2. When Opportunity Strikes

….
Four weeks earlier
….

Jean arrived in good time that Tuesday morning carrying a carefully wrapped bundle of warm cheese and savoury scones. She was doing the '10 till 3' shift. This meant she could have decent breakfast with Lucien and then be back in time to help him with his afternoon surgery hours. She didn't stop for lunch, just a quick cup of tea and a biscuit, but Mavis liked being able to take a full lunch break and would often step out for a half hour or so around 1 o'clock or so; after the lunch time 'rush'.

Mavis worked darn hard at the thrift store. The Board of the local animal shelter gave her a small stipend for her time and to keep the shop running. The shop was her love and life, and it also clothed and fed her. She received a small Aged Pension on top of the stipend which paid her rent, but Mavis was by no means well-to-do. Her single indulgence was a trip to the hair dressers once a week for the pensioners discount 'rinse, wash, set and dry' turning her snowy white hair into a mass of tight blue curls. So, Jean always took great delight in bringing the odd bit of something from her kitchen for Mavis to enjoy with her lunch. Ben enjoyed the treats as well, and Jean's baking was one of the few things that could coax him out of the back room.

It was busy all morning that Tuesday. In fact, since Jean's spruce up of the shop custom had taken a decidedly positive up turn. Housewives looking for a bargain, high school girls trying to make their pocket money go farther, veterans who preferred the thrift shop to the gleaming impersonal emporium on the main street, people who were lonely and just wanted to come in for a chat – all were welcome. Jean generally enjoyed most of the different 'sorts' that came and went on a regular basis, but there were a few that she would have preferred didn't keep coming back. There was Pat O'Brien, a metho drinker who needed a bath and change of clothes badly. He never caused any trouble really, he was an old friend of Ben's and they didn't feel they could turn him out, but after one of his visits they always needed to open the front and back doors for a while to let the place air out. Mr. Baker, the second-hand dealer was just a plain weasel and would try to haggle the already bargain prices to nothing. Mavis gave him no discounts and their battles were legendary. Of course, the two lady shoppers, dubbed 'Trash and Treasure' by Mavis returned on a regular basis to try on clothes and leave a mess in their wake.

Not long after 2pm, while Jean was helping a rather stout woman try on and choose a cardigan, Mavis called out, 'Jean, did you sell the pair of small crystal cut candle sticks?'

Jean looked up, pausing in her efforts to convince the customer to at least consider trying the size 18 not the 14, and replied, 'Why no, aren't they still on the shelf with the other glassware?'

'No, and I can't see the little cracked Dresden figurine either! I know it was there yesterday morning when I dusted' grumbled Mavis.

'Maybe one of the other volunteers sold them yesterday?' suggested Jean as she struggled to squeeze a round arm into a too small hole.

'Maybe.' Said Mavis dubiously.

But the items were never found, nor was there any record of their sale.


Three weeks previously
….

'Jean? I can't find that silver plated picture frame. I promised it to a customer, but it isn't here!' Mavis sounded annoyed and Jean came over to the shelf where the frame had rested earlier that day.

Jean frowned. 'It was certainly here this morning! I distinctly remember seeing it there, and I didn't sell it in the meantime.'

'Well this is a fine kettle of fish!' exclaimed Mavis. 'There was a good price on that. Honestly, people are just the end. Nicking from an op shop! Taking food from poor animals' mouths!' Mavis was not impressed.

Just then a customer walked into the shop and moved to the evening dress rack and the two could not continue the conversation. Jean walked over to the lady and asked if she needed any assistance.

'Yes, I was looking at a black 9 to 5 dress yesterday. I didn't have the money on me then, so I have come back today to get it, but I cannot find it here!' replied the woman.

Jean scanned the dress rack hopefully, but the dress was nowhere to be found. She glanced over to Mavis whose face was set and her mouth in a tight, grim line. Fortunately, Jean was able to find a suitable alternative among some of the newly donated items from the back room and the customer went away happy.

However, Mavis was not happy. But there was little they could do about it except resolve to keep a more vigilant watch on the shop in future.


Two weeks ago,

'What do you mean it's gone?' Mavis glared at Jean.

'Someone has walked off with it, is what I mean.' Jean shot back. 'I don't know who, but I turned my back for a minute and the fox fur evening jacket disappeared right off the mannequin!'

'Well, what were you doing girl? Why weren't you watching the shop!' Mavis looked at Jean suspiciously.

Jean wasn't having any of it. 'Mavis! There were 15 or 16 people in the shop. You had gone out to lunch and I was on my own. I cannot watch everyone at once!'

Mavis stomped to the rear of the shop. 'Why are these thefts only happening on Tuesdays on your shifts?'

Jean bristled. 'What are you implying Mavis?'

'We're being targeted Jean! Someone's out to get you and the shop is suffering. Well I'm not having it! We don't make enough profit as it is, we can't keep giving out five finger discounts!'

'Do you want me to leave?' asked Jean coldly.

