“And that one?”
Terrence’s jaw tightened.
“That one was here,” he said. “Lakeview. In December. One of my cashiers. A seventy-one-year-old woman named Bev. Pamela said she was rude to her. Bev wasn’t. Bev asked her to wait thirty seconds while she finished helping a man with a walker.”
He looked at the floor.
“Bev quit,” he said. “Two days later. After the video. Forty-one years in grocery. She quit because she was too ashamed to come back.”
“After Bev,” Terrence said, “I sent a memo to every employee. With her picture. I said if she ever comes in, call me. Don’t engage. Don’t argue. Just call me.”
He looked at the monitor. At Henry. Standing in the broken glass with a mop.
“Henry didn’t call me,” he said quietly.
“He didn’t see her coming,” I said. “His back was turned. He was on the ladder.”
