Free Black Thursday by Linda Joffe Hull Page A

teenage sleep coma.
    I headed back downstairs to my office to check my Mrs. Frugalicious email account. Other than a message from Wendy Killian from Here’s the Deal commiserating about last night and wanting to know what happened after she finally left Bargain Barn, there was nothing of interest.
    I dialed Alan.
    To my non-surprise, and also relief, the call went straight to voicemail. The message I left, long and rambling, about how I hoped we’d been of help, how glad I was to assist with anything else, and inquiring as to how he was doing, would have been that much more awkward as a real conversation. Particularly since I tried my hardest not to mention the word accident , which had clearly seemed to bother him last night.
    I’d just finished dialing him back with an addendum about Mrs. Piggledy’s improved condition, since I’d completely forgotten to mention it, when I heard a bedroom door open and the shuffle of footsteps on the upstairs landing.
    â€œHey,” I said, spotting Eloise on her way down the steps.
    â€œWhat’s up?” she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
    â€œJoyce made breakfast for everyone.”
    â€œSo I smell,” she said. “Bacon and eggs?”
    â€œAnd French toast.”
    â€œIt smells really good,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose. “But what secret ingredients did she put in it?”
    â€œI tried not to think about that,” I said, not mentioning the stale bread part. “Everything was delicious though.”
    â€œWeird.”
    â€œSpeaking of which,” I said, “I just found out the lady was named Catherine Carter.”
    â€œFrom last night?”
    With my nod, we shared a pained moment of silence.
    â€œSo awful,” Eloise finally said. “But why’s it weird?”
    â€œIt’s just that her initials were CC.”
    Eloise raised a slightly too thin eyebrow. “Like your batsh— Uh, your crazy stalker CC?”
    I nodded.
    â€œBut why would Contrary Claire spend months writing nasty posts, say she wasn’t coming to Bargain Barn, and then just show up anyway?”
    â€œAnd then proclaim she’s a big fan who wanted her picture taken with me?” I asked. “Really doesn’t make sense.”
    â€œThen why even think about it?”
    â€œIt’s just that Contrary Claire hasn’t weighed in yet.”
    â€œProbably because she’s blocked,” Eloise said looking over my shoulder at comments popping up on the website.
    â€œBut I haven’t gotten an email alert that she’s even tried,” I said, glancing at my email again. “Not yet, anyway.”
    â€œIsn’t her usual MO to comment after one of your blog posts?”
    â€œHuh. Now that you mention it, everything she’s written has been in response to something I’ve put on the website.”
    â€œWhich means she probably gets an alert when you post something new.”
    â€œThen she responds accordingly?”
    â€œSo to speak,” Eloise said.
    â€œAnd if she hasn’t seen the news yet, she might not think to check the website?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œThat has to be it,” I said. “The thing is, I really should post a condolence message to the Carter family and to everyone from the Frugarmy who was affected by last night.”
    â€œOnce you do, you know CC is going to have a field day with it.”
    â€œTrue,” I said, “but I can block any comments that—”
    My text alert pinged.
    â€œThat’s got to be Alan,” I said as I picked up my phone. Then I looked at the message. “Oh dear!”
    â€œIs it her? Eloise asked.
    â€œAlmost as bad,” I said. “It’s the realtor.”
    As in my realtor, the one who’d promised that having my extended family in town was no problem since Thanksgiving weekend would be dead where showings were concerned:
    I have some potential buyers who are dying to