Black Thursday by Linda Joffe Hull

heading for the cleanest of the dingy, gray plastic chairs.
    To avoid making eye contact with the man across from me, wearing a trench coat, a comb-over, and what appeared to be nothing else, I pulled out my phone and checked my Frugalicious email. As I expected, there was still nothing from CC or anyone claiming to be Cathy Carter’s friend.
    Which Trent, FJ, and I all agreed was definitely weird.
    While I was at it, I fired off a note to the Frugarmy inquiring into mom-and-pop store specials for Small Business Saturday. Anastasia wanted to meet first thing in the morning, but even with the recaps of the accident and its aftermath, the tribute to Cathy, and Anastasia’s assurance that viewers would see me as a Good Samaritan, I couldn’t just show up somewhere and shop as though nothing had happened.
    Better the Frugarmy made the call about where we should go.
    A few minutes later, the wood partition separating the reception from the processing area of the station swung open, and, like déjà vu all over again, Detective McClarkey ambled into the room.
    â€œMaddie Michaels!” he said, this time with genuine warmth and no hint of the suspicion that tinged my first (and certainly my second) visit to the station. “Wrong place at the right time again?”
    â€œSure seems that way,” I said, somehow emboldened not only by his overly firm handshake, but by his whole handsome, blue-eyed, graying crew cut, square-jawed detective vibe. Not to mention the corduroy sport coat I’d never seen him without.
    He offered a crooked but not unattractive smile and a friendly, we’re in this together wink as he motioned me to follow him. “Seems like just about everyone was at Bargain Barn last night.”
    â€œTell me about it,” I said, following him on a familiar serpentine path around the metal desks.
    â€œDid I hear Frank Finance was even on hand for the festivities?”
    Considering he’d been there when Frank’s marital misdeed had revealed herself, the detective’s curiosity wasn’t entirely surprising. “He came to help me out with my TV appearance.”
    He stopped briefly at the coffee pot. “Aren’t you two in the middle of a divorce?”
    â€œThe holidays complicate things,” I said, waving off another opportunity for a steaming hot cup of tarrish-looking brew.
    â€œI hear you there.” He shook his head. “I have to pretend I can stand the sight of my ex from now through New Year’s for the sake of the kids.”
    I began to sweat thinking of the potential loneliness and discord I had to look forward to in my future holiday seasons. The sweat ramped up as I looked into the interrogation room with its imitation wood grain table, banged up chairs, two-way mirror, and the inherent supposition of guilt. Luckily, Detective McClarkey stopped short and lead me into his glassed-in office instead.
    â€œHave a seat,” he said.
    As I hung my handbag on the back of the chair, he reached into his shirt pocket for a mini-tape recorder.
    â€œHere we go again,” I said.
    â€œDepartment policy.”
    I nodded and took a long, slow centering breath.
    â€œI’m speaking with Maddie Michaels,” he said, pulling a paper and notepad toward him from across the desk. “Is that correct?”
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œAnd what is it that brings you in today?”
    â€œWell …” I paused to take a deep breath. “As you know, I was at Bargain Barn as part of a Channel Three feature on Black Friday shopping during and after the events that occurred in the store last night.”
    â€œBy Black Friday, you mean Thursday, correct?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “The Bargain Barn sale, along with many others, started well before midnight on Thanksgiving evening.”
    â€œAnd by events, please describe exactly what you mean?”
    â€œI was in the store when a pallet of toasters fell and killed a