“You called police here.”
“You'll stay until the officer decides whether he needs your statement.”
The blonde woman looked toward the officer.
He nodded.
“I do.”
Her face tightened.
The owner continued.
“Customers are free to leave.”
Nobody moved.
Of course they didn't.
People rarely leave before the end of a scene once they realize they are witnessing something important.
The owner looked toward the officer.
“Can we start again?”
He nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who called?”
He looked toward the blonde woman.
“She did.”
“What did she report?”
He checked his notes.
“Possible shoplifting.”
The owner looked at the blonde woman.
“You told dispatch you saw theft?”
The blonde woman’s eyes widened.
“No.”
The officer looked at his screen.
“The caller said a suspicious woman appeared to be concealing expensive merchandise.”
The owner stared.
“Did you see me conceal anything?”
The blonde woman’s mouth opened.
Nothing.
“Did you see merchandise enter my bag?”
“No.”
“Did you see me remove a security tag?”
“No.”
“Did you see me leave the store without paying?”
“No.”
“Then what did you see?”
The blonde woman looked around.
Every phone was pointed toward her now.
She whispered:
“I thought something was wrong.”
The owner nodded slowly.
“Why?”
Silence.
“Tell me.”
The blonde woman’s voice became defensive.
“I don't have to explain my instincts.”
“No.”
The owner glanced toward the officer.
“But you used those instincts to call police.”
The blonde woman crossed her arms.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
The owner smiled faintly.
“No.”
“It became ridiculous when you decided browsing was evidence.”
The blonde woman looked toward the exit.
The officer said:
“Please remain until I finish your statement.”
She glared.
The owner turned toward the manager.
“Office.”
The manager followed her through the black door.
The owner closed it.
The sound of the boutique disappeared.
Inside, the executive office was compact.
Desk.
Computer.
Safe.
Security monitors.
Inventory system.
A wall displaying framed photographs from boutique openings across the country.
The owner set the folder down.
Then turned.
“How long?”
The manager stared.
“How long what?”
“Don't.”
The manager lowered her eyes.
The owner repeated:
“How long?”
Silence.
Then:
“About eighteen months.”
The owner felt something in her chest drop.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.