Chapter 83

And one other thing: the store has had another diversionary fire, staged in dead space near a drinking fountain. It was a bold but odd theft this time: a bunch of imported Cire Trudon candles.

“Let me guess. The triple wick?”

“Yes,” Isaac says, “the ones that retail for three-hundred-and-seventy-five each.”

Customers reported two individuals sitting in a parked, running car in our overflow lot, usually empty except for holidays, before that. I knew, unfortunately, that our security cameras didn’t extend that far.

“What pisses me off the most is the police said they used store matches, a book from our grand reopening!”

Then Isaac reminds me he and a few others are bound for market in Manhattan in a few weeks and that drinks are in order.

I say, “I’ll be around.”

My tone says, I’ll be busy.

I ask when I can expect my sheets.

* * * *