Mavis looked at Jean in shock. 'Good lord no Jean! You've been a breath of fresh air here. I can't lose you! No, what I mean is that the both of us need to watch. Watch carefully, who's in the shop, who comes and goes, what they buy. I'm not taking a lunch break anymore, I can eat a sandwich on the counter, but I'm staying right here in the shop until we catch these thieving buggers!


Last week
….

'Well I give up.' Said Mavis in despair. Jean looked glumly at the 'specials' rack where the missing white satin wedding gown had hung. It had been a fairly simple garment, a plain 'A' line style, knee length with a small inset of lace at the bodice. Sometime between 11am and 2pm it had simply disappeared from the rack. Once again, the shop had become crowded around lunch hour and both women had been busy with customers. Both Mavis and Jean had watched the shop as carefully as possible, but the garment had been spirited away right under their noses.

'Mavis,' said Jean. 'I think we should report these thefts to the police.'

'And what are the police going to do about it? Think they'll care about a few second-hand items going missing from an Op-shop? I highly doubt they would think it was the crime of the century!' retorted Mavis.

'Well, I can at least tell a friend I know – he's pretty high up in the Police. And you know my husband Lucien has influence there as well!' Jean was worried. She had been enjoying her stint at the shop helping Mavis, but these thefts were putting it in jeopardy. If it was something to do with her being involved she knew she would have to leave and she really didn't want to.

'If you think it will do any good, you can try. But I wouldn't hold your breath.' Was Mavis' response.

Jean had marched to the rear office immediately, called Matthew and discussed the situation with him over the phone. But Mavis was right, Matthew couldn't really do much unless Jean or Mavis had caught the thief in the act. He was concerned to hear that it could be the result of a vendetta against Jean, but all he was able to offer was to have Sergeant Bill Hobart swing by on foot patrol once or twice a day to check in with them. Maybe the thief would notice the increased police presence and be frightened off.

'I guess that is better than nothing' grumbled Mavis. 'And that Bill Hobart would scare the spots off a Dalmatian, so maybe it will work.'


Today

Jean walked somewhat sadly to the shop. Last night Lucien and she had had a heart-to-heart talk about the situation, and they had both concluded that if there was another theft today that Jean would resign her volunteer position. If the thefts really were a result of her helping in the shop it would be better for her to leave. It made her sad, but it was the best decision.

She looked briefly into the shop window and smiled slightly. The windows did look good! 'Oh well', she thought, 'maybe someone else will come along…' She walked over and pushed the front door open.

'Ding-ding!' rang out the shop bell.

Jean looked around, but Mavis was not to be seen, the shop was empty of customers as well.

'Mavis?' she called out. Jean heard a low moan from the back of the shop. Concerned, Jean hurried to the rear office. There, stretched out on the floor lay Mavis. She had a nasty and bloody contusion on her forehead and had obviously been knocked out by a blow.

'Mavis!' Jean rushed forward and grasped Mavis' wrist, feeling for a pulse. You didn't work for a doctor for years without picking up a thing or two. Yes, the pulse was a bit thready but still strong. Jean darted back into the shop and returned with a throw pillow. Carefully she lifted Mavis' head and slipped the pillow beneath it. Feeling her scalp gently, Jean probed for damage. Mavis shifted and groaned, her eyes fluttering.

'Jean?' her voice was faint.

'Shhhhh. Lie still Mavis. You've hit your head. You may have concussion, don't move. I'm going to call for an ambulance.' Soothed Jean.

'Ben? Where's Ben?' worried Mavis fretfully.

'Ben?' asked Jean in surprise. 'I don't know…'

'Check… check him…' moaned Mavis.

Jean looked at Mavis with concern, but Mavis feebly waved a hand at her saying, 'Go… go check… I'll be fine… check on Ben…'

Rising, Jean turned and walked to the rear room of the shop. She had only needed to go into the storeroom on a few occasions. That was Ben's domain and he guarded it jealously. Each time she had entered the room previously he would not let her get much further than the doorway, stopping her with 'Whatcha' need girly?', whereupon she would make her request. 'Stay 'dere' Ben would instruct, then scrabble around in the dusty room until he located the items she needed, hand them to her and send her on her way.

Peering into the dimly lit room she looked around for Ben. Boxes and bundles of clothing, electrical gear, toys and bric-a-brac littered the room. She took a few more steps into the room and looked about. With a great gasp of shock, she spotted Ben in the far corner, crumpled into a heap. She didn't need to go check on him, she could see from the doorway that the back of his head had been crushed. Her hands flew to her mouth and Jean felt sick in her stomach at the sight of the gory mess Ben's head was in. Turning around she fled the room and ran back to the office. Ignoring Mavis' feeble queries from the floor, she picked up the phone, rang the police station and asked for Inspector Matthew Lawson in a shaky, but calm voice.

'Matthew? Please, it's Jean. Come quickly and bring Lucien. Mavis is hurt, she'll need Lucien and Ben… I'm pretty sure Ben is dead. He's been murdered!