She looked up and saw a tall man. He had a cast in one eye and a mouth that twisted down at one corner. He was holding her wallet in one hand. In the other he was holding a white envelope.
She reached for the wallet, crying out: “That’s mine!”
With one blow, he knocked her to the floor.
Anger brought her to her feet. No one else was near her. No one else was looking toward her. But she could see the backs of of the tall man and the angelic boy moving away from her down the aisle toward the door. They were not running, but neither were they loitering. And they were together.
“Stop! Wait a minute!”
Heads turned to look at her as she ran after them.
They were passing the cashier’s desk when they heard her cry.
They broke into a run.
“Gordon! Stop them! They’ve got my wallet.”
Gordon stood and stared at them, mouth open. Another man, coming through the revolving door, heard her and tried to block their way. He was flung side as they pushed through the door.
Tash followed them.
There was a crowd of after-dinner shoppers in the parking lot, but no sign of the man or the boy. Either they had melted into the crowd or hidden in the darkness beyond the lighted windows.
A police car was parked at the curb with two men in it.
“My wallet.” Tash was panting now. “They took it. A man and a boy. They just came out of the liquor store. Didn’t you see them?”
The policeman near the curb shook his head. “Which way did they go, lady?”
“I don’t know. When I got Outside, there was no sign of them.”
“You followed them? They might have broken your arm or worse.”
“I know. It was stupid. But I just wasn’t thinking. I didn’t have time to think.”
“You were lucky they got away. Were there witnesses?”
“The people in the store.”
“Then I’d better talk to them. Wait here, Joe.”
Inside the store, a dozen or so customers were gathered around the cashier’s desk, all talking at once.
“Officer, the man was short and blond and young.”
“No, he was well over six feet and swarthy and built like a football player.”
“There were two men,” said Gordon. “And one had a knife. That’s why I didn’t try to stop them.”
“I didn’t see no knife!”
The policeman looked at Tash. “You see? We’ll never get a description.”
“Why don’t you ask me for one?” she retorted. “I’m the only person who had a close look at them. There were two, a man and a boy. The boy distracted me while the man took my wallet out of my bag.”
“Sounds like a pro caper,” said the policeman. “You’d better come to the precinct station house tomorrow and see if you can identify them from mug shots. What’s your name and address?”
She told him.
“What does the wallet look like?”
“Brown. Real alligator. I got it before I knew alligators were an endangered species.” She realized she was babbling and tried to pull herself together. “It was lined with tan calfskin. Flat and thin. More like a billfold than a wallet.”
“Do you know how much money was in it?”
“Thirty-nine dollars.”
The policeman was writing all this down in his notebook slowly and laboriously. Tash had an impression he would be handier with a nightstick than a pen.
“Was there anything else in the wallet besides cash?”
“No . . . Yes, there was. I almost forgot. A blank check for emergencies. And an identification card. It came with the wallet. I filled it in long ago. Name, address, and telephone number.”
“You mean you signed this identification card?”
“Yes, I did.”
“In ink?”
She nodded.
“Then you’d better notify your bank the first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“They’ve got a blank check of yours and a signature of yours to copy. Quite a temptation to forgery.”
He closed his notebook. He had turned toward the door when a second thought struck him. He turned back to Tash again.
“Did they take anything else besides the wallet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Better check.”
She emptied the contents of her bag on the counter beside the cashier’s desk. Credit cards, driver’s license, car registration, press card, keys, pen, address book, coin purse, tissues . . .
“I have a feeling something’s missing,” she said. “But I just can’t think what it is.”
“You may think of it by tomorrow. If you do, you can tell them at the station house.”
Now the policeman was gone, everyone gathered around Tash. Did she know there was a cut on her cheekbone? The man who struck her must have worn a ring. The casfrier reached under the counter, brought out a first aid kit, put iodine and a Band Aid on the cheek bone. Did she need money for bus fare home?
Gordon stepped into the circle. “I’m driving her home.”
“What about my car?” said Tash.
“Leave it here for tonight.”
It was a relief to get away from the crowd with its open sympathy and curiosity and its furtive delight in shock and sensation.
She wondered how long her hands had been shaky and her knees rubbery. She had not noticed either until now.
She drew in a deep breath of the outdoor air, cold enough to feel fresh even though it was loaded with carbon monoxide.
Gordon swerved toward his own car. Tash halted. “Just a minute, please. There’s something I must get out of my car first. My tape of the interview with Vivian Playfair. It was too bulky for my handbag, so I put it in the glove compartment . . . Here it is, but . .
Her voice faded into silence.
“What’s wrong?”
“Gordon, I’ve remembered. The other thing they took besides my wallet. It was a letter Mrs. Playfair asked me to mail for her. I put it in my bag.”
“You’re sure it’s missing?”
“Not only that. I saw it in the man’s hand. A square, white envelope.”
“Funny
