Black Thursday by Linda Joffe Hull Read Free Book Online Page A

had blossomed since she’d begged me to introduce them a few months back. “Great thinking.”
    Griff nodded in agreement, confirming my suspicions with the vaguest hint of his dimpled smile.
    At the same moment, Alan helped the shaken husband to his feet and led him over to the body. Neither were particularly tall, but the poor man looked a good six inches shorter with his shoulders crumpled and head down.
    Joyce dabbed her wide-open eyes and hugged a teary Barb.
    I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying.
    Frank, who already had one arm around a sobbing Eloise, slipped the other around my shoulder.
    Griff simply shook his head.
    As we stood, numb and in stunned silence, Alan left the husband in the care of a fellow polo-shirted employee and made his way over to the linens aisle, where Anastasia Chastain and (more important) the camera had a nearly unobstructed view of the accident. Following a brief conversation, Anastasia and the cameraman, who had to already have enough footage for an Emmy-worthy report, packed up and relocated.
    Alan stood dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief from his pocket as the stretcher made its way toward Mrs. Piggledy. With none of his trademark salesman-swagger, he followed behind, stopping beside us.
    â€œSir,” he said, offering his hand to Mr. Piggledy. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
    â€œAccidents happen,” Mr. Piggledy said.
    â€œNot in my store.” Alan shook his head. “Not like this.”
    Griff’s walkie-talkie blipped and a scratchy voice announced: “Coroner’s here.”
    Alan rubbed his temples. “This is just getting worse and worse.”
    â€œWhy did they call in a coroner?” Joyce asked. “On the CSI shows they—”
    â€œCall in a coroner on all fatalities to make a determination as to cause of death,” Griff recounted, undoubtedly from his rookie manual. “Standard procedure.”
    L’Raine smiled like he’d recited one of Shakespeare’s love sonnets.
    The stretcher pulled up beside Mrs. Piggledy.
    â€œReady?” the EMT asked.
    â€œI’ll need to lead everyone out of here along with Mrs. Piggledy,” Griff said, clipping his still squawking radio back onto his utility belt. “So the area can be secured.”
    â€œAnd I need to get back over there,” Alan said, looking like he’d rather be headed anywhere else. He handed Mr. Piggledy a business card. “Please keep me posted on your wife’s condition.”
    â€œNo worries,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “I’ll be back on the trick horses in no time.”
    â€œBut, honey,” Mr. Piggledy rubbed her cheek, “you’ve never ridden the horses.”
    â€œDetails,” she winced, as she was loaded onto the stretcher. “Please come to Higgledy’s wedding Saturday night,” she announced to the crowd. “All of you!”
    With the glimmer of his wife’s usual sparkle, Mr. Piggledy looked ever so slightly relieved. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
    Alan simply shook his head.
    I felt almost as awful for him as I did for kind-faced Kathy and her grieving husband.
    When he’d first contacted me about advertising on my blog, Alan spent our initial phone call proudly recounting the history of Bader’s Bargain Barn, starting with its humble beginnings as his grandfather’s five-and-dime. He talked about how his father had expanded into a small local department store. How he himself had worked beside his dad all the way through high school, growing the company into a discount retailer during his college years, and even getting an MBA to help keep his beloved family enterprise competitive in the cutthroat world of franchises, chains, and superstores—all of which not only anticipated but depended on Black Friday for their highest traffic and sales receipts of the entire holiday season. Including Bargain