afford.
Crow went into the store.
“My daughter bought a big-screen TV here a while ago,” Crow said to the clerk. “And the delivery seems to have gone astray.”
“Astray?”
“Yes,” Crow said. “She never got it.”
“Oh, my,” the clerk said.
He turned to the computer.
“What’s your daughter’s name, sir?”
“Amber Francisco,” Crow said.
The clerk worked the computer for a moment.
“Twelve-A Horn Street?” the clerk said.
Crow nodded. The clerk smiled.
“It was delivered ten days ago,” the clerk said. He was triumphant. “Signed for by Esteban Carty.”
Crow looked puzzled.
“Here in Marshport?”
“Yes, sir. If you’d like to step around the counter, I can show you.”
“No,” Crow said. “Thank you. That’ll be fine.”
He shook his head.
“Damn kid will put me in an early grave,” he said.
He left the store. As he walked back through the mall, several of the teenage girls lounging about watched him as he passed.
15.
Jenn came into the police station with her cameraman, waved at Molly, and came to Jesse’s office, the cameraman behind her.
“No cameras in the station,” Jesse said when he saw them.
The cameraman looked at Jenn.
“You want to make it a freedom-of-the-press thing?” he said.
Jenn grinned.
“Go ahead, Mike,” Jenn said. “Take a break in the van. I’ll just talk with Jesse.”
The cameraman picked up his camera and went out. Jenn sat across from Jesse.
“Very impressive,” she said.
Jesse nodded.
“Riding in with the little kids. Introducing them. Made the protesters look foolish,” Jenn said.
Jesse nodded again.
“I kind of liked it also,” Jenn said, “when Molly stomped on that woman’s foot.”
“Molly being Molly,” Jesse said.
