“Because they haven’t accomplished shit. This isn’t interfering with the job—”
“The hell it isn’t. I’m not at top speed if I’ve been out dancing into the wee hours every night.”
“It won’t be every night; just the weekends, if I read her right. She’s too responsible to go out on a work night. Besides, she’ll be busy getting her house ready to move into; she tells me all about it.”
“Any man who thinks he knows what a woman will do is a fool.”
“I’ll give you that, but I told you, I’m going to call her every afternoon about the time she gets home from the library, just to check. I don’t want anything to happen to her, either.”
“So what happens if we get contacted when she’s going out, Pygmalion? Who’s going to watch her then?”
“We’ve been working this job for, what, a year and a half? What are the odds it’s going to break anytime soon, and on one of the two nights a week when Daisy is most likely to go out?”
“Look, buddy, there’s this big pile of shit just flying around looking for a place to happen. Just be prepared for it to dump on us, is what I’m saying. And she’ll be the one who’s hurt.”
ELEVEN
It occurred to Daisy she needed to do one last thing to change her image, so during her lunch hour on Monday she went to Clud’s Pharmacy and bought some condoms.
Clud’s was the best choice of the three pharmacies in town, because Cyrus Clud had lived in Hillsboro forever and knew everyone, and his wife, Barbara, worked as the cashier so he wouldn’t have to pay anyone else a salary. Barbara Clud was at least as big a gossip as Beulah Wilson, and she didn’t know what the word discretion meant; that was how it had become common knowledge that a certain city councilman took Viagra. The fact that Daisy Minor had bought condoms would spread far and wide to their circle of acquaintances.
Cruising nightclubs was fine, and nightclubs were probably the richest hunting ground, but Daisy didn’t want to ignore the available men in Hillsboro, either; in fact, a local would be a much better choice for her, since she wanted to live near her family. The problem was, she didn’t know that many single local men; the few in her church were all younger than she was, and she didn’t find them particularly interesting anyway. Hank Farris was single, but the Farrises were trashy and there was a reason why Hank had never been married: he stank. Badly. So Daisy didn’t count him as eligible, in any way.
But people talked, especially in a small town like Hillsboro with its spiderweb of acquaintances and kin. Just let someone say, “You know Evelyn Minor’s daughter, Daisy? The librarian? I hear she went into Clud’s and bought a whole case of condoms. My lands, what’s that girl up to?” Before she knew it, interested men would be crawling out of the woodwork. She’d have to weed out the undesirables, of course, but she figured a big portion of them would disappear when they found out she had no intention of actually using any of the condoms. They were merely a conversation piece, as it were.
On the other hand, she had never suspected buying condoms would be complicated. She stood in aisle five and stared at the stacks and rows of boxes. Who on earth knew there were so many choices? And what did the sexually hip young woman buy these days?
For instance, was something called a Rough Rider desirable or not? Daisy thought probably not, because that sounded like something a motorcycle gang would buy, assuming Hell’s Angels wore condoms. And what about ribs? Did it matter if a condom was ribbed or unribbed? Lubricated or not? On second thought, she opted for lubricated.
And on third thought, Cyrus Clud had an enormous selection of condoms, far more than she would have expected for a small, independent pharmacy. Surely condom sales couldn’t be that brisk, since one could find them in so many other places.
She picked up a pack labeled “Tickle Her Fancy,” read the back, and hurriedly returned it to the shelf. Maybe Cyrus had a niche clientele. Maybe she needed to warn Chief Russo to keep a close eye on aisle five at Clud’s Pharmacy, because judging by the variety offered here, there were some hinky things going on in Hillsboro.
At last, desperate, she picked up a box called the PartyPak—that should cover all bases—and marched up to the register, where she plunked the PartyPak down on the counter in front of Barbara Clud.
“I hope everything’s all right with Evelyn and Joella,” Barbara said sweetly as she picked up the box, which was her way of priming the pump to find out if anything was wrong with anyone; then she noticed what she was holding and gasped. “Daisy Minor!”
Someone came up behind her. Daisy didn’t look around to see who it was. “Cash,” she said, as if Barbara had asked, and fished some bills out of her wallet to hurry along the process before half of Hillsboro lined up at the register. She had thought she would be able to accomplish this with an air of sangfroid, but she could feel her face heating. One would think Barbara had never sold condoms before, from her expression of shock.
Barbara began to turn red, too. “Does your mother know about this?” she whispered, leaning forward in an effort to keep their conversation private. Thank goodness for that much, at least, Daisy thought.
“Not yet, but she will,” Daisy mumbled, thinking the phone lines would be burning as soon as she walked out of the store. She extended the money, trying again to just get this process completed.
“I’m in a hurry,” said a deep, grumbly voice behind and above her, and Daisy froze. “Just ring the damn things up.”