Terrence held up the first one.
To Pamela. And to her phone.
“This is from our security camera,” he said. “Aisle seven. North end. Two forty-three and eight seconds.”
It was a black-and-white still. Clear. Sharp.
Pamela. Standing next to the cart. Propping her phone against the apple juice.
“That’s you,” Terrence said. “Setting up your phone. Facing the cart.”
Pamela’s face went white.
Terrence held up the next one.
“Two forty-three and fourteen seconds,” he said.
Pamela looking around. Left. Right. Henry on the ladder with his back to her.
“That’s you checking to see if anybody’s watching,” he said.
He held up the next one.
“Two forty-three and nineteen seconds.”
Pamela’s hand on the side of the cart. Her arm extended. Her body leaning into it.
“That’s you,” Terrence said, “pushing it.”
The crowd at the end of the aisle made a sound.
