Lost Art of Mystery

The buyout was a long time coming but that didn’t soften the blow when it was finalized. They had resisted and even spent thousands of dollars they didn’t have, for a lawyer to fight the case to keep their business. However, the slick buyers came in hard and fast. They knew a goldmine when they saw one.

Barb and her husband Paulie had owned the liquor store for well over 20 years. A lone shack on a long winding country road, they had fashioned it into a sort of kitchy Americana icon in the region. The rustic low log cabin featured neon signs in the windows and giant American flags that waved towards the road beckoning customers. Large makeshift signs offering random tastings as well as discounted booze. A gravel driveway allowed customers to park right in front and stepping inside guaranteed an offensive blast of potpourri along with a strong hint of cat poop. It didn’t matter, they were the only game in town, and they had a variety of regular local customers as well as those just passing through.

One of the regulars was a customer named Devon. An older woman, and somewhat of a loner, Devon had relocated from NYC a few years back to care for her ailing father. She was a regular, and she spent a lot on money cheap wine and scratch tickets. Her black hair had gone gray, but she still wore heavy eye liner and false lashes with her all black outfits, albeit everything was getting frayed around the edges. Devon usually came in on Tuesdays, but lately she had been in twice a week and looked more exhausted than usual.

It was on a Tuesday that she pulled up to find the place looking entirely different! The entry way was clean and tidy, and the signs seemed to be intentionally placed in the windows. Upon entering the store, the scent was noticeably clean and fresh and the aisles had been arranged in a semblance of order compared to how disheveled they were previously. Two tall men greeted her and it was obvious that these were new owners. She floated past them, making a beeline to the BigFoot cheap wine aisle.

While in the far corner of the store, she heard the sound of arguing coming from the parking lot. It got louder and louder and she could hear a man hollering at a woman, cursing and degrading her. Suddenly, the door jangled, and the place instantly reeked of foul cigarette smoke. She heard the couple fighting and made her way further into the store. The new owners gently tried to persuade the couple to leave, and reminded the woman that she was always welcome, but she could not bring drama as it would drive away the customers. Devon peered around the corner and saw the back of the man who was slim and tall standing over the woman menacingly, telling her to buy him alcohol, as she rustled around in her shopping cart and tried to get away from him. The owners asked him to leave which he did, but he waited, a lurking shadow in the parking lot. Devon quickly made her way to the check out counter, with trepidation, and as she looked up, the disheveled woman with the cart full of her belongings told her, “well, he is stalking me, you know! He just got out on parole and, well, he’s got a gun! He’s got a gun.” Devon cringed, not sure whether to retreat to the far corner of the store, or go to her car, which involved passing the antagonistic ex-con. She drifted away down an aisle, and the woman stared at her with something akin to recognition, then said, slowly, and with emphasis, “I’m sorry, Customer!”. At that moment, Devon recognized the homeless woman as the previous owner Barb. She gasped and took her purchases out to her car in disbelief and confusion. That night, she went over and over the scenario in her mind, and decided to give up drinking for good.