Hop 'Til You Drop by J.M. Griffin

Author:J.M. Griffin [Griffin, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Sorting through the shop order, I inventoried it. Some of the hanks of wool roving were larger than others. A few colors were drab, unlike those we usually ordered. I assumed one of the students had requested them for a special project. Meredith came to mind.

Molly and Jason came through the door at the same time. I left them to their respective jobs and went into the kitchen to start the Crock-Pot meal for supper.

Carrots, chicken, potatoes, onions, and spices went into the pot. I added a bit of water and turned the temperature to high. While dinner cooked, Bun and I took a ride to Walmart in the next town over.

“Am I allowed in the store?”

“I don’t see why not. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re my comfort animal.”

“Do people get away with that?”

“Uh-huh, they do. Once a woman took her pig onto a plane and insisted it was her comfort animal. She got away with it, too. Besides, I’ve seen people with all types of pets in stores around town. The most popular ones, though, are dogs.”

“There are those specially trained ones for needy people.”

“Those particular dogs have to wear a jacket that designates them.”

We left the car in the enormous parking lot in front of the store. With Bun in the sling, we went inside like nobody’s business. All went well until we reached the register to pay for the artificial flowers we’d chosen for the bicycle. I put the goods on the conveyor and adjusted the sling. Bun huddled inside after he’d gotten a glimpse of his former owner, Margery Shaw, and was scared witless, though I assured him not to let fear control him.

The man behind the register gave me a rotten look and asked, “Madam, what’s inside your sling?”

“Nothing that belongs to you,” I said. Okay, so I should have admitted my comfort animal was in the sling, but after the look I’d gotten, I refused to say.

A buzzer went off somewhere. An older man rushed at me. “Hang on, Bun,” I murmured.

“Okay.”

“What do you have in that contraption you’re wearing?”

Unfazed by his manner, I asked, “And you would be?”

He puffed out his chest and hooked his thumb into his security belt. The badge on his uniform shirt listed his name as Homer Ruffian. Why I found it humorous, I couldn’t say, but all of a sudden I found myself giggling.

The security guard stared in surprise and then rolled his eyes at the cashier.

Holding back my mirth, I said, “My name is Juliette Bridge. I live at Fur Bridge Farm in Windermere. I haven’t stolen anything from your store.”

The line behind me had grown and the guard motioned me forward. I paid for what was in the bags. I walked a few steps behind Homer toward what I assumed was his office. When he opened the door, it appeared to be a broom closet. That’s when I heard the cashier mumble about shoplifters.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Jules, don’t respond . . . ”

“Excuse me? What did you say?”

“I said that you’re a shoplifter.

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