclose customer information.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It was reserved under a name,” Elaine continued. “The deposit had already been paid.”
“Then why did you sell it to me?”
Grant’s face had gone gray.
“I made a mistake.”
“No,” Elaine said quietly. “You told me to sell it.”
Grant turned toward her.
“Stop talking.”
That was the first time his voice sounded frightened.
Officer Miller moved closer to Elaine.
“Who did he tell you to sell it to?”
She looked at the white envelope in Miller’s hand.
“Not sell it to her,” Elaine said. “Sell it under her name.”
I stared at her.
Marcus’s grip tightened.
“What are you talking about?”
Elaine wiped her palms against her skirt.
“The bag was reserved under the name Camille Reed before you ever entered the store.”
The sidewalk seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
I looked down at the receipt in Marcus’s hand. My name was printed across the top in neat black letters. I had assumed it was there because I had given the cashier my driver’s license for the purchase record.
But I had not.
I had paid with my card. I had signed the screen. No one had asked for my name.
“Who entered my name?” I asked.
Elaine’s eyes shifted toward the back office.
“Grant did.”
Grant reached for the door again.
Harris blocked him.
“Why would you have her name before she came in?”
Grant’s mouth opened, but no explanation came.
Marcus looked at me.
“Camille, did you ever contact this store before today?”
“No.”
“Did you ever reserve a bag here?”
“No.”
“Did you give anyone permission to use your name?”
“No.”
The answers came too quickly, too cleanly.