“Call Robbie and tell him to do it. I’ll write him a check.”
Mary’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth. “You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can. I’ve got the money sitting in a savings account that’s earning no interest. I might as well give it to you as have the banker make money off it.”
“It will have to be a loan that I’ll repay,” Mary said after a moment of thought.
“If that’s what you’d prefer, we’ll call it a loan. Otherwise, I can just give it to you.” Floyd leaned to the side to watch a young couple arguing in the parking lot. Satisfied that the argument wasn’t escalating, he leaned back and looked at Mary. “It’s not like I need the money.”
“We’d have to write up some sort of partnership agreement and then agree on what percent of the flower shop value twenty-two thousand dollars represents.”
“I won’t pay lawyers for busywork. Can’t we just make it a handshake deal between us?”
Mary reached across the table and touched Floyd’s hand. “You are either the sweetest or most naïve person I know.”
He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “I might have something other than a business partnership in mind.”
“If anyone else said that to me, I’d think he was trying to get into my panties.”
“Maybe when I was younger,” Floyd said as he let go of Mary’s hand and stood. “My interests have matured. Now I’d rather get a seat at your table for supper.” He pulled a ten dollar bill from his wallet and threw it on the table. From his other pocket he took out a keychain and snapped a key loose. “Here’s a key for my house,” he said. After searching for words he blurted, “In case I get tied up and can’t get home, I thought I could give you a call and you’d let the dog out. Now, I have to get back on the road.”
Mary palmed the key and smiled. “Sure, I can let the dog out. I’ll pick up some pork chops after I close up. Come over when you can.”
“Are you making brown gravy?”
“I’m making brown gravy and mashed potatoes.”
“I may use the siren and flashing lights,” Floyd said with a smile.
CHAPTER 2
“Is there a deputy in Pine City,” the female voice asked softly. The enhanced 911 system display showed that the call originated from Gordy’s Drugstore in downtown Pine City.
“What’s the nature of your problem?” the dispatcher asked as she noted that Floyd was back on duty and probably closest to Pine City, near the southern edge of Pine County’s twelve hundred square miles.
“I think I’d better speak directly to a deputy about this,” the woman replied. Then she added, “It’s regarding some pictures that were dropped off for processing.” The voice was soft, and the words came out so slowly that the dispatcher wondered if the caller was mentally challenged.
“I’ll page Sergeant Swenson.”
“Well,” the woman said, “I’ve got a customer right now. Leave a message for him to stop at the photo counter at Gordy’s Drugstore.” As an afterthought the caller added, “Tell him Barb Dupre called. Tell him to come over within the hour if he possibly can.”
Floyd was driving south on I-35 when the dispatcher radioed him.
“Floyd, I had a call from Gordy’s Drugstore. Barb Dupre requested you stop over at the photo counter within the hour.”
“The call wasn’t an emergency?” Floyd asked.
“It didn’t sound terribly urgent, but she wants to talk to someone about pictures and she emphacized that it had to be within the hour.” The dispatcher paused. “If that’s not convenient, I could see if one of the investigators is in the office.”
Floyd smiled. Barb was Deputy Sandy Maki’s girlfriend. “He’s on the night shift, so I’m sure she thought of calling for a different investigator as second choice,” he said to himself.
“I’ll take the call,” Floyd responded. “I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
Floyd parked the car on Main Street. He greeted the pedestrians enjoying the sunny July morning as he walked to the only pharmacy in Pine City. Gordy’s was a small drugstore, with an owner who had been able to fend off the pressures of the new Super Walmart only because of his loyal customers and his low overhead in the hundred year-old building. Gordon (Gordy) Hall, the pharmacist, had remodeled the store, opening a door between two defunct businesses and installing a digital photo-processing center so he could develop and print photos on site from either film or digital cameras. Near the photo center he built an expanded gift shop that catered to the tourists who came to enjoy the surrounding lakes during the summer months.
Floyd wound his way through the aisles, past the photo supplies that ranged from telephoto lenses to batteries and displays of custom-printed photo T-shirts and mugs. He passed a rack of gray T-shirts with giant mosquitoes printed on their fronts, each with the logo, “Minnesota State Bird” and a rack of kelly green hooded sweatshirts with Pine City Dragons printed in white.
Floyd spotted Barb Dupre in the far corner of the photo center workspace, looking at a computer screen. Her blonde hair had been recently touched up — the dark brown roots barely noticeable. The white gloves she wore to keep from getting fingerprints on the photos covered the unusual tattoos Floyd had seen on her fingers, but her white blouse allowed a large blue starburst tattoo on her shoulder to faintly show through.
“Hey Barb, the dispatcher said you wanted to talk to me,” Floyd said.
Startled by Floyd’s voice, she turned and then quickly scanned the store to see if anyone was in earshot. Carefully clearing the computer monitor, Barb walked to the counter.
“I don’t know that it’s a big deal,” she said with her usual slow verbal gait, “but I wanted someone else to look at these pictures before I gave them to the customer.” Barb reached under the counter and took out an envelope. She opened the outer envelope and pulled out the inner sleeve of pictures and was about to hand the first photos to Floyd when a deep voice interrupted.
“Hi, Floyd,” the pharmacist said from the doorway. “Is there some problem?”
“I called the sheriff’s department because of some pictures I developed,” Barb replied.
“Well,” Gordy said gruffly, “I don’t know that we can show our customers’ private pictures to anyone without a release or a search warrant. I think they’re private property. The only reason we look at them is to make sure the color balance and exposure are correct. I’ve always told you that anything you see in private photos is private. We do not make copies for our own use and we don’t discuss what people choose for photographic subject matter.”
The pharmacist was slightly over six feet tall, a few inches taller than Floyd, with a full head of gray hair. He wore a white smock with his name embroidered on the chest. Floyd knew he was past retirement age, but stayed on because he enjoyed the customer interaction.
Barb nodded emphatically. “I haven’t said a word when people take pictures of themselves in the nude or having sex,” Barb said indignantly. “But these are different.”
Floyd took the five photos that Barb offered and spread them on the countertop so all three could view them. The pharmacist moved closer to get a look but the expression on his face said he was very uncomfortable.
The first images looked foreign, reminding Floyd of someone’s vacation photos. The scenes were of people on a busy street lined with signs written in Asian characters. The fourth picture was apparently taken in a bar with two young men sitting at a table with young women on their laps and a lone woman in the third chair. There were beer bottles and glasses on the table, and the silly laughing expressions on four of the five faces led Floyd to believe that they were all intoxicated. All the pictures were slightly faded and tinted yellow. He recognized one woman because he’d arrested her for a DWI and he’d seen at least two of the others around town, although he didn’t recall their names.