Sharon Vander Meer

Tiger Lilly


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      “I did not! I said quit acting like a baby.”

      Alex started to whine.

      “Okay, kids, enough.” Annie’s words were spoken softly but the children immediately lapsed into silence. She smiled at Lilly, a sweet curve of her lips that helped to relieve the look of wariness imprinted on her face.

      “Thanks for leaving me the number. I’m sure we’ll be fine and we will be careful of your home.”

      Lilly felt as though the young woman had sensed her concerns. It did not relieve her one whit. She nodded and opened the door to the garage to be greeted by a bounding behemoth. He whipped past her and into the house propelling everyone else into motion.

      “Krank!” Caleb shouted running after him.

      “Get him!” Annie cried, her attention torn between the pan of scrambled eggs on the electric burner and the chaos popping up all around her. Marie was on Caleb’s heels yelling, “Come here, boy,” at the top of her lungs. Alex started to cry.

      In a dither about what to do Lilly wavered in the doorway wanting to protect her home from the crazy animal galloping through it and the need to get to work on time. ShopMart wasn’t a forgiving employer and in a small town there were lots of people waiting for the next job opening.

      “I have to go,” she said, sounding apologetic even to her own ears. What she should have said is, “This place better be clean and in one piece when I get home!”

      Lilly stepped into the garage pawing through her purse for her car keys, her nose twitching madly. She sneezed. What in this world? She flipped on the light switch and yelped. The sound of running feet came from the kitchen and in seconds Annie was behind her in the doorway.

      “Oh, my,” Annie said. “Oh, my, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

      The garage was a shambles. The dog had overturned the rollout garbage can and scattered its contents, eating anything edible and sicking up what couldn’t be digested. He had then turned his attention to storage boxes, worrying them open and taking out whatever was inside. Elizabeth’s Barbie doll collection that nobody had looked at in years was scattered from hell and gone. Several of Michael’s Transformers lay in pieces and Match Box cars were strewn across the floor along with strips of track. Clothing she had been intending to take to the Salvation Army was everywhere. How the danged dog had done it without waking the entire household was a mystery. Maybe that barking was an almighty distraction to cover his crimes!

      Lilly closed her eyes tightly and opened them slowly. Still there. This nightmare was just beginning. Without a word she walked to her car, stepping over a pile of dog you-know-what on the way. She opened the door, closed it with deliberate care, put her key in the ignition, pressed the remote garage opener, backed out and danged near hit a sporty and altogether unexpected older model Mustang blocking the driveway.

      In the rearview mirror she saw Annie run behind her, hop in the car and back the Mustang out of her way. Annie gave a feeble wave as Lilly roared past in reverse, jerked to a tire-screeching stop, put the car in drive and took off peeling rubber all the way to the stop sign where her squealing brakes drew the attention of her neighbor, Luke Southern, who was getting in his car. She ignored his wave as heat flooded her cheeks.

      Chapter Four — On the Job

      Lilly wasn’t late but close. She’d had to make herself settle down and drive carefully. As angry as she’d been when she left home she could easily have mowed down anyone who crossed her path. She was sorry Luke had witnessed her automotive temper tantrum. Well, not just Luke; she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her behave in such a manner. She still represented Harve in this town and didn’t want people to think the preacher’s widow was a crazy person.

      She pulled into the employee parking area, all the way across the lot from the store itself. Snow or sleet, rain or shine, empty parking lot or full, it bordered on sacrilege to park in a designated “customer parking” space, which included everything remotely close to ShopMart’s front door.

      By the time she reached the employee canteen—a generous term for a room containing four rickety knock-together tables surrounded by scabby plastic chairs, an apartment-sized refrigerator, and a broken microwave—she was right on the minute for clocking in. Granted, she was huffing like an overheated buffalo, but the imprint on her card said 0900 just like it was supposed to.

      “Hey, Mrs. Reverent Lilly, you look frazzled.”

      Lilly pulled in a wuffling breath and put on her best smile. In this case it was sincere. Marco Sanchez, the mentally challenged janitor for the store, regarded her with his customary happy grin. Frazzled was the newest word in his vocabulary and he used it as often as possible.

      “Hey, Marco, I’ve had quite the morning. So I look frazzled do I?” She stepped in front of a cloudy mirror someone had stuck to the ladies’ room door. He was right. She did look frazzled. At some point she must have run her hand through her hair, pulling the tidy bun loose. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the cheap linoleum floor as she headed to her locker. She put her purse away and poked ineffectually at her hair.

      “How are you doing today, Marco? Got big plans?”

      “I got plans, Mrs. Reverent Lilly, I got bigplans.”

      It was the same conversation they had every day Lilly worked. She felt inadequate to the task but wanted to somehow let Marco know she thought he was someone who had a day full of things to do. Everyone else either ignored him or played jokes on him, all—they said—in the name of good fun.

      “You take care now,” she said as she left him to his work.

      ShopMart was a big box store knock-off, with lower prices and cheaper goods. When Michael had heard that description of her workplace he’d scoffed, “What? Instead of having real cheap merchandise they just have pictures of cheap merchandise?” Michael the successful car dealer—Irish Auto Sales, Your Lucky Deal on the Best Cars in Town—was quite put out that his stepmother was working in a ShopMart. It was fortunate he lived in the city otherwise he’d be bugging her about it all the time.

      “I need the money,” she’d told him reasonably, “and with my limited skills and at my age, ShopMart is the only place that will hire me.”

      “But you have Dad’s insurance, and his Social Security. If you need more, I’llgive it to you!”

      Not if she could help it. How little he knew, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Instead she said it was a social outlet; she got to see all her friends. Baloney. Most of the people she knew wouldn’t set foot inside ShopMart. In fact they were more likely to be outside picketing the place because the company paid lousy wages, shuffled through quite a lineup of undocumented workers, and sold products reportedly made by the hands of what amounted to slave laborers for pennies a day. The people at church were horrified that she would consent to work in such a place. Like her stepson, they didn’t have a clue. She needed to work and this was the only place that would hire her.

      “There you are! You’re late.” The speaker was a reedy, seedy looking man with black-rimmed glasses too big for his face. He wore his thin hair in a comb-over that everyone in the store made fun of. There must have been a time in his life when he was somewhat appealing. He had a plump, pretty wife and seven, count ‘em, seven,attractive children. With relationships you just plain never knew. Look at her and Harve. Many a person had wondered what he saw in her.

      “Mr. Givens, I am not late, I’m on time. The reason you think I’m late is that I’m always early but you don’t let me clock in until my shift starts, yet you make me work anyway.” Of course she didn’t say that, what she said was, “I clocked in right on the minute. What can I do for you?”

      He squinted at her from behind the wall of lenses perched on his nose. “Aisle 15 is a mess. Get over there and get it straightened out.”

      “I will be happy to do that, Mr. Givens, but here is a copy of my schedule. Please initial that you