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 spent thousands of dollars they didn’t have on a lawyer to fight the case for keeping 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 slung off kilter in the windows. Occasionally, an “air dancer” gestured wildly in the wind, beckoning customers to stop and shop. Large makeshift signs offered up random tastings as well as discounted booze. A gravel driveway, flanked by two enormous American flags allowed customers to park right in front. 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 these locals 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 of money on cheap wine and scratch tickets. Her dyed black hair had gone mostly gray, but she still wore her trademark heavy eye liner and false lashes with her all black outfits, albeit everything was starting to fray around the edges. Devon usually came in on Tuesdays, but lately she’d 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 listened to a man hollering aggressively at a woman, cursing and degrading her. Suddenly, the door jangled, and the place was instantaneously permeated with the smell of stale cigarettes. She heard the couple fighting loudly and made her way deeper 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. He loomed over a middle aged woman menacingly. He was forcefully 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 announced loudly into the air, “well, he’s been stalking me, you know! He just got out on parole and, well, he’s got a gun! Yes, You heard me right. 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 felt the woman staring at her. As she turned around, the piercing blue eyes glimmered with recognition. Slowly, deliberately, and with emphasis, the woman spoke to her. “I’m sorry, ‘Customer’!”. At that moment, Devon realized the homeless woman was the previous store owner, Barb. Speechless, she gasped and hurried 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.