The stock cart was tipped at an angle. One of its wheels had come off the floor. The cardboard case on the top shelf of the cart was crushed and soaked.
Henry was standing in the middle of it.
His sneakers were wet. There was purple juice splashed up the legs of his khakis.
He was holding his hands up in front of him. Palms out. Like he was trying to stop something.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. I’ll clean it up right now.”
His voice was shaking.
The woman was standing about six feet away from him.
Fifties. Tall. Thin. Platinum blonde hair blown out perfectly. Big diamond earrings. A white puffer vest over a black athletic top. Expensive leggings. White sneakers that had never seen a gym.
She was holding her phone in one hand.
She had her other hand on her hip.
